Lord of the Wings

by Donna Andrews

  “Probably not,” Michael said. “And we have other things to do. Let’s make tracks.”

  Chapter 9

  We slipped out the front door just as Dr. Smoot was scurrying down the walk to fling open the front gates, and although I felt like a salmon swimming upstream, we eventually fought our way through the crowd of ghosts, pirates, zombies, and ghouls to our car.

  “Of course, you do realize that now he expects us back to finish the tour tomorrow morning,” I pointed out.

  “I’m sure we can think of some emergency to postpone it,” Michael said. “Better yet, when you get a chance to send your photos to the chief, send Smoot a copy, too, and tell him that it would be so much more helpful, since he’s the expert, if he wrote up the descriptions.”

  “I like the way you think,” I said.

  Michael dropped me off at the school, where I reclaimed my car. He was due back at the college to teach his afternoon classes.

  “A pity the college turned down Randall’s proposal that they give the students today and tomorrow off so they could join the celebration,” I remarked.

  “They didn’t actually turn it down,” he said as he kissed me good-bye. “They just pretended not to have ever received it. Much more tactful that way.”

  With that he drove off to the delights of Drama 350 (Advanced Theater History), Drama 380 (Script Analysis), and Drama 730 (Graduate Vocal Technique). I hopped into my car, pulled out my notebook, and began adding items to my day’s to-do list.

  My phone rang. Looking at the length of my list, I wasn’t sure whether to welcome a distraction from it or worry that the call would add to it.

  It was Chief Burke.

  “Meg? Are you still out at Dr. Smoot’s?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve finished up there and I’m back at Caerphilly Elementary, picking up my car. What’s up?”

  “If you can spare the time, would you mind dropping by my office? I could use your help.”

  Did he mean that literally, I wondered? Or was “I could use your help” a euphemism for “I want to chew you out for butting into my case.” The way “helping the police with their inquiries” often seemed to mean “being interrogated as a really suspicious person but not technically under arrest … yet.” Or—

  “Meg?”

  “On my way in a sec,” I said. “I was just trying to calculate an ETA. Normally I’d have said I can be there in five minutes if you like, but given the crowds, I suppose I’d better double that estimate.”

  “Avoid the town square if you don’t want to quadruple it,” the chief said. “We’re having a bit of a problem down there. Vern’s arresting some people who are running around without costumes.”

  “I thought the town council vetoed Randall’s suggestion that we require everyone to wear costumes,” I said.

  “By without costumes, I actually meant without any clothing whatsoever,” the chief said. “Apart from some remarkably extensive tattoos. We do have statutes against public nudity.”

  “Roger,” I said. “Okay, I’ll take the long way round to avoid the copiously inked streakers and see you as soon as possible.”

  I did a quick calculation of the route least likely to take me past any crowd-pleasing attractions and set out. I was delighted when I managed to reach the police station in only nine minutes. And as I strolled into the station I realized that while I was still a little apprehensive that I’d done something to irk the chief, I was also elated that I might have a chance to find out what was happening with his murder investigation.

  “He’s waiting for you,” said a voice from the Jabba the Hutt costume that occupied most of the space behind the front desk. “Go on back.”

  “Thanks,” I said, while trying to recognize the voice. Clearly not one of the sworn officers, since the chief had vetoed Randall’s suggestion that they be allowed—or even required—to wear costumes on duty during the festival. Probably one of the volunteer auxiliaries, or even a member of my Goblin Patrol, helping out while all the officers dealt with the arrest of the clothing-impaired tourists. I gave up trying to identify Jabba and just waved as I went past.

  The chief was sitting in his office, frowning down at a piece of paper.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Our prisoner isn’t talking much,” he said. “In fact, I think he said more to you when you captured him than he’s said the whole time we’ve had him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m not going to fault you for talking to someone you didn’t know was a suspect in a murder we hadn’t even found yet. And thank you again, both for spotting that little scrap of paper at the body dump site and for not just picking it up and handing it to me, the way some people would.”

  “Body dump site?” I echoed. “Does that mean he was killed elsewhere?”

  “Not enough blood and … er, other tissue at the scene, according to Horace and your father,” the chief said. “Someone killed him elsewhere, drove to the edge of the parking lot, and dragged the body into the woods a ways, presumably to delay its discovery. Or possibly because it was convenient on his way to breaking into the zoo.”

  “So you think it was Justin Klapcroft who killed him.”

  “Too early to tell.” The chief sighed and rubbed his temples. He looked exhausted. “The evidence is against him. But if he did it, he’s one heck of an actor. Tell me, does the name Arabella Walmsley mean anything to you?”

  “Arabella Walmsley? Yes, of course,” I said. “Though it wouldn’t have an hour ago.”

  “An hour ago?” The chief sat up straighter and looked a lot less tired. “What happened an hour ago?”

  “Michael and I went over to the Haunted House and took pictures of everything—remember?” I gave him an overview of our visit and the details on Arabella’s connection to the museum through her namesake.

  “Interesting,” he murmured.

  I waited a moment to see if he’d explain. And then I gave up waiting.

  “Interesting how?” I asked.

  “We didn’t find any identification on our murder victim,” he said. “No wallet, no phone—we’ve sent his fingerprints to AFIS to see if they have him on file, and I borrowed a digital photo technician from your brother to clean up our morgue shot of the victim so we’ll have something to give the newspapers if we need to ask the public to help us identify him. But we did find this in his pocket.”

  He handed me a photocopy of an article from the Caerphilly Clarion. The headline read “Tragic Death of Richmond Resident with Caerphilly Roots.” I scanned the article. The first paragraph reported the scant details of Arabella’s death—she was the victim of a hit-and-run a few blocks from the hotel where she’d been staying in San Francisco. In typical Clarion fashion, the rest of the article focused on her connection to Caerphilly, with much the same information I’d heard from Dr. Smoot about Billy and Arabella Pratherton, and the present-day Arabella’s generous donation to the museum. I’d be willing to bet that Dr. Smoot was the reporter’s main source.

  “So I wasn’t lying when I told Dr. Smoot that there might be a connection between his burglary and the murder.” I handed the article back to the chief.

  “Although precisely what connection I haven’t the slightest idea yet,” the chief said. “For that matter, I’m still trying to figure out how the scavenger hunt fits in. So tell me again about your encounter with Mr. Klapcroft. I want to know everything he did and said.”

  I followed orders. When I’d finished, he nodded slightly and handed me two more papers—photocopies of the small folded paper that Vern had taken from Justin’s pocket and the scrap I’d found near the body.

  “What do you make of these? Mr. Klapcroft refuses to tell me anything about them. Even tried to deny that he owns one of them.”

  “And you reminded him that Vern took it out of his own pocket?”

  “Claims he picked it up somewhere intending to recycle it.”

  “Ho
w civic minded of him.”

  “Hmph!” He looked down at his notebook. “‘Just one of my tasks,’” he read. “‘If I finish the first set of tasks by midnight, I advance to the next round.’ And when you called it a game, he said it was an adventure.”

  “And a quest,” I reminded him.

  “It looks as if he was almost finished with his day’s tasks. His cell phone contains a photo of him eating a small cricket—he’s got that as his wallpaper or whatever you call what you see when you turn it on. He’d also completed the tombstone rubbing—we found it in a knapsack that he hid in the shrubbery behind the reptile house, near where he gained entry to the zoo. And we found one of those tiny apple-sized pumpkins at the bottom of his knapsack.”

  “So he was taking care of the last two tasks when we tackled him,” I said.

  “But he won’t tell us anything else,” the chief said. “He continues to assert his right to an attorney, and since he doesn’t know any, I’m trying to scare up a court-appointed one for him. Which is not going to be easy. Two of the public defenders chose this week to take vacation, and the third’s in Richmond representing a client who’s in court down there.”

  “You’d think the PDs would have realized that this might be a busy time for them,” I said.

  “I think they realized it all too well and fled town.”

  “Don’t you have a roster of local lawyers you can call on to do pro bono work?” I asked.

  “Yes, and we’re working through it, and as soon as we actually reach one who’s in the same time zone as we are, we’ll demand that he or she come down here to represent Mr. Klapcroft.”

  “Can’t you get the paperwork you need to check out his cell phone?” I asked. “I’d be astonished if he hasn’t called, e-mailed, or texted anyone about this scavenger hunt thing.”

  “I agree,” he said. “Assuming we’re ever allowed to get into it, the phone could give us a great deal more information. I’ve asked Judge Shiffley for a warrant. She’s thinking about it. We’ll probably get it eventually, but you know the judge. Big on protection of privacy. Likes to think through all the ramifications, and I suppose in her view, since we have the kid in custody, there’s no big rush.”

  “Of course, that’s assuming Justin’s the killer,” I said. “If he’s not—”

  “Precisely,” the chief said. “There could still be a killer out there, and even if there isn’t, these players are potential witnesses in a homicide, and I want to talk to them ASAP. Get the word out to your Goblin Patrol members about these lists. If I had unlimited personnel, I’d have officers watching all the town cemeteries to watch for people doing grave rubbings, and more officers patrolling the perimeter of the zoo, to catch intruders. And have them keep their eyes open for people eating insects and stealing pumpkins, and if any more fake body parts turn up to frighten the tourists, I definitely want to hear about it.”

  “Already on my list,” I said. “And just so you know, Grandfather’s sending out an urgent call to the members of Blake’s Brigade. He’s going to put them to work patrolling the zoo.”

  “Good,” the chief said. “How many of them does he expect?”

  “With the Brigade, you don’t always know till they show up,” I said. “They’re all volunteers. But his friend Caroline Willner has already said that she can come to help out, so if the turnout is light, she’ll start twisting arms and drumming up participation.”

  “Excellent,” the chief said. “Maybe you can have them concentrate on the zoo, and leave your Goblin Patrol for the town proper.”

  “And the Haunted House,” I suggested. “It’s connected somehow.”

  “Blamed if I know how,” the chief said. “None of the tasks seem to have anything to do with the Haunted House.”

  “None of today’s tasks,” I said. “But we only have part of that second list. What if it starts out with ‘steal something from the Haunted House’?”

  The chief nodded.

  “You know,” I mused. “If everyone playing the game is supposed to break into the zoo today, after the first few who get caught, it gets increasingly difficult. They’ll be tripping over each other.”

  “Although that could be part of the game,” the chief replied.

  “It could,” I said. “But it’s also possible that different players have different tasks. We know Justin’s task number five was to steal a pumpkin, but the murder victim was supposed to take a selfie with a bat. Was that an older list, or a different list? What if some other players’ assignments for today included covering their entire bodies with temporary tattoos and walking around in the town square with no clothes on?”

  The chief’s eyes narrowed at this.

  “We don’t know that the people Vern’s arresting are wearing temporary tattoos,” he said.

  “But we don’t yet know that they aren’t,” I said.

  The chief brooded on this for a few moments.

  “That makes sense,” he said at last. “It’d be a good way to organize this thing. Make up one list for each day it lasts. Say three days, for today, tomorrow, and Halloween itself, since most of the trouble started after midnight last night. And assign the players to three groups, so they’re not all doing the same crazy things on the same day.”

  “But they all have to do the same crazy things to win,” I said. “That sounds fair. So we not only have to watch out for people doing the crazy things we already know about from Justin’s list and the scrap I spotted, we also have to watch out for people doing other, similar crazy things from the rest of the murder victim’s list, plus who knows how many other lists we haven’t yet seen.”

  “Blast!” the chief exclaimed. Since that was about as bad as his language ever got these days, I assumed that he was definitely not amused.

  “I’ll also tell my Goblin Patrol to be alert for people who appear to be consulting lists,” I said. “And to try to get their hands on the lists if they see one.”

  “And I’m going to make a few calls for reinforcements,” the chief said. “Several local jurisdictions have agreed to send a few extra officers to deal with the crowds. Though none of them can spare many—they all know they could have problems of their own this weekend.”

  “But let’s hope we’re the only one with a murder,” I said. The chief winced and nodded at that.

  It occurred to me that having Halloween fall on a Saturday was potentially a boon for the Halloween Festival, since it could significantly increase attendance. But for law enforcement, the increased crowds could mean an exponential increase in the amount of crime and trouble they had to deal with.

  “And then I’ll have to make another round of calls to all those lawyers,” the chief muttered. “At least the ones who haven’t already told me they’ve left town till the craziness is over.”

  “Could I make one more suggestion?” I asked.

  The chief nodded.

  “Let’s call Rob about this.”

  Chief Burke looked pained.

  “Meg,” he began. “I know that technically your brother is an attorney, but, while I don’t want to cast any aspersions—”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you should call him about representing Justin,” I said. “Because yeah, he is only technically an attorney and he’d be the first to admit that he’s barely ever practiced. No, I meant about this game.”

  “You think he might know something about it?”

  “Unlikely,” I said. “Because I think even Rob would have the common sense to realize that this could be a very bad thing for the festival.” At least I hoped he did. “He’s very keen on the festival—he’s even working as part of the Goblin Patrol. I think if he knew people were planning this, he’d have warned them, and if they went ahead, he’d have asked me what to do. But just because he might not know about it now doesn’t mean he can’t find out about it. After all, he owns a computer game company. Which means that over at the Mutant Wizards office he has dozens of people who do nothing but think about games.”
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  “Their own games,” the chief said. “Doesn’t mean they know about this one.”

  “They might,” I said. “It’s called competitive intelligence. If someone invents a game, they all want to know about it, so they can invent one that’s bigger and better and sells more copies.”

  “So maybe someone on his staff has heard of this game?”

  “Right. And even if none of them has, they have years of experience finding out about competitors’ games. Let’s use that.”

  “They always say ‘set a thief to catch a thief,’” the chief said. “So ‘set a gamer to catch a gamer’?”

  “What do we have to lose?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Worth trying. Especially since our department has only limited cybercrime resources. In fact, our cybercrime resources are Horace and Aida, and they’re going to be pretty busy with other parts of the homicide investigation. But if Rob’s people find out anything, they do not wade in like vigilantes. They come and tell me and let me figure out how to proceed.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. By which I meant that I absolutely understood. Conveying these marching orders to the Mutant Wizards and getting them to follow them was going to be a challenge.

  “Keep me posted.” He picked up his phone, and I deduced that I was dismissed.

  I pulled out my own cell phone as soon as I reached the parking lot.

  “Junior Goblin Rob here,” my brother answered. “What is your will, O mighty queen of the Goblin Tribe?”

  “Rob, can you meet me over at the Mutant Wizards office ASAP?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Who knew Rob could suddenly turn so businesslike?

  “Nothing’s wrong at your office,” I said. “But I have a special Goblin Patrol assignment for you, and it involves Mutant Wizards. How soon can you be there? And is there any chance you can arrange to have an all-staff meeting so once I’ve cleared it with you I can tell everyone about it?”