Next, I grabbed a set of forceps. I took out one of the melted bullets, then followed it up with a starfish-shaped one, placing each one into its own Lucite tray. I inspected each object under the station’s microscope at low power, then I began with the melted bullet.
Any trace of rifling marks had been smelted away. I switched over to look at the other slug. The hollow-point bullet wasn’t melted into oblivion, but in this case any rifling evidence had been hidden under the slug’s natural crumpling.
I did find something interesting on the interior. The part of the crumpling that made up the ‘top’ of the starfish was silvery gray, while the ‘underside’ side of the starfish was mottled with orange flakes. The color differential meant that the bullets had a standard lead base, but carried the same mysterious flakes of material on the inside.
The question was, what were those flakes?
I waited until the spectrometer went ping as it finished its task. But the lab was in full use, and the computer that completed the analysis was backlogged with other work. So, I cleaned up the workstation and logged into the OME’s network. I punched in a request to have the results emailed to my work address and then headed up to my office.
The paperwork simply couldn’t wait any longer. I’d been lax in doing anything else besides filling out the latest work for Myun-Hee’s lab work. Groaning, I dove into things with a will, either consigning it to circular file oblivion or signing things in a blue pen blur.
I finally made a dent in things and worked my way back down to a folder that contained the latest information on the Cielo case. Which was inaccurate on its face. Whoever had opened fire on the policemen that day, this guy had already been dead. Still, I opened it and did my best to absorb what I and some of the other investigators had written up.
It wasn’t a thick file. The coroner that Myun-Hee had gotten to do Cielo’s autopsy had found even more gang-related tattoos on the man’s back, chest, and groin area. And he confirmed what I’d expected – that sudden impact trauma had been the cause of death. Jorge Cielo had been alive and kicking, right until he’d hit the pavement five stories below.
Once more a creeping feeling of unease grew in my gut. What had happened with the Gallitos enforcer, McClatchy, and the other people in the shoot-em-up on the front steps was bad enough. The death of the Quondam Seraphine was even worse. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were tied together in some nebulous way. But if I was the common element, why couldn’t I figure out what was going on?
Add to that the all-but-certain forgery involving Pirr’s messages. Both Thea and Galen were in agreement on that point. I couldn’t discount the fact that Korr himself could be responsible for its creation. He had the opportunity and the available materials. Maybe he even had motive, if he disagreed with the Quondam’s course of action.
I shook my head. It didn’t add up. Even if he had motive, there was no way he could have known about my reputation. And even if some unknown person had convinced him I was the right ‘spark’ for the job, why go through all the rigmarole? He could have just shown up in Fitzwilliam’s court himself and asked for my help.
The click in my head came bright and clear.
No, that forgery wasn’t meant to fool me. It was meant to fool someone else.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Forging the messages didn’t make sense at all.
Unless whoever it was wanted to fool Korr. It was meant to make him take action. But was that action to summon me out to the Vale of the Seraphine? Or was it to do something else?
I realized that I didn’t trust Korr enough to confront him with my suspicions. It wasn’t that he had done anything outside of species-centric snobbery, but it seemed obvious that he was single-mindedly fixed on one thing: the survival of his people. I suppose that I couldn’t blame him for that.
My phone rang, startling me. The number on the display screen told me that Naomi was on the other end of the line, so I scooped up the receiver.
“Dame Chrissie,” I said. Then I nearly bit my tongue as I realized my slip-up.
“Dayna, it’s Naomi,” came the brisk reply.
Luckily, Naomi hadn’t caught my error. ‘Dame’ and ‘Dayna’ probably sounded just similar enough to miss if one wasn’t paying attention. Thank my lucky stars for that one.
“Naomi, I was just planning on calling you.”
“Yeah, I heard. I’ll let you know when Shelly shows up, okay?” The sound of rustling papers came over the speaker. “I figured you were holed up in your office and wanted to make sure you didn’t miss the meeting.”
“Um, thanks. What meeting?”
“The department heads are calling an all-hands meeting about that incident with McClatchy, Sims, and the rest.” I heard her take a breath. “I’ve been hearing rumors about what they’re planning to drop on us. All I can tell you is...you’re not going to like it.”
I hung up the phone and then headed out to the OME’s main conference room as soon as I could. The elevator on my floor was down for maintenance, so I had to take the long way around to the stairs. I ended up arriving at the tail end of the crowd that had filed into the conference room. Clutching my folder in my hand like a good-luck talisman, I sort of slid-walked my way towards the side of the room.
Luckily, I found an unoccupied seat at the end of a row about three down from the back. I had to crane my neck to see the department heads as they gathered to one side of the stage, but it was easy enough to make out the big silver screen the facilities people had set up next to them.
Whispers of curiosity and concern ran through the crowd. Everyone had heard of the shooting that had taken place, and they sure as heck had to deal with the traffic the last couple of days. Conversations faded away as the Director of the OME, a silver-haired woman with a pinched-looking face, stood and walked to the front of the stage. A lapel mike glittered from where it had been clipped to her dress.
“Everyone, thank you for joining us,” she began. “I’ve just been informed that the extra security surrounding the OME will be withdrawn by early this afternoon. However, until further notice, the area between Second and Third will remain blocked off pending the conclusion of the investigation.”
She paused to let the audience absorb what she’d said. A couple of people seated nearby sounded relieved. Many more grumbled about their commute schedule being turned into hash.
“This means no walking between the Office of the Medical Examiner and LAPD headquarters. If you need to collaborate with LAPD, use an automobile and park in their underground garage. Even better, you have a telephone and a work email address. It’s a perk that comes with the job, so you might as well make use of it.”
Some muted laughter at that.
“Finally, the Chief of the LAPD is about to make a statement to the press. I’ll let him make the rest of the announcements.” She nodded towards someone in the back by the media room and stepped back.
The facilities people hooked in the local news channel through a series of hanging projectors and turned the room’s lights down to half. In a few seconds, it was easy to make out the podium set up on the same front steps that had been the scene of the shooting. The LAPD seal, its brightly polished scales of justice gleaming in the sunlight, took pride of place across the front of the stand.
A short man with a gray mustache that clung to a chiseled, care-lined face stepped forward, looking every inch the model policeman in his dress blue suit. His gleaming badge was matched by an equally polished name plate inscribed with the name Moreno.
I’d only met Chief Moreno a couple of times. My impression had been that he seemed tired of the job he’d been thrust into from the start. As far as I could tell, he’d stayed on simply to wait for the City Council to make its mind up about his replacement.
That’s when the sinking feeling started to really kick in.
“Good morning,” he began. “I would like to thank the mayor for the opportunity to lead one of the finest police departmen
ts in the country. It is no secret that I feel that policing is one of noblest professions that a person can undertake.”
Moreno went on in that vein for a while, but what really snapped everyone’s attention back to the screen was his next set of remarks.
“The attack that took place on these steps this past Monday continues to impact all of us at the LAPD. Two of our sterling members, Patrolman Novak and Lieutenant Ollivar even now remain in serious condition. And I must report yet more sad news. Assistant Chief Lucas Sims has died from complications related to this tragedy. Our thoughts go out to his family and friends, of which he had many.”
A startled, worried murmur ran through the crowd.
“Though our service is a noble one, it is also one that cannot rest or wait for grief to subside,” Moreno continued. “To that end, the Los Angeles City Council has unanimously selected someone to take the reins of our august institution in the midst of the crisis. Allow me to introduce my successor, Deputy Chief Robert McClatchy.”
There was a smattering of applause. I simply felt sick. In fact, I slumped in my chair, feeling oddly defeated, and yet responsible for the entire mess that had just blown up in my face.
The department heads each took turns on stage to remind everyone to be careful when returning home. To remind everyone that the case was still open and that others could be targeted. In fact, I was so lost in my own thoughts and worries that I didn’t even look up until I heard my name called out for the third time from the stage.
“Again, will Dayna Chrissie please join us up front,” the Director said into her lapel mike. She sounded ever so slightly ticked off that I hadn’t leaped to answer her summons.
By now, the flood of humanity leaving the room had started to die down. I was able to make my way to the stage without pretending to be a salmon swimming upstream to mate. But it didn’t make me feel any better as I noticed a couple of the department heads chatting in hushed tones. Of course, all conversation stopped as soon as they spotted me.
“I’m Dayna Chrissie,” I said, and the Director gave me the oh-so-genuine courtesy smile as a reward.
“Ah, good,” she replied, as she turned off her mike. “Do you have the preliminary report for the Cielo crime scene?”
I held up the folder I still had in hand. “We’re still waiting for some test results from the lab. Without Shelly Richardson, things have been moving slower.”
That comment redoubled the amount of muttered whispers between the department bureaucrats. Of course, that made my day even better.
“Very well. Take that report over to police headquarters, and do it ASAP. It will take a while for you to get through all the security.”
“Wait, what?” I asked intelligently. “Why do I need to go over there?”
A shrug was all I got in response. “Because Chief McClatchy has specifically asked for you to give him that report in person. And he wants that report as soon as possible.”
And just like that, I was set to visit the wolf as he settled into his brand new den.
Just my rotten luck.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Today was the day that the universe decided to make me a full-fledged Angelino. Like a lot of Los Angeles natives, I gritted my teeth when the traffic gods served up an extra slow commute. But now, I positively seethed over the time it took to go three blocks from the OME building to the LAPD parking garage. Molasses poured in an Illinois winter looked positively speedy by comparison.
The universe also decided to add insult to injury. As soon as I cleared the last ring of ‘improved security checkpoints’, I saw them start to disassemble the makeshift guard post and put away the traffic-directing orange cones. Of course, there were plenty of other obstacles I had to cross in order to get anywhere close to LAPD HQ. It made me wonder how the rank-and-file patrolmen even made it in to work anymore. Maybe they just stayed at work all week, sleeping and cooking off-shift in one of their break rooms.
Finally, one last traffic director waved me towards the entry ramp for the brand new parking garage. The garage had a disturbingly smooth look all over, as if it had been poured into a giant gelatin concrete mold and allowed to harden overnight. On top of that, they still hadn’t finished so much as painting the parking lines on the floor. So from ground level to top floor, people had stuck their cars willy-nilly along the sides of the wall or even kitty-corner on the curves.
I finally lost patience and took the ramps marked ‘DOWN’. These spiraled into the sub-basement floors where I found a spot on a level that had been left practically empty. Almost half of the lights hadn’t been hooked up yet, but that didn’t bother me. Aside from the security cameras, I doubted many car thieves were casing the LAPD’s lot.
The elevator from the lower levels had been installed only recently. So recently that the inside was perfumed with the heady vinyl and plastic scent of a new car. I tried to lock that happy scent in my mind as I got off on the bustling second floor. I made my way down a couple long corridors until I reached the executive assistant’s desk in the reception area. The woman at the desk reminded me of a much older version of Detective Vega, given the no-nonsense look on her face.
I looked around as I waited to be buzzed in. Just beyond the woman’s station lay a pair of gigantic entry doors, each emblazoned with an LAPD seal at least three feet across. A raspy buzz, a nod from the admin, and I pushed my way through.
The one time I’d met Chief Moreno up here, my nose had picked up the distinct tobacco scent of a recently puffed cigarillo. Since all LAPD buildings were officially smoke-free environments, Moreno probably had a whole humidor’s worth of guilty pleasure hidden somewhere in the office.
There was plenty of space to hide things in here, that was for sure. The Chief’s office wasn’t very deep, but it was as wide as a double-size hotel suite. In fact, the place came fully furnished down to the private washroom. The plush gray carpet had a stylized version of the LAPD seal woven in, making the place look more than a little like the Oval Office in the White House.
A set of chairs, coffee table, and sofa sat to the right as one entered, allowing for more relaxed conferences with up to five other people. On the left hung pictures of each Chief of Police until the present time. Moreno’s spot had been marked out on the wall, but it was still bare for the moment. And of course, silhouetted against the light from the window sat a massive double pedestal style executive desk.
Bob McClatchy sat with his back to me, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows as he chatting urgently with someone over the phone. I had my hand on one of the chairs in front of the desk before I noticed the two men by the coffee table in the conference area. They’d been sitting so quietly that I hadn’t seen them.
That wasn’t an accident, my mind insisted. That was the act of a pair of predators stalking their prey.
The two men did have a vaguely familiar, predatory look to them. The two had athletic, muscular builds, but their faces were lean to the point of lankiness. They wore nearly identical outfits: crisp white shirts, black ties, and suits the shade of freshly split slate.
One looked middle-aged, with a hint of frown lines huddling between his brows and silver-templed dark hair right out of a Hollywood casting call for a Secretary of Defense or Senator. The second was substantially taller, and might have been younger, but he had one of those strange faces where it was tough to pin down an age, and his hair had been cropped so close to the skull that it gave nothing away.
Where the first man’s expression was poker neutral, the other’s mouth curled up with the hint of a sneer. His pale eyes weren’t any more encouraging. In fact, I’d had warmer glances given to me by patrolmen when I’d kicked them off a crime scene so I could work.
I suppressed a shiver. Between their uncanny stillness and their slick gray suits, the two made me think of a pair of venomous snakes sizing up their next meal. I put that thought out of mind, chalking it up to the stress I’d been dealing with lately.
McClatchy set his
phone back in its cradle with an authoritative click. Then he swiveled around so that he could face me. Bob looked comfortable in the big chair. Too comfortable, in my opinion.
The silence drew on and threatened to get awkward. The two gray-suited men watched us playing the opening round of our little game with naked curiosity.
Bob finally decided to speak.
“It’s funny,” he mused. “So many people think that promotions are more trouble than they’re worth. That all it means is more problems for you to fix. I suppose there’s a grain of truth there. I’m definitely going to have to work on getting you to show up promptly.”
McClatchy was referring back to when I’d shown up late for my probation meeting. He wasn’t being petty – that is, he wasn’t only being petty. He was putting me on notice. Notice that he hadn’t forgotten how I’d humiliated him that time, albeit with help from a near-telepathic pooka.
“I got here as soon I as could,” I replied tartly. “There’s that little matter of extra security that someone’s decided to put up around the building. You wouldn’t happen to know about that, would you?”
I heard an amused snort from off to the right. McClatchy frowned at that, probably expecting more support for his attempt to browbeat me. He nodded off towards the source of the sound.
“I want you to meet my private security advisors,” he said. “They’re going to serve as my eyes and ears outside of the department.”
Just like Ollivar served as your eyes and ears ‘inside’ the department, I thought. But I put that out of mind as McClatchy got up and indicated that we should join them. Bob took a spot on the couch while I followed, nabbing a cushy striped chair directly across from the two advisors.
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