by Watts Martin
As they made their way out of the office back through the funeral home’s lobby, they passed by another man pacing in agitation. He headed directly to Barash’s office as soon as they were clear.
She turned to glance at the man—a Rilima, a black-furred squirrel—after he passed by, frowning. Then she murmured to Gibson, “Walk fast.”
His ears skewed, but he did as commanded.
She heard a cry of surprise from behind her a second later. “Swift!”
“Who?” Barash turned to the squirrel, puzzled.
“Run,” Annie hissed.
“Stop them!”
Barash seemed more puzzled than ever, but started to hurry after the two.
Gibson and Annie bolted for the door. Barash made an awkward—but successful—grab at the wolf’s tail, and she stumbled, losing her balance and toppling to the marble floor.
As Gibson scrambled to help her, Barash moved forward to grapple with the Melifen. The badger fought about as well as one might expect a middle-aged funeral director to do, but it was enough to keep the cat occupied for a few seconds.
Annie sat up, clutching her purse, and started to stand.
“Look out!” Gibson yelled.
Something hit her in the back of the head, hard. The world turned bright for a moment, then went black.
EIGHT
~
“Ann, Ann, Ann. You could never leave well enough alone.”
Annie heard the voice before her vision cleared. Then a sharp, throbbing pain lanced from the back of her head. She lifted her hand reflexively to rub at it—or tried to. Her hand only moved a fraction of an inch. She tugged both hands, but they remained immobile, something holding them together at the wrists. Against something.
As the fog lifted—even though it left the splitting headache behind—she focused, glancing from side to side quickly. Tied to a chair. A metal chair in an office. No, in a medical examining room? With a patient lying down on a table nearby. No, with a corpse. An elderly Vraini woman, being prepped for burial. She bit back a scream.
Walbin, the squirrel, sat in another chair facing her. “Go ahead, scream if you’d like. I don’t think Barash has an appointment for another 90 minutes, so get it out of your system.”
She glared at him. “You? You’re the one behind this all?”
He shrugged. “Runford and I are, yes. I suppose I should thank you, in a way. I’d thought it would be harder to detect if we were working in separate offices, but that just creates more of a paper trail for nosy L’rovri accountants to pick up on. We’ve done a lot better now that we’re working at the same place.”
“You tried to kill me!”
The squirrel lifted his brows. “That’s all you’ve got to say? You’re supposed to be squeezing me for my plans so when you make your heroic escape you know them all.”
“I already know them.”
He tilted his head, then shrugged. “I suppose you do, yes. You don’t have any proof, though. That’s what you were here to get.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the check stubs that had been in her purse. “These.”
Annie sagged.
Walbin shook his head, standing up and walking over to a counter. “I have absolutely no idea why Barash is keeping these. I told him to be careful. But you know how amateurs are.” He dropped the check stubs in a glass beaker, then struck a match and dropped it in with them. “There. That’s much more secure storage.” The paper smoldered only a second before catching aflame.
She groaned.
Walbin walked over to her again, and put his hands on his hips. “So, yes, I did try to kill you, multiple times. I knew you were too honest to bring into this, so I tried to keep you out of it. But you just. Wouldn’t. Go. Away.”
“I moved to Raneadhros to get away.”
He rolled his eyes. “I had someone watching you since we found out you moved here, and I wouldn’t have gone after you again if you hadn’t gone to the Guard.”
“I didn’t go to the Guard, they came to me, you idiot!”
He shrugged again. “The order doesn’t matter. You hooked up with that cat we have tied up in the next room—he’s as infuriatingly obstinate as you are—and at that point it was only a matter of time before you started putting pieces together.” He grinned. “That’s the reason I had the good fortune to catch you here, you know—I had to visit Barash. Because of all the trouble you’ve caused I need to keep reworking plans. We might not be able to send out any more furs for months.”
“So sad to hear that.”
The badger walked into the room, looking even more somber—funereal, she couldn’t help thinking—than when they’d met this morning. “Our other…prisoner is secure.” He regarded Walbin sadly. “Do you really think this is necessary?”
“Well, Bernard, I suppose we could just ask Miss Swift and Officer Scava nicely to stop investigating us and trying to destroy our joint operation, both our businesses and put us in jail for the rest of our lives.”
Barash sighed heavily.
Walbin waved a hand. “And why get squeamish now? You work with dead bodies all the time.”
The badger’s voice became sharp. “I don’t create them.”
“And you still won’t. To you they’ll just be two new customers.” He patted Annie’s shoulder.
She snarled, then looked up at Barash desperately. “Don’t let him do this. And don’t help him. Even if he’s the one who drives the knife in, that still puts you in a conspiracy to commit murder. Two murders, including one Guard. There’s still time to back out!”
The badger dropped his gaze to the floor, looking as if he were about to cry. “No, Miss Swift, there isn’t.”
Walbin snorted. “Bernard here is in this up past his ears, and needs to start finding us better…product as it is.”
Barash summoned the courage to glare back. “There’s a limit to how many of my clients can be talked into cremation, and I hardly choose who ends up there.” He pointed at the corpse.
“We are today. Maybe we should more often. And you needn’t worry about being stabbed, dear Ann.” Walbin cupped a hand under her chin and tilted her head up. “You have such lovely fur. We wouldn’t want to damage it.”
Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping.
Barash grimaced. “You know where the…appropriate supplies are. I’ll be in my office.” He shuffled out of the room.
“Please.” Annie hated that her voice had risen in pitch, but she couldn’t force it back down. “You can’t do this.”
“That’s such a tired line. Can’t you come up with something more creative? I’m disappointed.” Walbin started looking through drawers. “Hmm. I’m not sure I do know where the appropriate supplies are. I’ll be back in a moment.” He walked out of the room.
Annie bit back a growl, and tugged on her hands frantically. The bindings only got tighter, but they felt strangely soft. What the hell were they? Gauze strips? She should be able to rip gauze. But she didn’t have the leverage—or brute force—she’d need, and she couldn’t dig her claws into it.
She closed her eyes. Think, dammit. There’s got to be some way to either fight or talk your way out of this. No way to start either course of action came to mind. Her terror coalesced into a dark, furious anger.
“Ah, here we are,” Walbin’s voice came.
Annie opened her eyes to see him re-entering the room carrying an all-metal syringe that looked far more appropriate for sucking out organs than injecting anything. “They use formaldehyde for a lot of things in mortuaries as a preservative. And in hospitals, too, you know, for preserving medicines. It turns out that in small amounts—tiny, tiny drops mixed in with other things—it’s not dangerous at all.” He looked at the needle’s huge chromed body. “Now this amount, this is enough to kill a dozen people. Or more. I’m not quite sure, but it only has to be more than one, right?” He laughed.
“If I get free I’m going to rip your throat out with my tee
th,” she snarled.
“Why, Miss Swift. Weren’t you the one always fighting against that old L’rovri stereotype?” He lifted the syringe up and walked toward her slowly. “Die with your prized dignity intact.”
She heard the running footsteps a moment before Walbin did. He’d started to turn around when the instrument tray cracked into his head. He staggered backward, falling across Annie’s lap. Gibson smacked the back of his head with the tray again; the squirrel screamed, rolling onto the floor and dropping the syringe.
Walbin tried to push himself up again, using her foot as leverage. She narrowed her eyes, kicking him in the face with all the strength she could muster. He skidded backward with another scream, one of his flat front teeth flying in the other direction.
Gibson had already hurried behind the wolf to untie her hands. “I was awake enough to hold my wrists together at the sides when Barash was tying my wrists, so I could rotate them and get them free when he left. Are you all right?”
“Other than the headache, yes. You got that from a Nonni Dan story, didn’t you?” She pulled her arms free and got to her feet.
“Learn from the best, hmm? Speaking of Barash, I’d better grab him. Can you take care of Walbin?”
The wolf dropped her voice a full octave. “Oh, absolutely.” The squirrel had just made it to his feet, hand to his bloody mouth, but Annie stood between him and the door. She strode toward him, raising her hands to aim her claws at him, lips pulling back and a growl forming in the back of her throat.
His expression went through the reverse of the transformation Annie’s had a few moments earlier: anger shifted to sheer terror. “Stay back!” He raised his hands, scrambling backward toward the wall. “Stay away from me!”
She backed him against the wall, then grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him several inches off the ground with only one hand. She bared her teeth—not just the canines nearly as long as Walbin’s pinkies, but all of them—and snarled, a bass, bone-rattling promise of impending wounds.
The sharp scent of urine filled the air. Walbin’s eyes rolled back and he abruptly went limp.
She dragged him over to the chair she’d been in—still with one hand—and began tying him up. Gibson blinked three times rapidly. “I’m terrified yet strangely excited.”
Annie shook her head, but couldn’t keep a slight smile off her face.
The moment was cut short by the sound of the front door slamming. “Barash.” Gibson sprinted out of the room. Annie took a moment to grab her purse—and give the ashes of the check stubs a spiteful glare—and ran after.
By the time they reached the front walk, the badger was nowhere to be seen. “Come on,” Gibson groaned. “He wasn’t an old man but he wasn’t a world-class athlete.”
Annie shook her head, growling again. “Misdirection. He’s run out the back while we were running out the front.”
“Do they even have a back?”
“There’s always a back.”
Gibson spun around, then paused in mid-step and pulled out a pocket watch. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“We need to go meet Sinvy. Now. I don’t think he’s going to be the type to wait around if we miss our appointment.”
“What about Walbin?”
Gibson grinned. “Did you tie him up better than they tied me up?”
“I may have cut off his circulation.”
“Excellent. We’ll be back for him soon.”
“What if Barash comes back to rescue him?”
The cat was hurrying along the street already. “I’m fairly confident Mr. Barash is more interested in saving his own skin than Walbin’s. If you’ll pardon the expression.”
~
Sinvy had reached the hotel room before they did; as they walked down the hallway toward him, he had his own watch out. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “You’re five minutes late!”
“That’s it?” Gibson sounded surprised. “We made better time than I expected.”
The mouse glowered. “I thought you ran into trouble.”
“I do apologize. We got tied up.”
“Tied up? What could have been more important—”
Annie sighed. “We were literally tied up, Mr. Sinvy. Please tell me you found something.”
The mouse’s ears flagged, and he held up the briefcase he was holding. “Yes. I found something, by which I mean just what you asked for. Everything.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s the real ledger. The one that won’t match up with what Union’s been telling the Guard, showing different transactions with ESC.”
“ESC?”
“Hello? Eastern Shore Caravan.” He glanced down the hallway in both directions. “There are probably alarms going off everywhere already.”
“Then we won’t waste any time.” Gibson motioned them toward the elevator. “Time to go to my boss and hope she’s in a good mood.”
Sinvy’s ears and tail twitched. “In a good mood?”
“As they say, there’s a first time for everything.” The Melifen punched the first floor button.
“Why wouldn’t she be in a good mood? I hand her this and I lie low until you take down Union. Which I hope is today. In fact, why don’t Miss Swift and I stay here?”
“Because Captain Snow might have questions for you, and if we run into any villains on the way I want Miss Swift with us to snarl at them and make them faint. For such a reserved woman she’s got a fantastic snarl.”
As the elevator doors opened on the first floor, she tensed up, but no one stood there—at least no one that she recognized, or anyone unduly suspicious. She kept looking around the lobby, though, and kept looking out of the cab window after they’d gotten into the carriage the concierge called for them.
After five minutes of this Scava laughed. “You know, you’re going to attract more attention by doing that than you will be acting normally. And George, stop clutching your briefcase to you like it’s a long-lost lover.”
“It’s easy for you to be relaxed,” the mouse snapped. “You don’t have a huge criminal organization after you.”
“Huge? There’s Walbin, Runford, Barash, at least one person at Eastern Shore, and…anyone else?”
“I think there’s at least one more. And that’s huge enough, isn’t it?”
“We’ll manage somehow.”
The carriage stopped in front of the Guard station. Gibson hopped out and held the door open for Annie and Sinvy.
When they walked into the office, both Rowell and Ayalin stood behind the counter. Ayalin’s ears immediately perked up as he stood to face them—eyes entirely on Annie, even though he addressed Gibson. “Officer Scava. What’s going on?”
“We—Miss Swift, Mr. Sinvy here and myself—need to talk to Captain Snow about the Union Shipping case.”
Rowell cleared his throat. “The one you’re not on?”
“What’s he mean by that?” Sinvy looked alarmed.
“The one we’ve just cracked, thanks to the hard work and bravery of both Miss Swift and our original informant.” He patted Sinvy’s shoulder reassuringly.
Captain Snow opened the door to her office and stepped out.
Gibson immediately raised his hands. “Before you say anything, Captain, please look at Mr. Sinvy’s evidence.” He reached for the briefcase.
“Let me,” Sinvy snapped, swinging the case up onto the counter and opening it.
Snow glowered at Scava, but flipped through the ledger. “How did you get this?” she asked Sinvy.
“I work there. Uh, worked there. At Union. I’m an accountant.”
“And you’re our original informant.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you bring this to us earlier?”
“Because I expected what I gave you originally would be enough and that I wouldn’t have to be doing your jobs for you.”
Snow looked askance at him.
“Ma’am,” he added in a subdued voice.
“You wer
en’t coerced in any way into obtaining this.” She looked directly at Scava as she said that.
Sinvy shook his head decisively. “No. I mean, other than by the raid you guys did. I knew my identity as the leak wasn’t going to stay secret and it was pretty much either go to you and get you to put me in a damn safehouse like I keep asking for or die.”
She glanced back at him. “I don’t recall you asking for a safehouse.”
He jerked a thumb angrily at Scava. “I’ve been asking him since we met yesterday. The hotel room was great and all but I want official protection and that wasn’t it.”
“The hotel room,” she repeated slowly, looking back at Scava.
“So, Captain.” The cat gestured emphatically with his hands. “We’ve identified the actual people involved with this. Runford and Walbin are the masterminds at Union and a funeral home director named Barash is the source of the furs. Miss Swift and I have Walbin tied to a chair at Barash’s funeral home—”
“You what?”
Gibson lifted his brows. “Well, it was only fair. He had us tied up a few minutes before that.”
Her stare became more disbelieving.
“We don’t know where Barash is, though. You should probably start a search for him. He’s had about a half-hour. Well, forty minutes, now.”
Snow picked up the ledger and closed her eyes as if in pain. “Rowell, get this to evidence. Ayalin, coordinate with other Guard stations to start canvassing the area around both Mr. Barash’s funeral home and his own house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said, almost in unison. Rowell took the ledger and headed toward the back of the station.
Gibson beamed. “What should I do, Captain?”
“Officer Scava, you seem to have a grave misunderstanding of what ‘suspended’ means.” She kept her voice admirably level given how tightly she’d clenched her teeth. “Stay put and try not to do anything else that requires disciplinary action.”
He deflated. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
She pointed at a bench. “You—and you, and you—sit.” She pointed at Annie and Sinvy in turn, then stalked after Ayalin.
Annie and Gibson both sat down. Sinvy followed slowly, looking horrified. “Suspended? What does she mean, suspended?”