Obsidian Butterfly ab-9

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "Stop talking political rhetoric and tell me what the little shithead has done now."

  He smiled. "Okay. The men assigned to the case are one of those resources. He decided that I was best used at the police property room going over the items that we've confiscated from the victim's homes, and matching them to the pictures and video we have of some of the houses before the murders."

  "Pictures and videos for what?" I asked.

  "Insurance purposes. A lot of the houses hit had enough rare and antique pieces that they insured them, and that meant they needed proof that they had the pieces to begin with."

  "What pieces did you find in the last scene I was at, the one on the Ranch?"

  The smile didn't change, but the eyes did. They went from pleasant to shrewd. "It's not just that you're cute. I like the way you think."

  "Just tell me."

  "There were a lot of similar pieces since most of the people had collected things from this area, or the southwest in general, but nothing out of the ordinary. Except for this." He reached behind his back underneath the suit jacket and pulled a manila envelope out that must have been inside his belt underneath the jacket.

  "I knew you had to be wearing the suit jacket for some reason."

  He laughed. He unfolded the envelope and spilled out pictures into my lap. Half of them were semiprofessional shots of a small carved piece of turquoise. A glance and I wanted to say Mayan, Aztec, something like that. I still couldn't tell the difference at a glance. The second set were a few better shots of the object in the study of the man that had been killed. The one that had used salt to interrupt the critter. Then a series of Polaroids, taken from every angle.

  "You took the Polaroids?" I asked.

  He nodded. "This afternoon after he decided my best use was not at the murder site."

  I lifted one of the first series of pictures. "These are sitting on a wooden surface, much better light, natural, I think. Insurance pictures?"

  He nodded.

  "Who did it belong to?"

  "The first house you saw."

  "The Bromwells'," I said.

  He lifted another picture. "This one was from the Carsons', and that's it. Either no one else owned one, or they didn't think to get it insured."

  "Did the people who didn't try to get it insured, try to insure their other pieces?"

  "Yes."

  "Shit," I said. "I don't know much about this stuff, but I know that it's valuable. Why wouldn't they try to insure it, if they owned one?"

  "What if they thought it was hot?"

  "Illegal? Why would they think that?" I asked.

  "Maybe because of the two houses we can prove had it, their history of the piece -- where they got it and when -- isn't real."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Something like this doesn't just show up. It has to have a history if you want it insured. They gave their papers, what they'd been given, to the insurance company, and just a little investigation showed that the people that were supposed to have unearthed the piece, sold the piece, had never heard of it."

  "They refused to insure it," I said.

  "Yes." There was something in his face, a suppressed excitement like a kid with a secret.

  "You're holding something back. What is it?"

  "You know what Riker is?"

  "He's a pot hunter, an illegal dealer in artifacts."

  "Why would he be so interested in you and this case?"

  "I have no idea." I looked at the pictures in my lap. "You're saying that he sold these to the victims?"

  "Not him personally, but Thad Bromwell, the teenage son, he was with his mother when she purchased it. It was a present for Mr. Bromwell's birthday. They bought it from a shop that is a known associate of Riker. It takes pieces and makes them look legit."

  "Have you talked to the shop owners?"

  "Unless you've got a ouija board, we're not going to be talking to him."

  "He's the newest victim," I said.

  Ramirez nodded, smiling. "You got it."

  I shook my head. "Okay, Riker is unusually interested in the case. He wanted to see me specifically about it. At least two of the victims are people who bought one of his pieces. The shop owner that sold it is dead now, too." I looked up at him. "Is it enough for a warrant?"

  "We already searched his house. Riker's men are suspected in the killing of two local cops. It wasn't hard to find a judge that would give us a warrant on the crap they pulled out at Ted's house."

  "What the hell did the warrant give you permission to search for? They didn't mention stolen artifacts at Ted's house. They just pointed guns at us and said Riker wanted to talk about the case."

  "The warrant was to search for weapons."

  I shook my head. "So even if you found stolen artifacts, you wouldn't be able to use them in court."

  "It was just an excuse to search the house, Anita. You know how that goes,"

  "Did you find anything?"

  "A few guns, two without license, but the warrant didn't allow us to knock down walls or destroy things. We couldn't pull up carpet or pull down shelves, Riker has a secret cache of artifacts, but we didn't find it."

  "Was Ted with you on the search?"

  "Yes, he was." He was frowning now.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Ted wanted to take a sledge hammer to some of the walls. He seemed pretty certain there was a hidden room in the lower areas, but we couldn't find a way to open it."

  "And the warrant didn't allow you to tear up things," I said.

  "No."

  "What did Riker think of all the fun?"

  "He had his lawyer screaming about harassment. Ted got up in his face, not yelling, but in his face, speaking real quiet. The lawyer said he threatened Riker, but Riker wouldn't back it up. He wouldn't say what Ted had said to him."

  "You think he threatened him?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  It wasn't like Edward to threaten anyone, especially in front of the police. The case really was getting to him. "So what the hell are these little figures?"

  "No one knows. According to experts, they are Aztec, but very late period like after the conquest."

  "Wait a minute, you mean these were carved after the Spanish came and kicked the Aztecs' butts?"

  "Not after, but right about the same time."

  "Who was your expert?"

  He mentioned a name I wasn't familiar with at the university. "Does it matter who it was?"

  "I thought you were using Professor Dallas."

  "Marks thinks she's spending too much time with the unholy demons."

  "If he means Obsidian Butterfly, then I agree. Marks and I agreeing on anything. Jeez, that's almost scary."

  "So you think she's a contaminated source, too."

  "I think Dallas thinks the sun shines out of Itzpapalotl's butt, so yeah. Have you shown any of these pictures to Dallas?"

  He nodded. "The ones from the Bromwells'."

  "What did she say?"

  "That it was a fake."

  I raised eyebrows at him. "What's the other expert think?"

  "That he understands why someone would think it was a fake just from pictures. The figure has rubies for eyes, and the Aztecs didn't have access to rubies. So just from pictures, you might assume it was a fake."

  "I hear a 'but' coming," I said.

  "Doctor Martinez got to hold it in his hand, look at it up close, and he thinks it's authentic, something made after the Spaniards arrived."

  "I didn't think anything was made after the Spaniards arrived. Didn't they destroy everything?"

  "If these are authentic, then apparently not. Doctor Martinez says that he'll need more tests to he a hundred percent sure."

  "Cautious man."

  "Most academics are."

  I shrugged. Some were. Some weren't. "So let's say for argument's sake that Riker found these things, and he sold them to some people who knew they were hot, or suspected they were, and sold some to shops that passed them off
as legit. Now something is killing off the customers and following the trail back to Riker. Is that what he's afraid of?"

  "Sounds reasonable," Ramirez said.

  I started looking through the Polaroids. They were back and front shots, not great pics, but from every angle. It looked like the figure was wearing armor, sort of. Its hands held long thick strings of things. "What did Martinez say this figure's holding?"

  "He wasn't sure."

  There were people curled around its feet, but they were thin and sticklike, not fat and square like the figure itself. The eyes were rubies, the mouth open and full of teeth. There was a long tongue coming out of the mouth, and what looked like blood pouring from the mouth. "Nasty looking."

  "Yeah." He picked up one of the pictures from the sheet, staring at it as he spoke. "Do you think this thing is out there killing people?"

  I looked at him. "An Aztec god, as in the real deal, out there slaughtering people?"

  He nodded, still staring at the picture.

  "If you mean a real god with a capital G, then I'm a monotheist, so no. If you mean some kind of preternatural nasty associated with this particular god, then why not?"

  He looked up then. "Why not?"

  I shrugged. "You were expecting a definitive yes or no? I don't know much about Aztec pantheon stuff, except that most of the deities are big and bad and required sacrifice, usually human. They don't have much in their pantheon that isn't a major god. Something big and bad enough that you don't fight it, you just try and stop it with magic or sacrifice, or you die. And whatever this thing is that's been doing the killings, it's not that bad."

  I remembered what Nicky Baco had said, that the voice in his head was still trapped, that what had been doing the killings was just a minion, not the real deal.

  "You're all serious again. What did you just think of?" Ramirez asked.

  I looked up at him and tried to decide how much of a cop he was, and how much of a player he would be. I could never have told Dolph. He'd have used the info for strict cop stuff. "I have information from an informant that I don't want to name right now. But I think you need to know what was said."

  His own face was solemn now. "Did you obtain this information legally?"

  "I did nothing illegal to obtain this information."

  "Not exactly a no," he said.

  "Do you want it or not?"

  He took a deep breath and blew it out slow. "Yeah, I want it."

  I told him what Nicky had said about the voice and the thing being trapped.

  I finished with, "I don't believe in a real god, but I do believe there are things out there so terrible that once upon a time they were worshipped as gods."

  "Are you saying that we haven't seen the worst of it?"

  "If what is doing the killings is just a minion, and the master isn't up and around yet, then yeah, I'm saying the worst is yet to come."

  "I'd really like to talk to this informant."

  "You would be dandy, but Marks would have this informant up on charges so fast, we'd never find out what this person knew. Once you slap an automatic death sentence on someone, they tend not to cooperate."

  We looked at each other. "There's only one person you've talked to that has a rep to get himself an automatic death sentence. That's Nicky Baco."

  I didn't even blink. It wasn't like I hadn't known he'd figure it out. I was ready for it, and I'd gotten much better at lying. "You have no idea who I've talked to since I arrived. I've talked to at least three people that could be put up on charges with a death sentence attached."

  "Three?" He made it a question.

  I nodded. "At least."

  "Either you are a better liar than I thought you were, or you're telling the truth."

  I just looked up at him, giving him blank but earnest face. Even my eyes were quiet and able to meet his gaze, no flinching. There had been a time, not long ago, when I couldn't have pulled it off. But that was then, and I wasn't the same person anymore.

  "All right, if there is some sort of Aztec god out there, what do we do about it?"

  There was only one answer. "Itzpapalotl should know what this is."

  "We questioned her about the killings."

  "So did I."

  He looked at me long and hard. "You went without police backup, and you didn't share what you found."

  "I didn't find anything about the murders. She told me about what she told you, nothing. But when I talked to her, she stressed that no deity she knew of would flay people and keep them alive. Later I figured out that they were dead. She stressed that only through death could the sacrifice be a suitable messenger to the gods. She repeated almost word for word that she didn't know a being or god that would flay people and keep them alive. Maybe we should go back and ask her if she knows of any deity or creature that would flay people and not keep them alive."

  "Oh, you're inviting the police now."

  "I'm inviting you," I said.

  He started picking up the pictures and shoving them back in the envelope. "I took the pictures out of the property room, but I signed for them. I brought Doctor Martinez in to see the statue, but it was official. I haven't done anything wrong, yet."

  "Marks is going to be so pissed that you found out important stuff when he meant to just get you out of the way."

  Ramirez smiled, but it wasn't exactly a pleased smile. "I've got better than that. Marks will take credit for the brilliant idea of putting one of his senior detectives on special detail to investigate the relics."

  "You're kidding me."

  "He did send me to the property room to look at what we took from the victims' houses."

  "But he did it to humiliate you and get you out of the way."

  "But that's not what he said out loud. Out loud it's going to make him seem inspired."

  "He's done shit like this before, I take it."

  Ramirez nodded. "He's a very good politician, and when he's not on his right-wing high horse, he's a good detective."

  "Fine. You mentioned that I wasn't allowed on the murder scene either. What gives there?"

  "Well, we all thought you were still out of the game, but he got Ted and company excluded by getting the powers that be to agree that Ted hadn't been a big help on the case, and that without you, his newest expert, Ted wasn't necessary on the murder scene."

  "Oh, I bet Ted's going to love that."

  Ramirez nodded. "He was very ... unprofessional, or unlike himself when we searched Riker's place. I've never seen Ted so ... " Ramirez shook his head. "I don't know, he just seemed different, close to the edge."

  Edward had let a little of his real self peek out where the police could see. He had to be under immense pressure to be screwing up like that, or he thought that it was necessary. Either way, things were bad when Ted started losing focus and Edward's real self came through, accident or on purpose.

  The door opened, no knock. It was Edward.

  "Speak of the devil," I said.

  His Edward face had been on, and I watched it move like liquid into Ted, smiling, but still weary around the eyes. "Detective Ramirez, I didn't know you were here."

  They shook hands. "I was just filling Anita in on some of the things she's missed."

  "You tell her about the search at Riker's?"

  Ramirez nodded.

  Edward hefted a gym bag. "Clothes."

  "You didn't have time to drive from your house to here since the nurse called."

  "I packed the bag the night you went in the hospital. I've been riding around with it in my Hummer ever since."

  We looked at each other, and there was a weight of things unsaid and unsayable in front of company. Maybe it showed, or maybe Ramirez just felt it. "I'll leave you two alone. You probably have things to talk about. Mystery informants and things like that." He went for the door.

  I called after him. "Don't go far, Hernando. When I'm dressed, we'll go see Obsidian Butterfly."

  "Only if it's official, Anita. I go in, and we call for
uniform backup."

  It was our turn for solid eye contact and the weight of wills. I blinked first. "Fine, we go in with the cops like good little boys and girls."

  He flashed that warm smile that he could draw from his bag anytime he wanted, or maybe it was real and my cynical nature was showing. "Good, I'll wait outside." He hesitated, then walked back and handed the envelope Edward. He looked at me one more time then walked out.

  Edward opened the envelope and looked inside. "What is this?"

  "The link, I think." I explained what Ramirez and I had been discussing, about Riker and why he might be interested in the case on a very personal level.

  "That would mean that Obsidian Butterfly lied to us," he said.

  "No, she never lied. She said she knew of no deity or creature that would flay people and keep them alive. They aren't alive. They're dead. Technically, it wasn't a lie."

  Edward smiled. "That is cutting it very thin."

  "She's a nine hundred, nearly a thousand year old vampire. They tend to cut the truth pretty thin."

  "I hope you like what I picked out for you to wear."

  The way he said it made me start pulling things out of the gym bag. Black jeans, black scoop-neck T-shirt, black jogging socks, black Nikes, a black leather belt, my black suit jacket, the worse for being folded for two days, black bra, black satin panties -- Jean-Claude had been a bad influence on my clothing -- and under it all was the Browning, the Firestar, all the knives, an extra clip for the Browning, two boxes of ammo, and a new shoulder rig. It was one of the lightweight nylon ones with the holster itself angled for the front carry, downward draw that I favored. I always needed one with a very sharp downward angle to avoid scraping my breast every time I drew the gun. I'd found that the millisecond I lost from the angle was made up for from the second I lost every time I went past my breast and had the flinch reaction. Concealed carry is the art of compromise.

  "I know you like leather, but most of those would have to be tailored down for you. The straps on the nylon ones can be adjusted down smaller," Edward said.

  "Thanks, Edward. I was missing my rig." I looked at him, trying to read past the neutral baby blues. "Why this much ammo?"

  "Better to not need and have it," he said.

  I frowned at him. "Are we going some place where I'll need this much ammo?"