by Amir Lane
Sabine’s office door was closed when we arrived back at the precinct, and Kieron and Indira were both missing. The coffee pot was empty and there didn't seem to be much point in making some myself, not when we could all still smell Kieron’s coffee over the smell of printer ink from a cartridge that had exploded before I started working in Special Crimes. No coffee I made would compare to his. The office was quiet save for the click of keyboards and the whine of that same printer. Rowan hummed to himself, bulky headphones covering his ears, a song I didn’t recognize. It settled some of my worries about him. Whatever was going on with him couldn't have been that bad if he was humming.
We didn’t talk for a while, focusing on our paperwork. The sooner we finished it, the better. I wanted a new case, something that would actually get me somewhere. I wasn’t like those guys who paraded around the precinct bragging about their big bust — at least, I tried not to be — but I wanted to make sergeant one day. That wasn’t going to happen when my biggest close of the day was illegal love spell sales. I wanted a case like the phoenix’s murder.
As if sensing my thoughts, Rowan stopped humming and looked up at me from over his bulky computer screen. He hung his headphones around his neck.
“You know what keeps bugging me?” he said. “If you’re killing a phoenix, why take the time to gouge out his eyes? I get gutting him. I maybe even get taking a couple organs. But the eyes? That was some surgical precision; that would have taken time. Why risk him coming back while you’re doing it? I mean, I don't know how long it takes for them to spontaneously combust, but why risk it?”
An irrational urge to jump up gripped me. I had to hook one of my ankles in the leg of my chair to keep myself down. Rowan was thinking about it too. That meant I wasn’t being irrational and overthinking it. I leaned in, glancing around to make sure nobody was within earshot.
“And why tell us not to investigate?”
Rowan’s dark eyebrows went up.
“What?”
“Sabine told me we weren’t opening a case on this.”
He frowned and sucked his cheeks in, making his cheekbones look even sharper. Rumour had it he’d had some work done to get that bone structure. “You don’t get that kind of look from hormones alone,” one of the women in Organized Crime had told me in the locker room. I didn’t know if that was true or not, and I didn’t care. It wasn’t any of my business any more than it was anyone’s business that I’d had work done on my nose. Everyone in Lebanon had work done, sue me.
“Why would she say that?” he asked in a whisper that sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me.
I shrugged. “No body, no crime.”
Rowan slapped his hand on his desk, his lips pressed into a tight line.
“That’s a bullshit line and you know it, Fairuz. Isn’t that why you left Homicide? Because of all these ‘no body’ cases getting shoved off on those Missing Persons’ dipshits and forgotten about?” he hissed with such venom that I raised my hands and leaned back.
“I know,” I said. “Rowan, I know. I’m not saying there’s no crime here. That is part of why I left homicide. That was Sabine’s logic.”
He let out a shaky breath that had me wondering, again, what had happened to him. What he’d left behind. Where all those scars had come from. He drummed his fingers against the side of his desk. It was probably the only spot not covered in paper.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “But… I don’t know. Maybe she’s got a point. Between you and me—” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “— I hear they want to shut down the department. Our close rates are too low. Plus, you know Inspector Vance and Sabine have ‘interpersonal differences.’ He hates her.”
I almost rolled my eyes. They were always saying that. I’d been hearing those same whispers for years, since before I’d even joined Special Crimes. But since most people were ‘special’, having a team that specialized in those cases had always been an asset, even if we didn’t technically close much. Besides, a department couldn’t get shut down over ‘interpersonal differences.’
I clicked my nails together.
“Then we just need to prove they need us.”
The thing that had worried my mother most about me dating a white girl was the cooking. Arab mothers were like Italian mothers in that they both seemed to have that belief that if their kids weren’t eating at that particular moment, they were starving. She didn’t care about my dating women. In fact, she’d been thrilled about the prospect of picking out two wedding dresses when I eventually — if ever — got married. She’d always wanted more daughters. Dad was just happy I was dating someone with a medical degree, one way or another. He always called her by her full title, Assistant Medical Examiner Doctor Ariadne Starpert, when he talked about her. I swore, that was going to be in his wedding toast. “I remember the first time Fairuz brought Assistant Medical Examiner Doctor Ariadne Starpert home…”
That was assuming we actually got married. We weren't at that discussion yet, even after all these years.
Dad wanted me to be with a doctor, and Mama wanted me to be with someone who could cook. Ariadne fit both. It certainly helped that she made me happy.
I’d stopped at the pool on my way home, and the chlorine that clung to me even after I’d showered was the only thing I could smell until I stepped inside. Ground beef and spices hit my nose, almost making me wish I hadn’t agreed to meet Oscar tonight. I didn’t know why Ariadne didn’t just move in with me. She was here all the time anyway, and I couldn’t imagine it was entirely comfortable to be roommates with your boss, even if you were also friends. I would never want to be roommates with Sabine, though I wouldn’t consider us friends, either.
After dropping my gym bag by the front door, slipping my boots off, and hanging my jacket on a hook, I made my way into the kitchen. Ariadne was in front of the stove, singing along to the radio sitting on top of the microwave. Her chestnut hair was tied up in a messy bun, showing off the bird tattooed on the back of her neck. I wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the black ink. She smelled like sharp, acidic chemicals. Was it sad I didn’t mind it anymore?
“How was work?” I asked.
She turned her head and kissed me. “Same as usual. How was work for you?”
“Same as usual.”
We never talked much about work unless something had happened. Both our jobs were, in a word, disgusting, hers more than mine. I didn’t want to hear about who she’d cut up, and she didn’t want to hear about disemboweled phoenixes. I was tempted to talk about Sabine making me drop the case, but I had to get ready to meet Oscar, and if I started talking about it, it would just make me angry. Though the smell of her cooking made me reconsider dinner again.
“You got my text? About me going out tonight?” I asked, dropping my chin to her shoulder.
“I saw it. I still need to eat, though, and I like having your kitchen to myself. I’ll make you some for your lunch tomorrow.”
I leaned forward to kiss her again. How had I gotten so lucky?
I was still in my work clothes, which were now slightly rumpled from being shoved in a locker. As much as I tried to look nice for work, it was hard sometimes when I didn’t know if I would have to chase someone down that day. So I actually looked nicer when I wasn’t working; dark jeans and a silk shirt instead of slacks and a button-up, a collar necklace and big turquoise earrings, deep purple lipstick and more mascara than entirely necessary on top of my usual foundation. My towel-dried hair fell into its natural mess of curls and got caught on my rings.
It wasn’t a crime to want to look nice, and it made me feel good when Ariadne whistled at me on my way out the door. Instead of my usual flat boots, I pulled on an insensible pair of high-heeled leather ones that were going to get me killed one day. I’d paid an absolutely ridiculous amount of money for them and I wasn’t going to not wear them any chance I had.
The restaurant Oscar and I agreed to meet at was a quick half hour drive from my
house. I was glad I’d made a reservation; the place was packed. The hostess, a bubbly brunette, led me to a booth at the back. I sat in the corner that faced the long walkway and angled myself toward it. The washroom was on the other side of the wall pressed against my shoulder. I could see the emergency exit back the way we’d come, but I couldn’t see the front door. There was one booth behind me.
Oscar was half an hour late. I was already on my second tea and checking my emails on my phone when he finally sat down. I almost didn’t recognize him. He’d gained weight, lots of it, and his salt-and-pepper hair was mostly salt now and thinning on top. The lines in his face were set deeper than I remembered. Had it really been that long?
We made small talk for a while. He asked about Ariadne, I asked about his wife, Marrianne. The waitress who had introduced herself to me as Stacy took our orders, a stuffed Portebello mushroom burger for me and a Greek salad with chicken for him.
“Trying to watch the cholesterol,” he said, patting his chest. He folded his hands together and leaned forward the way he did, suddenly serious. I didn't appreciate him turning the tactic on me, though it could have been more habit than anything at this point. “Enough of this small talk. What’s going on that you need to see me for?”
Of course he would ask me that. It couldn’t be a coincidence that after so many months, I’d suddenly decided I wanted to meet up. I caught the start of a sly smile on his lips and felt a little less bad for it.
“Have there been any weird cases at your end of town?” I asked.
“Like what?”
I paused when Stacy came back with our food. The smell of those potato wedges made my stomach growl and reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch.
“Like… weird.”
“Fairuz, it’s Toronto. There’s no such thing as a case that isn’t weird.” Oscar stabbed his fork into a piece of lettuce like it had offended him. Considering I’d never seen him eat a vegetable in the two years we’d worked together, I could imagine salad for dinner was taking some getting used to. “There was a John Doe last week, siren kid with his teeth pulled out. Both sets. He had all these weird marks on him.”
I raised an eyebrow, thinking of Indira’s missing siren.
“What kind of marks?”
“It looked like he’d been strung up with thick barb wire. Deva —” Deva Jhaveri, the medical examiner and Ariadne’s boss and roommate. “— says they’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What about missing organs?”
“Lung and liver,” he said through a mouthful of salad. “He was all cut open, guts everywhere. Almost looked like an animal attack, if the animal had a medical degree.”
“Medical degree?” I repeated.
“Yeah. Cuts were surgical. Precise as shit.”
Stacy returned long enough to leave me ketchup and vinegar for my potato wedges. I squirted a generous amount of ketchup onto a clean spot on my plate and took a bite out of my burger. It tasted even better than it smelled.
A siren with missing teeth and organs… Could it be a coincidence? I swallowed down the burger and washed it down with some tea.
“What about a phoenix?” I asked slowly.
“Phoenix?” Oscar rubbed the stubble forming in patches on his chin. “No such thing as phoenixes, Arshad. Only thing like a phoenix I’ve heard of is a body over on Elsmere Avenue. The body apparently went right up in flames. Dunno how much I believe it, though. Probably some kind of fire witch set it or something.”
“That was my case. It wasn't a fire witch.” I didn’t want to get sidetracked over it. “What happened with the siren? Why didn’t I hear about that?”
Oscar shrugged and opened the package of dressing, pouring it all over his salad.
“Higher-ups wanted to keep it hushed up. Crimes that can’t be solved aren’t good for public image. Remember those girls who went missing back when you started? That got buried when the leads dried up, too.”
I remembered that case. It hadn’t been mine, but it had given me nightmares for weeks. All I’d been able to think about was what had happened to them.
“Can you excuse me? I need to make a call.”
Oscar nodded, and I slipped out of the booth with my jacket. By the time I stepped into the cold, my phone was already ringing. Rowan answered on the third ring.
“This’d better be important. Hey, slow down a sec, babe, I’m on the phone. What?”
My face and neck heated up at the realization that he wasn’t alone. I hadn’t known he was seeing anyone. He'd never struck me as the kind of guy who had flings, either, but the truth was, he was careful about what he gave away.
“I think there’s more to this phoenix thing than we realized. I want to find out what. Are you in?”
On the other end of the line was the creak of bedsprings and a girl’s voice saying something I couldn’t make out. He replied to her in a language I didn’t understand, probably the same one that had been on that sticky note on his desk. Maybe the phone number was hers. He switched back into English.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m in.”
Chapter Four
The only thing worse than being right when you wanted to be was being right and not being able to do anything about it.
And I was right about this phoenix thing being bigger than Sabine was making it out to be. It wasn’t a simple case of No body, no crime. It might have been a stretch, but I couldn’t believe the phoenix and the siren were unrelated when the similarities were so… similar.
“Maybe someone just really hates these two particular guys,” Rowan suggested while we took a coffee run. “I mean, the phoenix thing looked pretty personal.”
I didn’t want to talk about this in the precinct. There was something about the way both cases had been brushed aside that didn’t sit well with me. It would be one thing if they were open cases, or if there even were cases at all. But nothing had been opened on either. The siren, even after confirming it was the missing kid Indira had been looking into, was being considered an accident. An accident. I had seen the crime scene photos, and Oscar was right. The cuts made to his body were surgical. It was no accident.
I took a sip of my coffee and mulled over Rowan’s suggestion. There were no coffee shops close enough to the precinct to walk to aside from the Tim Horton’s down the road, so we were walking the block to avoid being overheard.
“Doesn’t this seem excessive? Like overkill?” I said. “We could be looking at a serial killer, but nobody is saying it. People always jump to say it, why not now?”
The police didn’t, but the media certainly did. This should have been more than enough of a connection. Rowan shrugged and took another sip of his own coffee.
“Maybe it’s only the two. Technically, the phoenix wouldn’t count, so if there’s only the one, it’s not really a serial,” he said.
“And that’s enough reason to call the siren an accident?”
After a moment of contemplation, he shrugged again. I didn't know if that meant he agreed with me or not. We were at the precinct now, so I didn't ask. The elevator was packed, and we took the stairs to the second floor.
Even though I'd done nothing wrong, I felt guilty when I saw Indira. I’d been hoping he hadn’t heard that the siren was the one he had been looking for yet, but the look on his face told me he had. He must have only just found out. There was still snow in the blue and black feathers slicked back over his head, suggesting he hadn’t been back long. Kieron had a similar expression.
I didn't know what to say, so I sat down at my desk and said nothing. Before I had a chance to so much as log back into my dinosaur of a computer, Sabine whistled and pointed two fingers at me.
“Arshad, office.”
Rowan and I exchanged glances. Panic crept into my stomach. Did she know I hadn't dropped the phoenix thing? Maybe Oscar had called her. No, he wouldn't do that. Oscar knew to keep his mouth shut. I hadn't explicitly told him to, though, and as much as I trusted him, I wished I had.
Sabine didn't indicate for me to close the door, so I didn't. I pressed my nails to my thigh, hoping she couldn't sense my anxiety. It might have been about time for me to lay off the caffeine a little. She moved back behind her desk, her glasses in place, and sorted through the folders on her desk. She picked one out and handed it to me without looking up.
“Organized Crime has been tracking a werewolf fighting ring and they finally have a location. They’re requesting backup, now.”
That was better than being yelled at. I frowned.
“It’s the middle of the day, and the middle of the lunar cycle,” I said.
“Not all werewolves need a full moon. Go! And take the tree.”
“You mean Rowan?”
She looked up this time, her stern expression making me stiffen. There was never any softness in her granite face.
“Who do you think I mean, Harper?” She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. “Yes, I mean Rowan.”
It definitely made more sense to bring the dryad than the kitchen witch, but what did I know? Rowan worked out as much as the rest of us — the Diversity Division beat out every other department when it came to the sports — but none of us had Kieron’s bulk. I certainly never felt like I was lacking backup with him.
Still, it made more sense to take a barrier witch and a dryad to shut down a werewolf fighting ring.
I left Sabine’s office with the file, motioning to Rowan. He got the message and grabbed his jacket.
We took his car so he could drive while I thumbed through the slim file. We weren’t even going to be closing anything, we were just the muscle. Unbelievable. I closed the folder and set it on my lap, watching the city rush by us. With the siren and lights going, it didn’t take us long to reach the decrepit warehouse. I shrugged my jacket off and tied my hair up as Rowan slid in between two cruisers.
“Why is it always abandoned warehouses?” I asked, shutting the car door behind me.