Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4)

by Alex P. Berg

  To Timmy’s right, a young bruiser wearing full fatigues and the now familiar white MP armband stood at attention. He eyed us and saluted as Blue approached, but otherwise he didn’t move. Sergeant Holmes saluted Agent Blue as well, making me wonder what the elf detective’s rank was.

  “At ease, Sergeant,” said Blue. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” he said. “A little sore, but far from the worst I’ve been through. The orderly said I’ll be released this afternoon.”

  Blue gave the MP bruiser a nod, which I gathered was his way of making sure the guy stuck to Holmes like glue.

  “Excellent.” Blue tilted his head toward me and Steele. “I’m assuming you remember detectives Steele and Daggers?”

  I took note of the order in which he named us.

  “Yeah. Sure,” said Holmes.

  “Good,” said Blue. “They’ve had a…development in their case, and they’d like to ask you a few more questions. I assured them you’d be amenable to that.”

  Timmy showcased his need for a thesaurus in his response. “Yeah. Sure. What do you need?”

  “Where’s the body, Timmy?” I asked.

  “Huh?” said the Sergeant.

  Blue snorted, almost imperceptibly. “Straight and to the point, I see.” Which he appended with a muttered, “Not that I expected anything else…”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  I’m not sure if curiosity or a desire to keep the peace motivated Shay, but she filled the auditory void before either of us could say anything else. “Sergeant Holmes, do you have any idea as to the identity of the man who died following his encounter with you earlier today?”

  The muscular guy shook his head. “No. I told you this morning. I’d never seen that guy before in my life.”

  “Are you sure the man was alone when he approached you?” asked Shay. “Did he have any friends nearby? Or anyone following him?”

  “What?” said Tim. “No. Why would he?”

  Shay clasped her hands. “Someone attacked him. If he approached you in the alley already wounded, there’s a good chance his attacker was nearby.”

  I forced my glaring eyes from Agent Blue to Timmy. He blinked and gave us a shifty-eyed sort of look. I don’t think he thought through his response.

  “The body, Timmy,” I repeated. “It was delivered to our morgue and now it’s gone. So where is it?”

  I didn’t think he’d know, just as I was sure Steele didn’t believe Lanky stumbled into Timmy in the alley as he’d claimed, but like my partner I asked anyway, partly because I had to and partly because it might grease Tim’s lips into letting something slip—or force the elf at my side to say something that might reveal more of what he knew and refused to share.

  “The name’s Tim,” growled the sergeant. “And I didn’t steal a body from your morgue, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “It wasn’t,” I said.

  Tim looked at me cross-wise. A voice from the stairwell diverted our attention.

  “Agent Blue?” The nurse from downstairs poked her head through the door. “A message for you, sir.”

  Elmorodil glanced at Shay and me, his brow furrowed. “I’ll be right back. Please refrain from any questions until I return.”

  He slipped off and disappeared down the stairs. I gave Shay a look. She shrugged in response. I couldn’t tell what she meant by that. Was it a shrug of resignation, or a complicit one, agreeing that we should ignore the guy?

  I took another look at Timmy and his impressive collection of bruises. The MP guard peered at me impassively. He didn’t seem to have any skin in the game.

  I figured a question or two unrelated to Lanky’s disappearance couldn’t hurt. “You suffer from vertigo, Tim?”

  “What?”

  “Vertigo,” I said. “A dizzying sensation, as if your surroundings are tilting or spinning.”

  “I know what it is,” he said.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Well then?”

  “No.”

  “You drink often?” I asked.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “When I’m off duty. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Big guy like you? Regular at the bars? You must be able to hold your liquor pretty well. And if your sense of balance is fine…”

  “I told you, I was drunk,” said Tim. “I fell down.”

  “I can’t imagine that happens a lot,” I said. “Or, you know…ever. Funny it should happen the same night a guy shows up dead.”

  I felt Shay’s light touch on my elbow. “Daggers…”

  The sergeant’s eyes narrowed, and I could hear his teeth squeak as they ground together. He sat up. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it, asshole.”

  Between the loss of our cadaver, the black cloud hanging over me today, and the whole Sweetcheeks Blue situation, I was already emotionally balanced on a razor’s edge. The punk-ass twenty-something’s mouth just happened to push me over.

  “Fine,” I said, slamming my hand into his bed frame. “I’ll say it. I think you’re a damned liar who beat a hobo to death, and regardless of whether or not that bastard deserved it, you can bet your sweet ass I’m going to come after you for it. Because if there’s anything I like less than murderers, it’s cocky SOBs who think they can get away with it!”

  The sergeant cocked his arm and leaned forward. The MP darted forward and pushed me back as he yanked on Tim from behind. At the same time, Steele grabbed my coat.

  “Daggers, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “This isn’t the precinct! You can’t do that!”

  “WHAT is going on here?” Agent Blue stormed back with perfect timing, the air around him crackling with ill-restrained fury.

  Sergeant Timmy pointed a finger at me. “This asshole tried to—”

  Blue silenced him with a glare. “I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting your uniform, soldier, even if you might not be wearing it at this moment. That includes your speech as well as your actions.”

  I dusted my jacket, feeling pleased.

  “And as for you—” Blue turned to me. “You need to leave.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. “Sergeant Tim and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Let’s go see if Kelly and Drake have anything useful to say.”

  “You misunderstand me,” said the army investigator in a slow voice. “You need to get off this base. Now. Go home and cool off. Or go to your station. I don’t really care. But I won’t have you here, insulting my men and picking fights with my charges.”

  He turned to Shay. “Detective Steele, I’m sorry it has to be this way. I’d still like to work together on this investigation, but if your partner can’t control himself, then I’m afraid that won’t be possible. At least not in face to face meetings, not with him present. Now, unless there’s some urgent matter to attend to before you leave…?”

  Shay shot me a chilling glance. “I understand, Agent Blue. I’ll have a word with Detective Daggers. Several, actually. All I ask is that you update us if you get any further information from privates Chavez and Delvesdeep. And, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could we have a copy of theirs, as well as Sergeant Holmes’, personnel files?”

  “Absolutely,” said Blue with thin smile and a nod. “We’ll stop at Admissions and Records as I escort you out.”

  The agent held his arm in the direction of the stairs. Under normal circumstances, I might’ve fought back against his commands, but for the time being, I was too preoccupied with Steele’s fierce scowl to care.

  16

  The shops and eateries that lined Ley Street stretched out before me, surrounded by clusters of humans and half-breeds chatting and smoking cigarillos and warily eyeing the clouds above for traces of rain.

  I barely saw them. A smug face with close-cropped dark hair and a jaw that looked as if it had been modeled out of clay filled my field of vision. The face sneered at me and lifted an eyebrow, taunting me with its elven perfection.

  I blinked
, trying to banish the apparition, but my own insecurities decided I hadn’t suffered enough. Agent Blue’s full form materialized, and the Captain appeared behind him. The bulldog clapped the elf on the shoulder, and I heard his gruff voice in my mind.

  Daggers. I assume you’ve heard the news, he said. Due to his exemplary performance on your most recent case, we’ve decided to bring Agent Blue on board. Of course, given his track record and education, I’m promoting him to a senior detective position, effective immediately. And he’ll need a partner. Someone worthy of his skill…

  I sucked air in through my teeth as Steele coalesced into form beside the pair. Blue smiled and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Daggers!”

  I felt my arm yanked to the side, and a rush of air flapped the hem of my coat. A rickshaw careened past, evoking a chain reaction of yells that started from the driver and spilled to the loiterers at my side before bouncing back to the patron in the back seat.

  Steele clutched my arm in a vice grip. Her eyes radiated concern. “Are you even paying attention?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “That answers that.” She let go of my elbow and shook her head. “Look, I know you’re the dark and brooding sort, but try not to get yourself killed, ok?”

  “Um…right.” I flattened my coat back into place.

  Steele’s boots crunched on the gravel underfoot as she started to walk again, and she shifted the manila folder with the files we’d received from the Admissions and Records office higher under her arm. “What in the world is going on with you today, anyway?”

  Where should I start? I wasn’t sure if I could successfully lie to Steele about such a matter, but I could at least obfuscate my root issues with partial truths. “It’s that Agent Blue. He’s in on it. And I don’t even know what it is yet, but he’s involved.”

  Steele rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

  “Yes, this again,” I said. “Think about it. Why else wouldn’t he allow us to speak with Privates Chavez and Delvesdeep? Unless, of course, he knows they know something he doesn’t want us knowing. Like, say, regarding the disappearance of Lanky’s corpse.”

  “Right,” said Steele. “Like how maybe Lanky was really an army special forces ranger who died after being injected with lab-grown mutagens that were supposed to transform him into a super soldier but instead killed him and now the whole army wants to cover it up.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Exactly. I mean…what?”

  “Oh, that’s not plausible to you?” asked Steele.

  “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

  “You think?”

  “Ok,” I said. “Why don’t you suggest a more rational theory?”

  “Ok. Here’s one,” said Steele. “Maybe—and I know this is a stretch—Agent Blue is actually telling the truth. Maybe he doesn’t like the fact that you’re throwing your weight around with the same enthusiasm as the insults you’re slinging, and that he can’t trust you not to instigate the army’s next major armed conflict. Oh, and that he just plain doesn’t like you because you’ve been an irritable ass around him.”

  I gaped at my partner. She didn’t believe all that, did she? Not the first parts. I’d intentionally acted like a force of nature in the Agent’s presence, for precisely the reasons I’d told Shay. I’d hoped to knock some truth off the walls by the gravity of my presence. No, I meant the last part. Was she really taking the pretty elf dude’s side? And more importantly…why?

  Steele took one look at my face and reacted accordingly. “Look, why don’t we talk about something else?”

  I nodded dumbly, unsure if I’d managed to ratchet my jaw up to its regular position.

  Steele stuck her hands in her blazer pockets—a move that seemed silly given the length of her coat sleeves—and glanced at me furtively. “So, anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever been to the Dogfish Club?”

  I wracked my brain. “Is that the place over on Wadsworth and 7th?”

  Steele nodded.

  I shook my head. “Not unless you count a stakeout I once had across the street from there. What about it?”

  “I’ve heard Marko Prizek is going to be there next week. Three nights only. Tuesday through Thursday.”

  “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

  “He’s a famous pianist,” said Shay. “Performs ragtime, mostly, though he’s been known to dabble in jazz every now and then.”

  I blinked.

  Shay’s brow furrowed. “What are you confused about? Ragtime? It’s a musical genre featuring a syncopated, ragged rhythm. Typically it—”

  I held up a hand. “I know what it is. I’m just blown away anybody still listens to that crap. I thought it went out of style a century ago.”

  Shay glanced at me, a slight crease in her forehead. She opened her mouth and took a breath, then closed it as she exhaled. “I… I mean, some people still like it.”

  “They must,” I said, “otherwise the Dogfish Club isn’t going to be in business much longer. So what did you want to tell me about this Marko guy?”

  Steele sighed and turned her attention to the gravel at her feet. “Nothing. Heard he was going to be around, is all.”

  I chuckled as a stray thought crossed my mind. “Hey, speaking of pianists—”

  “Stop it, Daggers,” said Steele, without looking my way. “I don’t want to hear any of your stupid jokes right now.”

  “Hey now, that’s not fair. I wasn’t going to make a dumb joke. I was going to share some choice tidbits about the origin of the piano which I thought you’d be interested in.” Which was a total fabrication. I did have a crude joke on my mind, one involving a genie and a miniature version of the aforementioned piano player. The joke absolutely killed the first time I told it to Quinto.

  Steele didn’t even glance at me.

  Following her lead, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and snorted. “And to think you’ve been bugging me about my attitude. What’s your problem all of a sudden?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped. “Let’s get back to the precinct, ok?”

  Steele surged forward, her legs carrying her at twice their usual rate, leaving me in the dust and wondering what exactly I’d done to piss her off.

  17

  Steele and I walked into the precinct, both of us still refusing to brush the encroaching winter chill from our shoulders. We sauntered past Rodgers’ and Quinto’s empty desks on our way to our own. When we arrived, Steele slumped into her chair and immediately flipped open the manila folder, glancing at the contents within.

  I collapsed in my throne and leaned back, glancing across the conjoined pair of desks at my partner. The folder obscured her face, though the voluminous hair treatment she’d undergone at least made it so I could see a wave of chocolate brown around the edges of the thick manila paper stock.

  Clever me, I gathered the placement of the folder wasn’t an accident. I rubbed my thumb against my index finger as I considered how to proceed.

  I went with the straightforward route. “So, what do you think we should do now?”

  “Isn’t determining that more your area of expertise?” The creased manila portfolio didn’t move. “My job is to make keen observations and look pretty.”

  I continued to rub my fingers together. With any luck, I’d start a fire, immolate myself, and never again have to try and understand the inner workings of the female mind. What did she mean by that last statement, anyway? Was she throwing something back in my face? I didn’t recall ever saying anything of the sort to her, or to someone else while in her presence. And wasn’t I the one whose day was turning out less than stellar? What did she have to be upset about, other than being subjected to the constant demands of my own waffling misery?

  I cached that last thought. It hit too close to home. “I…don’t recall anyone around here ever expressing that thought. Besides, I’m being serious. Do you have any ideas about where to point the investigation next, because I’m runnin
g low on ingenuity at the moment.”

  The manila folder remained immobile, but the voice that drifted over to my ears was decidedly less hostile than before. “I don’t know, Daggers.”

  Shay closed the folder and set it on the corner of her desk. She stood, neglecting to make eye contact with me. “I’ve got paperwork I need to catch up on. I’ll be back.”

  She strode off in the direction of the form office, leaving me to wonder what form, exactly, she intended to file. A 1053B? Not until we’d officially charged someone with the murder. Maybe a 799, but that could wait until the morning. I drummed my fingers on my desk, and after a minute or two of waiting, the truth dawned on me.

  She wasn’t coming back. Not any time soon.

  I felt a churning in my well of emotions, analogous to alcohol-induced stomach queasiness but not as frightening for nearby parties.

  I took a deep breath and quashed it as best I could. No worries. I’d survived life on the force alone before. Admittedly, my most recent stint between partners had left me a gibbering mess, but most of that had to do with the sheer amount of paperwork inflicted upon me by the Captain.

  I stood and stretched, glancing in the direction of Quinto’s desk. Unfortunately, the big guy remained invisible. I would’ve gladly bounced ideas off him—he, unlike my current partner, was almost always amenable to conversation—but as I stood there looking in his workspace’s direction, my thoughts drifted to Rodgers. Hopefully the cheery guy’s spirits wouldn’t be too negatively affected by the death of his relative, whoever it happened to be. Of course, he probably wasn’t the one who needed my thoughts the most. Poor Allison. I could envision her now, struggling to wrangle their two sprightly little ones without any help from Rodgers. I made a mental note to stop by her place later with some food—preferably something without any sugar in it.

  Determined to make myself useful—and keep any encroaching dark thoughts at bay—I headed back down to the morgue, where I found Cairny still poking at the corpse of the deceased drug addict. She’d peeled several more layers of flesh off the guy in search of who knows what, but for some reason the sliced up cadaver didn’t bother me as it had earlier in the morning.