“Are you sure that wouldn’t trigger off bad memories, given Ulstair?” Viktor frowned.
I sighed. “You might be right. I don’t know. Let me feel her out. She seems to have put his death behind her, but you never know.”
Raven’s boyfriend had been kidnapped by a serial killer, and in the end, we found his body in UnderLake Park, near her home. We had found the killer, but the entire journey had been dark and the end, even darker.
After a moment, I said, “I’m not thrilled about taking on another serial killer case, I can tell you that.”
“Me either. We’ve had too many over the past year.”
“Yeah, and this one looks messy.” I stared at the blood on the living room floor. The carpet was saturated and stained, and there were splatters on the furniture, too, now that I looked closer. “Let’s take what seems important and get the fuck out of here.” I had the sudden urge to run, to get away from the house.
Viktor nodded. “Let me find a bag to carry things in.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a couple of large paper bags. We filled them with the laptop, the phone, as many letters and bills as I could find, and two pictures, including the one of Mendin and Candace. When we were finally ready, we headed out to the car.
Leela was waiting to lock up. I made sure she had the names of the cleaning company and the crime unit’s community liaison, so she could apply for reimbursement for the hazmat team. Once we were done, Viktor and I pulled away from the curb. I glanced back at the house. It had a forlorn look to it, and I wondered if Mendin was truly there. Had he been trapped, unable to move on given the violent nature of the crime? Finally, I pushed the thought out of my mind, because there was nothing I could do about it.
By the time we got back to the office, it was nearly three. We sorted out all the things we had gathered from Mendin onto the break room table, and Talia got started cataloguing them.
“If you can find the number of a woman named Candace, we think she might be Mendin’s girlfriend. I don’t know if she knows he’s dead, so be cautious if you call her. We don’t want to just drop a bomb on her. Also, sort out the movers with the landlady—she’s a bigot, by the way. ‘Cryptos make me uncomfortable,’ ” I said, grimacing. “But she’s working with us, so just…work around that. She needs to get a hazmat team in there, as soon as possible. There’s blood and tissue everywhere.”
“He was killed at home?” Talia asked.
I nodded. “Looks that way, unlike the rest. Okay,” I turned to Victor. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“We have an appointment to meet Isolde Adella, the fourth victim’s wife. Chaya and Isolde were married three years ago, and from the notes in the file, delivering the news about Chaya went about as bad as you can imagine. Isolde fainted, and when she came to, she was so broken up she could barely answer any questions.”
“Where are we meeting her?” I slid on my leather jacket. Even though it was sunny, I had learned the hard way to wear a protective jacket, if possible. I had been in too many unexpected fights to go in unprotected.
“Theo’s Coffee Bar. It’s only three blocks away, so I thought we could walk.” He picked up his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Coffee? I’m in for that.” I slid my backpack over one shoulder and we headed out, letting Angel know we were leaving.
Chapter Five
The streets were bustling. A group of wolf shifters on the corner were hustling for money, playing harmonica and guitar. They were talented, and I often stopped to listen to them and give them a few bucks. Last year, we had managed to rescue three young streeps from the streets, but there were always new ones to take their place.
“Hey bruddah,” one of the wolf shifters said, holding out his hand to Viktor as we passed.
Viktor high-fived him. “Yo, Pain, how you doing?”
“The usual. Looking for a flop to share. Till I find one, gotta box in the back.” Pain motioned to the alley. We’d asked him once where he got his name and he showed us a ten-inch scar on his leg where he’d been caught by an illegal trap when he’d been running in wolf form out in the forest.
I sighed, glancing at the other two shifters. Shayla, the harmonica player, was Pain’s pregnant girlfriend. “I take it she’s sleeping in the alley, too?”
Pain’s smile slipped and I could see it hurt more than his ego when he nodded. “Yeah. I make her as comfortable as I can, but you know the system. Too many in need, and not enough to go around. Until something opens up, being on a list for housing only means you’re a mark on a form.”
I pulled out my wallet. I was never afraid that I’d get mugged, not around the regulars who hung out on our street corner. I pulled out five twenties and motioned to Shayla, who waddled over. I pressed them into her hand. “Use this to get yourself a room over at Rayan’s House for Women.” I pulled out a card and gave it to her. “Call them. They’ll come and get you, since men aren’t allowed to know the location.”
Rayan Warren, a rabbit shifter, ran a shelter for homeless women. She charged fifty a week for a cot if the woman had the money to pay. If not, she still found a way to take her in. And if Rayan didn’t have room, she’d scour the town till she found someone who could foster the woman in need.
Shayla stared at the money, then smiled gratefully. “Thank you. It’s getting hard to move around much and sleeping outside is even harder.”
“That will cover two weeks.” I turned to Pain. “She’s carrying your baby. Don’t try to interfere. They won’t split you guys up—at least not your relationship. But Shayla’s health should come before anything at this point. No taking this money and using it for booze.”
Pain was an alcoholic, but he wasn’t so far gone that he’d put a bottle in front of Shayla’s needs. He bit his lip. “I promise she’ll call them today, right after you leave. Thank you, Ember. Shayla and my kid, they mean everything to me.”
Viktor pulled out his wallet and he handed Pain another fifty. “She needs a place to stay and food, and so do you. Same thing—use this for a flop and food.”
Pain saluted us as we took off again. I dropped a couple bucks in the guitar case for the other member of the band. I thought it might be Pain’s brother, but I wasn’t sure.
As we crossed the street, I glanced at the boutique shops. The lure of kink and booze ran rampant here, and while it didn’t bother me, sometimes I’d see a woman posing in the window and her eyes would meet mine, and I’d see how tired she looked, or how jaded. But at least sex workers were legal now, and they made enough to keep themselves off the streets. There were agencies devoted to helping the women—and men—find other lines of work when they were ready to move on.
Theo’s Coffee Bar was two and a half blocks away from the office. It was a pleasant little hole-in-the-wall, with a lot of vibrant plants vining up the walls inside, and a wide selection of sandwiches, soup, and pastries. I ordered a triple-shot mocha, and Viktor ordered a triple-shot caramel macchiato. He led the way toward a table near the window where a lone woman sat. She was tall and willowy, and had flowing blond hair tied back with a scarf.
She glanced up as we approached the table and motioned for us to sit down. After a moment, she dipped her head, then looked up. Her eyes were luminous and wet, and I could tell that she had been crying recently.
“Isolde Adella?” I held out my hand. “I’m Ember Kearney and this is Viktor Krason. We’re with the Wild Hunt.”
“I talked to you on the phone,” Viktor added.
She pressed her lips together, then finally sighed. “I’m not sure what help I can be, but if there’s anything I can do to catch…to find…” She stopped, a stricken look on her face. “I can’t say the words. I just can’t say the words.”
“I understand. We’ll try to be as quick as we can and if you need to stop at any time, just let us know,” I said, opening my pack. I pulled out my tablet, and as I noticed her reaching for her napkin to dry her eyes, I brought out a small box of
tissues I carried with me. I held it out and she took one, a grateful smile on her face. I set the box down next to her and returned my attention to my tablet.
“When did you notice that Chaya was missing?” I asked.
“Two days before her body was found. So…she was found a week ago Tuesday, that would have to be the Sunday before.” Isolde stopped, counting on her fingers. “That’s right, it was that Sunday. She went out for a morning run—she always liked going out early. When she didn’t show up for lunch, I thought maybe she had stopped somewhere on the way home for a bite to eat, or to talk to one of the neighbors. At one, I called her, but there was no answer. By three, I still couldn’t get hold of her so I checked the Find Friends app and it said she was in Maritone Park—a small neighborhood park about four blocks away. I drove down there and found her phone on a bench. That’s when I called the cops.”
“What did they say?” Viktor asked.
“They said maybe she took a break and forgot her phone.” Isolde shook her head fiercely. “I argued with them. A morning jog wouldn’t last that long, and Chaya was glued to her phone. She never went anywhere without it. They took a report and said they’d keep an eye out, but to call back if she was still missing by Monday afternoon. I begged them to look for her. They suggested I call all the neighbors, but I had already done that.”
I had encountered that before with the police department. The Fae did their jobs, but they were underfunded, understaffed, overworked, and tended to cut corners wherever possible.
“I did what they asked me to. I called all the neighbors again, and I walked her usual route. I didn’t find any sign of her. It was like she had just vanished off the face of the earth. By Monday morning, I was frantic. I called the cops again and they stepped up the investigation. The next day they found her body. And my whole world caved in.” Isolde teared up again, pressing her knuckles against her mouth.
Her pain hung heavy in the air. Love lost to murder had its own special kind of grief. I hated questioning victims of violent crimes because it felt cruel to make them relive their pain, but it was the only way we could find out anything to help.
“I’m sorry. If we could spare you this, we would. Do you want a break? Some more water?” I was ready to get her whatever she needed.
“No…I guess I have to be all right, don’t I? The only other option…” Her words drifted off as she hesitated.
“No,” Viktor said. “You need to be alive when we catch the bastard who did this. You need closure and justice for Chaya. And you can’t let her killer have a double victory. If you give up, you’re giving the killer that much more satisfaction.”
Isolde held his gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You’re right. If I give up, then he truly has won, hasn’t he?”
“What would Chaya say to you, if she were here now?” I asked.
Isolde sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “She’d say Don’t let him win. Don’t let my death be in vain. Find the fucker and destroy him.” She straightened. “I’ll be all right. What else do you want to know?”
“Did Chaya mention running into anybody creepy? Maybe someone who was watching her? We have five victims, and each one led vastly different lives,” Viktor said.
“Five victims? Chaya’s not the only one?” Isolde stared at us, wide-eyed. “So many… Chaya was always running into creeps on her runs. You know, the ‘Gimme-what-you-got-baby’ types. But she never mentioned anybody in particular who had been bothering her.” She sounded hesitant, then said, “There was one thing. Three days before she disappeared, she mentioned that she had stopped to help someone change a tire. She did things like that. Maybe somebody asked her for help and then yanked her into a van?”
“Did she happen to mention who it was?” Viktor was recording her and we’d translate the interview back at the office. I was taking notes longhand, particularly noting changes in Isolde’s demeanor—things that you couldn’t pick up on a recording.
“No, but Chaya was kind. She’d help anybody who asked. Well, within reason.”
“All right, so next question. The route she ran. Did she take that same route every day?”
Isolde nodded. “Yes. Chaya didn’t like changing her routine. She always ran the same route, she stopped at the same espresso stand for coffee—”
“What stand?” Viktor asked.
“The Grind House, down on Spring Street across from the Spring Street Mini Park. She runs past it every day, and usually stops there for a drink.” Isolde frowned. “Ran, I mean.”
“Did she have any other daily habits? What was her normal route?” I brought up a map of the Seattle area. “Where did she work?”
Isolde stared at the map. “Monday through Wednesday she worked for the Community Action Center, in the domestic violence unit. She helped women who need a safe place to stay. Thursday and Friday, she taught meditation and yoga at the Spiritual Bee—a metaphysical shop in the Viaduct Market. One Saturday a month she volunteered at the Golden Lasso Women’s Shelter. She manned the door.”
“What do you mean?” Viktor asked.
“Most shelters work this way. Though they try to keep their addresses private, there are times when some ex-boyfriend or abusive husband finds out where his girlfriend or wife ran to. Golden Lasso is a safe place and operates under a number of Sanctuary House rules, but for women of all races, not just Cryptos. Because of the danger of an abusive asshole trying to muscle his way in, there are two women on each shift—four shifts a day, around the clock—who guard the doors. All of the guards are trained in martial arts, and all of them are more than capable of taking down a grown man. Chaya could have taken you down,” she said, looking at Viktor. “She was that strong.”
“Did she belong to a magic guild? She was a bone witch. Was that innate, or did she study for it?” I asked.
“She was born that way. Few bone witches choose to learn their craft. As to magical guilds, no. Chaya didn’t like the elitist atmosphere and the snobbery so often found in the guilds. She was an outspoken advocate for revamping a lot of the rules of the local guilds and she did manage to antagonize a few of the local witches and sorcerers.” Isolde paused. “Could one of them be the killer?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want her to focus on an idea that might be false.
“I don’t know, but we’ll look into it. Right now, we’re dealing with multiple victims, and we have to figure out what ties them all together.” I pulled out a list of the murder victims and handed it to her. “Do any of these names ring a bell?” There was a small photograph by each name, along with a picture as they had looked when alive. She might remember a face where she wouldn’t remember the name.
Isolde studied the list. “All four of these others were killed by the same person who murdered my Chaya?”
Viktor shrugged. “We think so, but we’re not sure.”
“I don’t recognize any of them. I’m sorry, but neither the names nor faces ring a bell. I wish I could say yes.” She sounded wistful, a vulnerable, haunted look on her face. She wanted to help. I could tell that much. She wanted to find the freak who had murdered her wife and it was hurting her that she couldn’t do more.
I had a sudden hunch. “Isolde, did you and Chaya have an argument the morning she vanished?” I asked gently.
She froze, then her face crumbled and she began to cry. “How did you know? I’ll never forgive myself. The last thing I said to her when she left was, ‘Fine, if you’re that angry then just fuck off. Don’t come home till you’re ready to apologize.’ ” She leaned her elbows on the table, shaking. “The last words I said to her were angry ones. We had a rule about never going to bed angry, but I never thought… This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
And then she melted, arms folded on the table, head resting on her arms as her shoulders heaved. I swung around the table to sit next to her, gently resting my hand on her back. Giving Viktor a bleak look, I sought for something comforting to say, but there wasn’t anything that
I could think of to make it better. No matter what I said, unless we were ever able to contact Chaya’s spirit, Isolde would carry the weight of her guilt with her.
After a few moments, she raised her head, her face red from the tears. I handed her a tissue and she dabbed at her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like that.” She paused, then asked, “How did she die? The police just told me she was murdered.”
I thought of the torture that Chaya had gone through and shook my head. “Don’t think about it. Please. Right now, I think you should find a therapist who can help ease you through this. You’ve had a tremendous shock, and it would be good if you had someone to guide you through the next few months, at least. I’m sure Angel, the receptionist at our office, can help you find someone if you don’t know where to look.”
Isolde leaned back, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the back of the booth. “I know you’re right. I don’t know how I’ll manage to hold things together for a while.” She paused, then said, “We’re having the funeral service in a couple days. Chaya wanted to be cremated so we’ll be doing that. When I was at the morgue, all they would show me was her face. She looked so calm, so still.”
“The best thing you can do for your wife is to keep living,” Viktor said. “Hold tight to her memory. And talk to her—tell her everything you wish you had said instead of the argument. She’ll hear you. I know she will.”
“Thank you for talking to us today. We’d like to follow the path she took. You said she ran the same route everyday?” I said, pulling out my tablet and bringing up the Maps app. “Can you show us on here what that route was?”
Isolde nodded, studying the map. She traced out the route that Chaya jogged and I wrote down the streets and turns. After we finished, she gave me a long look.
“Thank you for caring. Thank you for trying to find out who did this to her. I think…” She paused, then said, “If you would have your receptionist call me with a list of therapists, I’d appreciate that. I don’t know where to begin.”
Sun Broken: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 11 Page 5