Murder, Magic, and Moggies

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Shaking my head, I got back to the matter at hand. It took a bit of searching, but I was able to find accounts of Besnick’s trial quickly enough. Photographs were not allowed in the courtrooms on Talisman, but a sketch artist filled in the visual blanks with pictures of the accused, the jury, and the spectators in the crowd. His photo-realistic style made out every skin wrinkle, every button, every texture of the fabric on the clothes. I found myself hoping the artist had gone on to a creative career where he could showcase his craft better.

  Luludja Stanka, aka Druida Stone, per her own testimony all those years ago, had been minding her own business in the Ministry of Justice’s canteen when she first encountered the Besnick Cartel investigation. A group from the ministry's Cryptography department had apparently brought their work to lunch with them. Talking about the complexities of the language they were studying upon entering the canteen, one of the interns let the file slip from his fingers. The report landed at Druida's feet just as she was about to put a spoonful of soup in her mouth. Druida bent down to pick it up for the researcher and spied the cipher: Trick Tongue. She recognized it immediately. The language was, after all, weaved deeply into her own family's history.

  So, in a forty-five-minute lunch break, Luludja Stanka managed to solve what the cryptographers had been working on for nearly eight months. After just ten minutes of reading through the cipher, Druida's translation was written in stone. Or, rather, on a napkin. Milosh Besnick was the Strands Kingpin, head of the Besnick Cartel, and Crow Isle in the Outer Coven Isles was his latest shipment location. And it was to be a BIG shipment.

  I also scrolled through some articles showing how Druida took the Nebula Dreddock approach to fame; lavish parties, endless interviews, a steely will to remain in the public eye at all times. Which, of course, is an appalling idea when you’ve disrupted the operations of one of the world's most dangerous organized crime outfits. That point was driven home by a car bomb that exploded a few minutes before Druida entered the vehicle. Obviously, the suits in Talisman had talked some sense into Luludja, because just two days after Milosh Besnick's conviction (which resulted in the richly deserved life sentence), Ms. Stone was reported dead. She allegedly fell from the ferry between Talisman and its neighboring isle, Bonemark. So began her new life as Druida Stone, head librarian of Gless Inlet.

  I sighed as I shut off the machine. At least now I knew how Druida had gotten mixed up in the Besnick case. But could Maude have been right about there being some vestige of the old cartel still out there? Were there any other Besnicks on Glessie? I didn't think so. Goddess, the rumors at the Fingernail Moon would have been flying by now if there were. I grabbed my purse and walked toward the Romani section. Maybe the murder scene could tell me more than what David's men came up with.

  Reg had a line of customers by the time I came back up front. I let him know I was done and he gave me a harried wave. I doubted he would notice that I had moved towards the still taped off Romani aisle, instead of the exit. The now-dried blood spatters on the carpet, and parts of the shelving brought a surreal shiver. Had it really only been two days since I was last here?

  I got down on my knees and scanned the shelves, peering under the very bottom ledge. Nothing. I suddenly wished I had one of the cats with me; maybe they could have sniffed something out. I checked the tops of all the volumes on the bottom shelf, but the only thing I could see was more dried blood. I sighed, about to get up on my knees, when, on an impulse, I ran my hand along the underside of the bookcase. I was about to give up and pull my hand away when I felt a tiny scrap of flimsy material. I hooked it out with my finger, bringing the fabric into the light.

  I stared at it. No bigger than the tip of my little finger, I could just make out a colorful pattern woven into the threads. It sparked something in my mind. I remembered seeing this before. Druida had been wearing it when we had the argument. I rummaged in my pocket for a clean tissue, and was about to fold the evidence carefully inside, when I noticed a pinkish fleck with a tiny prick of red clinging to the scrap of cloth. From what I could see, it looked organic. Flesh? I heard footsteps approaching, so I dropped the specimen into the baggie and made toward the exit.

  Bertha was dragging a mop bucket full of soapy water in one hand and carrying an old-school mop in the other. She had a different gaudy babushka scarf on her head today.

  “Blood is one of the toughest stains,” she grumbled. “I tell you, child, blood can be the trickiest thing to remove from fabric. Unless you can get to it straight away, you're almost certainly embarking on a losing battle."

  I stepped aside so Bertha could pass. “I tell the policeman to please hurry, get the evidence and let me clean. Longer the blood stays, the more it sticks. Oh no, says Mr. Policeman, I’m sure it’ll come up with a little elbow grease. Humph…maybe HIS elbow grease but my grease is drying up."

  “Why’s the area’s still taped up?” I asked. “They’re not—“

  “No, no, no, they finished this morning,” Bertha assured me. “This is so I know where all to look to get things clean again."

  “Well, I probably shouldn't be here, given I’m already a suspect for—“

  “Preposterous!” Bertha fumed. "The police should be questioning every person on the Isle; the old witch was disliked that much by everyone."

  She paused. "Artemus Caves, for example." She looked slyly out of the corner of her eye. By Brigid, this woman's such a gossip.

  "What makes you bring up Artemus?" I asked as casually as I could manage.

  “Young Master Artemus came by the last day you were here. The day Druida died,” she said while dipping her mop into the bucket.

  “Was this before or after I left?” I asked.

  “Oh, after, after,” Bertha assured me, mop sloshing on the tiled border surrounding the carpet. “Whenever he comes by, it’s usually close to closing time, and this day was no different."

  “Was there a confrontation?” I asked.

  “Confrontation, maybe.” Bertha said cryptically.

  “So you didn’t see them talking to each other at all?”

  The cleaner's eyes narrowed to venomous slits. She snapped, “Did I actually say that, child? No. Therefore, I must have seen them talking to each other or why else would I bother telling this story in the first place?”

  I said nothing.

  “Ahh, I am sorry, Hattie,” Bertha said with a sigh of her own. “Being cranky again, I know. But, even in death, Druida Stone still provokes anger in me.”

  “I’m guessing that Artemus was just as angry when he got to talking with Druida?” I asked, leaning against the shelf.

  “You could say that,” Bertha answered with a gritty laugh. “Never caught more than just the escalating volume of their words. Finally, the young master gave Druida a dressing down in what I’m fairly sure was full Gaelic. He stormed out shortly after…only…”

  “Only what?” I asked.

  “Only you can’t actually storm out too hard when you have a bad limp,” Bertha said. “He had a walking stick to help him with that. Looked fairly stout. Heavier than most canes, you know?”

  Bertha's eyes grew distant, “I started thinking about that stick when I saw some of the bruises on that foul woman’s body.”

  “You’re saying he could have been—“

  “I’m not really saying anything,” Bertha insisted. “Just that I can’t stop thinking about Artemus' cane since what happened here…happened.”

  I frowned a little. I could feel something tickling the back of my brain, but I couldn’t quite hit the target.

  "Well, I should be leaving." I reached out squeezed the old woman's arm. "Good luck with the cleaning, Bertha,"

  "Stay out of trouble, dear," she burst into a gravelly laugh, and I walked toward the Mason's front doors.

  The tickle in my brain erupted again just as I reached the exit. I turned on my heel and walked back to the desk. Reg was back to working through the stack of books.

  “Reg,” I
prompted him. “Is the microfilm still—“

  “Oh, I knew I forgot something!” Reg all but moaned. “Thanks for reminding me, Ms. Jenkins. I’ll go—“

  “Actually, I need to look at it one more time,” I told him quickly. “Just something I need to confirm.”

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Reg said distractedly, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen off the desk.

  It only took me a few minutes to scroll back through the sketches of the Besnick trial. Thanks to the stellar line work of the artist, I found the face I was looking for. I turned the machine off and made a beeline for the front door.

  “Thanks again, Ms. Jenkins!” Reg said, holding up the reminder note he’d made for himself about the microfilm.

  “No, thank YOU, Reg,” I said back with a wave and genuine smile. I felt that familiar excitement I get when a clue slides into place. Thank you, Bran. Thank you.

  Chapter 18

  Whatever one could say about Maude Dulgrey, our local coroner was an incredibly thoughtful hostess. A double-steeped, earthy Assam tea with two cubes of turbinado sugar stood waiting for me when I entered the examination room with Carbon. Maude had the usual treats for my moggie, so he trotted off to eat them in private.

  “As much as I enjoy your company, girlfriend,” Maude said while she looked over the minuscule piece of evidence I brought from the library. “You really need to see about getting a good night’s rest sometime soon. I don't need two zombies in this small space.”

  Hector groaned his objection as he placed a sheet wrapped body onto the slab.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, Hector,” Maude admonished the zombie. “You know I couldn't be without your quick wit.”

  Muerte’s answering groan sounded suitably mollified. He turned and shambled off to complete whatever other task lay ahead.

  “Well, I can definitely tell you that the fabric scrap is silk. And, judging by the pattern, I'd suggest it was either a head or neck scarf. Or maybe both,” Maude said. “I’d need to run a DNA test to confirm that Druida had been the one wearing it, but..." she peered through the microscope again.

  “I guess you'll do the same thing for the piece of flesh, or whatever it is?” I asked.

  “Indeed. But I thought I'd try a more direct method of confirmation first to see if a hunch of mine is on point.”

  Holding the flesh scrap between a pair of the tiniest tweezers I'd ever seen, Maude walked gingerly over to the table and pulled the sheet back from the expired Druida's head. She nodded as soon as she put the piece of flesh next to the ear.

  “I wouldn’t call it an exact match,” she said as she let the sheet fall back down. “But it’s enough of one to make me want to get confirmation.”

  She dropped the skin specimen back into the petri dish. Carbon, whose breath reeked of tuna by this time, jumped up next to Maude and peered over her shoulder. Maude reached round to give him a little cheek rub.

  “Would you mind…?”

  Carbon tapped his claws against the counter, and a quick spark of blue flame went through the tips of the forceps. Maude examined his work with a critical eye and nodded.

  “Thank you very much, Carbon,” she said politely. “Sterilizing these things can be time-consuming.”

  “Well, Maude, as much as I'd love to offer my cleaning services, I'm afraid I now have to turn my attention to security."

  Maude arched an eyebrow. "Security?"

  "Boiler security," Carbon confirmed, jumping down from the workstation.

  "Ahh, yes, of course. Well, once you've secured the boiler room, I'm sure you'll be needing a good nap after."

  "Like, duh!" my kitty shouted over his shoulders and disappeared like smoke under the door.

  I was about to tell Carbon off for being so rude, when, out of nowhere, Hector appeared. He took hold of my arm. I looked down at his hand holding me and then his other hand came into view. He was holding a small slip of paper. I looked up at him, and he urged me with his milky eyes to take his offering. I took the note and Hector shuffled away once more. Maude was busy staring into the microscope again, so I took a quick peek at the communication. What I saw when I opened the note wasn't anything I expected to see. On the creamy paper was a beautifully detailed illustration of Grandma Chimera's applewand. Below the transfixing image was a sentence in Futhark:

  "Unlock the wards, Unleash the power given to mortals by Fae kind.”

  I looked around for Hector. He was heading out the back door with some bio-waste. But, before he walked into the night, the cauliflower-eating zombie turned and gave me a wink!

  I tucked the note away in my pocket just before Maude said, “I could also do some sympathetic necromancy on these two,” she said, oblivious to the silent exchange that just took place. “May actually tell me more than the DNA tests could. Of course, I am going to have to tell Chief Trew where exactly these bits came from.”

  I felt my stomach tense up again. “I’m already enough of a suspect, Maude. I’d rather—“

  “Oh, do relax, Hattie,” Maude said with a good-natured chuckle. “I’ll tell him it came from the scene but that it was just something that got lost in the evidence shuffle. Happens all the time around here, trust me.”

  Then giving me a mischievous look, she added, “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t covered for you already this week with that little field trip to Crow Isle.”

  I guess that my face did something else that denoted my fear because Maude gave out a full-fledged cackle. “Untense, girlfriend. Sure, Portia Fearwyn told me all the details, but neither of us is about to tell anybody else.”

  Given that Portia was likely the source of the note Hector had just given me, I was a little unsure if Maude DID know all the details.

  “Do you have any idea how Portia managed to get access to Crow Isle?” I asked. “After all, I went to a bit of trouble to get there myself.”

  “Some things, you’re better off not knowing,” Maude replied. “When it comes to Portia’s business, I’ve found that an excellent policy to follow. Besides, seeing as the evidence she helped you gather is giving us a clearer picture of the crime you’re suspected of, what does it matter really?”

  “Well, that’s assuming your theory about there still being a Besnick in the area is right,” I said back.

  The ghoulish coroner shrugged. “That sort of thing is your business, dear. Mine is examining bodies and the detritus that surrounds them at the time of their deaths. If I do happen to find anything else interesting, would it be alright if I called you on your cell?”

  “Please,” I said. With anyone else, I would have been concerned about someone in authority giving both me and my informant grief over access to private information. But most people, including those in authority, liked to stay as far from Maude Dulgrey as they could. Being happy in your work when that work is examining dead bodies will do that.

  Eclipse was waiting for me outside as I walked out. He gave me an expectant look and I showed him a couple of kitty treats I'd procured from Carbon's stash when he wasn't looking. They disappeared faster than fog in the path of the morning sun. He practically smacked his lips while we walked along together.

  “Has Maude switched up her stock?" He licked his lips with enthusiasm. “Those are heavenly.”

  “Heavenly enough to justify helping me out with our next stop?” I asked, looking down at my memory-destroying kitty.

  “More than,” he assured me. “Carbon will be staying the night, I take it?”

  “Put it this way,” I said. “Better that a few memories get wiped than half the block gets burned down.”

  "True dat," came my cat's reply.

  I walked up the flight of stairs to Druida’s old flat. The dress shop below had gone out of business the year before, but the owner had still been eking out a small bit of income from Druida's contribution as a tenant. I hoped that the owner had managed to build some good savings from Druida’s residency here.

  As expected, the apartment was taped u
p and a constable was watching the door. Given what I had seen through the window just a minute ago, I had a pretty good idea as to why.

  “Sorry, miss,” a familiar voice said as I got close. “But I’m afraid that you can’t—“

  That’s when the constable recognized me. “Ms. Jenkins?”

  “Yes, Constable Phillips, it’s me,” I said back, hoping he didn't see my fiddling around with an item in my pocket.

  “What in the blazes are you doin’ out this time a’ night?” he wondered. “I knows the scuttlebutt ‘round the station is that you’s and the Chief are speakin’ ‘gain but—“

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that I was just out for a stroll?” I asked with a sigh.

  “I’m ‘fraid that line’d only work if’n you’s out in the open, like,” Phillips said with a smile. “This is about you clearin’ yer good name, eh?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I am that obvious.”

  “Nah, can’t say I blame you terribly,” Phillips said with genuine sympathy. “Much help as you’s give our little department, it’s a crime itself that you’s get suspected a’, what you call it, first-degree murder.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Constable,” I said with a smile that I hoped dazzled him.

  I had to buy at least a little time. I hope this works.

  I kept up the act. “But, I guess that still means I can’t—“

  “Drew this post as a punishment detail,” Phillips said. “If Chief Trew knew you’s be let in by yours truly…”

  “Worth a try,” I said with another shrug. “Well, I’ll not bother you any further, Constable. Good night.”

  “Night, Miss,” Phillips said with a polite tip of his hat.