Sucker Punch

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “I was not with him. What an awful thing to say! He’s my brother.”

  Newman backed up both physically and verbally. “Of course not. All I meant was, did you see him start to pass out in his bedroom?”

  “No, of course not! I saw his bloody footprints in the hall, and I saw what he did to Dad! That’s what I saw!” She sat up and started flailing her arms, which put her in danger of pulling out her IV.

  A shorter, dark-haired nurse came through the door, speaking soothingly to Jocelyn and telling us that we had to leave. She used one arm to keep Jocelyn’s arm lower so she didn’t pull out the IV, and then tried to get her to lie back down.

  A dark-haired man wearing a white coat over business slacks and shoes came through the door with the first nurse behind him. Apparently, she’d found the doctor. “You cannot browbeat my patient like this,” he said as he pushed us back from the bed so he could help the nurse soothe Jocelyn.

  Newman said, “We did not browbeat her.” His voice was firm and sounded convincing, but since Jocelyn was screaming, the doctor and the nurses probably didn’t hear him.

  The tall nurse who had met us first made shooing motions with her arms as if we were wayward children. We could have forced the issue, but it might literally have taken force, and they’d just put another needle of something into the IV tube. Jocelyn was going quiet and passive as we let the tall, brown-haired nurse usher us out. Her name tag read PATRICIA. She didn’t look like a Patricia, far too athletic and forceful. Maybe a Pat or a Patty?

  We walked far enough down the hallway to be out of earshot, and then we huddled together like a football team. We needed to figure out what had just happened and what we should do next.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that she and Bobby were an item,” Newman said.

  “Her reaction was a little over the top, don’t you think? Or is she always this high-strung?” I asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t describe Jocelyn as high-strung or even the nervous type. She’s usually very calm, cool, and collected.”

  “I guess finding your parent’s murdered body would unhinge anyone,” I said.

  “By unhinged, do you mean, make hysterical?” Olaf asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding as if he needed that to go with the word.

  “She was not hysterical.”

  Newman and I looked at each other. “We just saw her act hysterical,” he said.

  “Saw her, yes, but her emotions did not match what you saw.”

  “Okay, explain,” I said.

  “When Newman asked his question, she was afraid.”

  “How do you know that?” Newman asked.

  “I could smell it.”

  Newman sort of blinked at him and then went with it. Good for him. “She’s been through a terrible event. Wouldn’t she be afraid to remember it?”

  Olaf shook his head. “The spike of fear happened when you asked her the first part of the question.”

  “You mean, ‘Bobby said he was with you last night’?” I asked.

  Olaf nodded.

  “She sounded outraged,” Newman said.

  “She acted outraged, but her true emotion was fear.”

  “I could see disgust, outrage, anger, but why fear?” I asked.

  “Maybe any memory tied to the murder is fear inducing?” Newman suggested.

  “I might believe that, except that her emotions after that did not match the show of grief and emotional pain,” Olaf said.

  “How so or how not?” I asked.

  “I smelled the fear, and there was panic to that, but then that went away. She smelled calm while she was screaming at us.”

  “Are you saying it was an act?” I asked.

  “I am saying that she smelled different from her actions. I’ve learned that people can control most of their bodies, but not the change in scent.”

  “Do all emotions have a scent?” Newman asked.

  “No, or if they do, I have not learned them yet. I am still relatively new at being a shapeshifter. Anita might ask one of her fiancés. They have lived like this far longer than I.”

  I appreciated Olaf conceding that Micah and Nathaniel might know more about something than he did. The Olaf I’d met years ago was too insecure, or too angry, to admit any weakness. Or maybe he just hadn’t admitted them to a woman. Either way, this was an improvement.

  “I’ll ask them when we talk next.”

  Newman stepped into Olaf, which made me step into both of them. “Are you saying that Jocelyn was pretending to be more upset than she really felt?”

  “She was.”

  Newman looked at me. “Do you think she was lying about something other than her emotions?”

  “You got one question out, Newman, just one. Then she went hysterical, and the interview was over. The doctor won’t want us near her again,” I said.

  “I might have to get a court order just to question her again.”

  “That takes time,” I said.

  “We have an extra eight hours, that’s all. I don’t want to waste that getting more judges involved. Besides, court order or not, if Jocelyn does another hysterical scene, we still won’t be able to question her.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  The doctor came around the corner, and you didn’t have to be a shapeshifter to know he was pissed. It showed on his face and in his posture. “How dare you come into my hospital and threaten my patient?”

  “We did not threaten her,” Newman said.

  The doctor held up a hand as if we should just stop talking now. “Nurse Brimley heard you. That’s why she came to get me.”

  “Is Nurse Brimley the tall one, Patricia?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did she actually say we threatened her?”

  “She said you were browbeating my patient into hysterics. I don’t know what gestapo tactics you people from the preternatural branch are used to doing in other places, but you will not intimidate anyone in this hospital. We had to sedate her again.”

  “I swear to you we asked one question,” Newman said.

  “I want all your names. I’m reporting you.” The doctor got out his phone—to make notes, I think.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For threatening my patient. She’s been through enough.”

  “I swear to you that we did not threaten her,” Newman said.

  “The three of you looming over her bed would be threat enough,” the doctor said. He had his phone out, and he was ready to type with his thumbs. “Give me your names.”

  “We didn’t loom over her bed,” I said.

  The doctor motioned at Olaf with his phone still grasped in his hands. “How could he not loom? You should never have been in there alone with her!”

  “Are you saying that someone over a certain height is scary just by being that tall?” I asked.

  “No, but he is.” The doctor had a point, but he’d pissed me off, so . . .

  “Are you saying that someone’s physical appearance, something they can’t change or do anything about, like the color of their skin, is enough to cause you to be afraid of them?” I asked.

  The doctor frowned at me, thinking through what I’d said. “I did not say anything about the color of his skin. He’s white.”

  “Are you saying you have a problem because he’s white?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Are you saying that you would have a problem if he wasn’t white?”

  “No, of course not!” The doctor was starting to be indignant.

  “Blake,” Newman said softly. I think he was warning me to stop poking at the doctor.

  The doctor typed something on his phone. “Marshal Blake, what’s your first name?”

  “Anita,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No, h
e said his name was Blake.”

  “No, I was talking to Marshal Blake. I’m Marshal Win Newman.”

  “Can you spell your first name, please?”

  Newman did. Then the doctor turned to me. “You’re Marshal Anita what?”

  “Blake, Marshal Anita Blake, and you are Doctor what?” I asked.

  He typed my name before he said, “Dr. Jameson.”

  “Dr. Jameson, what?” I asked.

  “Corbin Jameson. Why does it matter what my name is?”

  “I just want to make sure your name goes on the wrongful-death suit along with ours. The more the merrier, you know.”

  That stopped him enough that he looked at me, really looked at me, maybe for the first time. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell him why we’re here, Newman,” I said.

  Newman explained in the briefest terms that we were fighting a time limit, and when it was over, he would be forced to execute Bobby Marchand, but that we weren’t convinced he was guilty of the crime. “That’s why we’re here, Dr. Jameson: to try to gather enough information to either clear the accused of the crime so we don’t kill the wrong man or gather evidence that absolutely proves his guilt. Jocelyn Marchand is the only living witness to what happened that night, except for the accused. We can’t trust that his information isn’t self-serving, so that’s why we’re here.”

  “You are all just murderers with badges,” Dr. Jameson said.

  “Sometimes that’s what it feels like, but this time I’m trying to save a life. Won’t you help me save a life, Dr. Jameson?” Newman said.

  The doctor looked at all of us, thinking for longer than I thought it should take, but we were ahead right now. I didn’t need to do anything but keep my mouth shut. I think we all tried to look harmless and sincere. Some of us were better at it than others, but Olaf did his best.

  “I want your name, too,” Dr. Jameson said, looking at Olaf.

  “I am Otto Jeffries, Marshal Otto Jeffries.”

  Dr. Jameson typed the name into his phone and then put it back in his coat pocket. He looked at us one at a time, studying us individually for a long time. It was like he was trying to weigh and measure our worth, or maybe he just thought if he looked at us long enough, we’d crack under his steely gaze. At least two of us looked at him calmly. Newman was having trouble with his blank cop face today.

  “Very well. If you give me a number to reach you at, I’ll let you know when the sedative wears off enough for Ms. Marchand to be able to speak with you, but only with myself and at least one nurse present. Is that clear?” He gave us his hard look again. It must have played hell on the nerves of his interns, but the three of us managed to remain calm.

  Newman gave him his cell phone number and mine as a backup. We got the doctor’s assurance that he would let us question Jocelyn when she woke up. It was the best offer we were going to get, so we took it and left.

  36

  “THAT WAS CLEVER,” Olaf said as we walked across the parking lot.

  “What?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “Do not be falsely modest, Anita. You made the doctor falter in his anger and listen to us.”

  “I thought you were just teasing him because you didn’t like him at first,” Newman said.

  “I wasn’t sure which way it was going to go either, honestly, but I was hoping I’d find a way to slow him down. Sometimes if you can trip people up verbally, it’s just like a foot sweep in a fight. You can make them stumble or lose their balance, and then you can move into the opening.”

  “Were you this good verbally when we met?” Olaf asked.

  “No, not even close.”

  “Good. I did not like the thought that my hatred of women caused me to miss that much of your skill set.”

  “You hate women, and you just told that to a woman?” Newman said.

  “I’m aware of how Otto feels about women,” I said.

  “We have no secrets from each other,” Olaf said, looking down at me.

  I met his eyes, shrugged, and said, “I guess we don’t.”

  “I feel like I’m missing something,” Newman said.

  “Oh, you’re missing tons of stuff, but it won’t help save Bobby’s life, so let’s just focus on that,” I said.

  Newman hesitated outside his Jeep and then finally shook his head. “Keep your secrets. Today I don’t care. Just help me find the real killer so I don’t have to murder Bobby.”

  “It’s not murder, Newman,” I said.

  “If I pull the trigger on Bobby knowing he didn’t do it, badge, warrant, legal system, none of it matters, Blake. If I kill him knowing he’s innocent, then I know it’s morally wrong, and that makes it murder in my book.”

  “We are not the murderers here, Newman. Whoever framed Bobby is the murderer.”

  “You will be the method of murder, not the murderer,” Olaf said.

  That made Newman and me both look at Olaf. “What?” Newman asked.

  “At the sheriff’s office, you said the murderer was using you to complete their crime. That makes you the method of murder, or the weapon that the murderer is using to kill his second victim, but you are not the murderer,” Olaf said.

  “He’s right,” I said.

  “I will not be the weapon they use to kill Bobby.”

  “Then let’s find out whodunit,” I said.

  “How?” Newman asked.

  “Ah, there’s the rub,” I said.

  37

  SHERIFF LEDUC MET us at the door to his office. “What the hell did you do? I got a call from a lawyer named Amanda Brooks telling me that we can’t execute her client.”

  “It’s a gray area, Duke. If Bobby is just going to sit in the cell for a while, then maybe he needs legal representation?” Newman said.

  “No,” Duke said. “No, he’s supposed to be dead by now, and dead men don’t get to call fancy lawyers to gum up the works.” He was up in Newman’s face, trying to put the brim of his Smokey Bear hat into his face the way he had with Deputy Rico.

  Newman stepped to the side so that Duke almost stumbled, as if he’d been using the hat brim as support. He walked farther into the room past the sheriff, and I followed in his wake. Leduc was so angry with Newman that he didn’t notice me. I got to see the rest of the room. Livingston was sitting in the client chair by Leduc’s desk, and Olaf was in the chair at the deputies’ shared desk. Kaitlin was leaning against the corner of the desk near Olaf. She had that friendly, relaxed look that some people get when they think their flirting is going well. Olaf was looking up at her. His expression must have been pleasant, or she wouldn’t have looked so pleased.

  Newman stayed near the door, talking to the sheriff. Since Olaf and Kaitlin seemed safe enough, I stayed near Newman in case he needed backup.

  “I’m sorry you’re upset, Duke, but it felt like the right thing to do.”

  “Doing your damn job is the right thing to do, Win!”

  “I was a cop before I joined the preternatural branch. I’m trying to still be a cop.”

  “You never stopped being a cop, Win,” Duke said.

  “I still have a badge, but that’s about the only thing that feels the same.”

  “Boy, you think too much.”

  Newman smiled, but not like he was happy with himself. “I know. My dad says I always have.”

  “If you know something’s a weakness, then you need to work on fixing it,” Duke said.

  “I don’t think it is a weakness. It’s just part of who I am.”

  “A lawman that overthinks will hesitate when it’s time for action.”

  “I’ve been in the field with Newman. He’s just fine when the shit hits the fan,” I said.

  Olaf stood, leaving Kaitlin in midflirtation. “Newman does not hesitate in the middle of a hunt.”

 
“High praise from the two of you,” Livingston said.

  “Praise where it’s earned,” I said.

  “Many of the newer marshals think and weigh their morals more than is good for them on this job, but Newman will fight when it is time,” Olaf said.

  Kaitlin said, “Aren’t we all supposed to use our moral judgment on the job?”

  “On your job, perhaps, but on ours it is better not to have them.”

  “Not to have what? You mean morals?”

  “Yes,” Olaf said.

  “But you can’t help having a conscience,” she said.

  Olaf smiled at her and didn’t try to push it up into the black emptiness of his eyes. She looked at him for a second and then shivered. His smile widened, but his eyes stayed the same: black and empty like the eyes of a shark.

  “You’re just playing with me, right?” Kaitlin asked.

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “You’re pretending, right? Giving me the dead eyes like some kind of psycho.”

  Olaf smiled at her, and this time it was one of his real smiles, not the one he’d been using to pretend to flirt with her. It was one of the smiles he’d given me over the years—the one that said not only was he thinking about you without your clothes, but what you’d look like after your skin came off, or maybe after he took a real bite out of you. That wasn’t his inner werelion talking. He’d thought shit like that long before he caught lycanthropy.

  Kaitlin’s eyes widened, her breath coming faster. I could feel her fear like something touchable that I could have dragged out of the air around her. I stepped between them, breaking their eye contact and taking her out of the game, because now Olaf was playing with her.

  “We’ll head back to the crime scene at the house. I need to check in with everyone,” Livingston said.

  Livingston hadn’t seen the look that Olaf had given Kaitlin. Olaf was good at hiding in plain sight most of the time. I gave Kaitlin a little push toward her jacket, which Livingston was holding out to her. She moved and took it from him.

  “Perhaps I could make an exception for you, Kaitlin,” Olaf said.