“This fellow approached me . . . said he was an astronomer. He knew I used to be an engineer before the acting bug bit me.” Toombs shrugged, indicating his ravaged face. “Women told me I was so good-looking, I ought to be onstage, and I started believing them. Well. Before, anyway.”
“Tell us the rest,” Mikani growled.
“He was . . . there was something irresistible about him. I needed the work . . . it’s not healthy to owe Mr. Stokes. But it was more, too. I found myself at emporiums and foundries, buying supplies without remembering the decision to go. And when I considered quitting, I couldn’t . . .” He trailed off, seeming frustrated.
“Do you think he had Ferisher blood?” Ritsuko asked. She was taking notes. “Could this alleged compulsion have come as a result of a glamour?”
Right. It’s not your fault at all, none of it. A wizard made you do it.
But despite himself, Mikani released some of his control to learn the man’s state of mind. The room swam with his visceral terror and the ashen taste of exhaustion. Digging deeper, Mikani caught glimmers of self-loathing—Wait. How am I . . . He frowned, opening more of his senses. And recoiled with a gasp, disguised as a cough.
“Maybe,” Toombs said miserably. “I hated him, but I obeyed him. And later, I was afraid. The things he said he’d do to me, those he did—”
“So you claim you were working under duress?” Mikani pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the throbbing at his temples.
“I’m a craftsman, not a killer. After the first device, I tried to run. I hid. But he always finds me. Always.” The man’s eyes darkened with terror.
“When did you construct the last machine?” Ritsuko asked.
“We finished early yesterday. I swear I didn’t know what he intended to do with those. I thought they were strange, but it wasn’t until you people found the first body—”
“That you realized what you’d gotten into,” she finished.
Mikani didn’t offer sympathy. “Where did you take the device?”
If they could get the site out of this pathetic waste of skin, they could set an ambush for the mystery man. Maybe it’s not too late to save her.
“We parted ways at the city limits,” Toombs said. “He didn’t trust me.”
“You claim you don’t know where the third murder will occur.” Ritsuko made a note. Her expression looked hard, vicious even.
Mikani stood, out of patience. “Let’s transfer him to Central. We have the facilities for a lengthy interrogation.”
“But I already told you everything!” Toombs protested.
Ritsuko smiled, and it was actually a little scary. “Be prepared to spend hours going over your story with us. We’ll also require you to work with a CID artist to create a sketch of the man you claim hired you to build these machines.”
“On your feet,” Mikani demanded.
He didn’t wait for Toombs to respond, merely reached down and jerked him upright; he wrenched the suspect around and shackled his wrists. The actor was light for a man of his height, all rib cage and jutting elbows. His poor physical condition supported his claim that he’d been compelled to help with the last two machines, perhaps even held prisoner. That evidence didn’t keep Mikani from shoving Toombs toward the door. Ritsuko’s steps fell lightly behind him as they climbed toward the main level.
The crowd hadn’t thinned when they emerged from the security doors. If anything, it seemed worse now that they had the prisoner in custody. As Mikani paused to survey the area, a bullet slammed into the actor’s throat. The man tried to scream, choking on his own blood. Hells and Winter. It spattered Mikani as Toombs fell against the wall, his downward slide leaving streaks. The crowd reacted with pure panic, and soon, the area was a disaster zone, with people running and screaming.
“Get down!” he shouted, hoping some of them had the sense to listen. He vaulted over the fallen Toombs, pushing the nearest bystanders to the ground and out of the line of fire.
Ritsuko dove toward the nearest man, catching the shooter around the ankle. She landed hard, but her momentum brought him down as well. As she rose to hands and knees, the killer braced and twisted, kicking at her face. He connected, but she didn’t fall back. Finding her feet in a move she hadn’t learned in CID training, she feinted with her left hand and went for his eyes with her right, finishing with a shattering kick to his left kneecap, the one he’d fallen on the first time. Her kick connected; Mikani heard the snap of bone as her weight followed through.
Mikani fired a few rounds at the other attackers, holding them at bay while aiming high. Wish these people would get the bloody hell out of the way, already. Passengers and staff blocked clear lines of sight for both sides as they scrambled for the exits.
Ritsuko brought her gun up, leveling it. “If you move, I’ll shoot you.”
The bastard lunged, and she fired. Her bullet plowed into his chest, stopped him cold, but more rounds spattered the wall and ground around them. Mikani slid behind a rubbish bin and searched for the source. After a few seconds, he spotted them fifteen feet or so away, now that the crowd had thinned.
“It’s the gunmen from the archives,” he called to Ritsuko.
“Seems logical. But are they after us or Toombs?”
“Both?” he suggested. “Let me ask them.”
“I’ll cover you.” After rolling behind a kiosk, she laid down fire to clear a path.
Determined the other two wouldn’t get away again, he rushed them, using columns and benches for cover. Bullets pinged the floor, then they paused. Reloading. Good. I have a few seconds. Ritsuko entertained the third man with an exchange of fire. Mikani burst out of cover and sprinted at the second shooter; he didn’t try to slow his momentum and just slammed into the man. The would-be assassin’s pistol went flying. Mikani opened with a ferocious right cross, followed by a left hook. The two hits put the suspect on the ground.
He came up with the gun and cocked it. “Who sent you?”
But before Mikani could shoot him when he refused to answer, the man’s associate did. Then the third one wheeled to run, as if he had any hope of escaping with Port Authority officers converging on him. Mikani had a clear shot, so he took it; the gun roared, and the bullet pierced the man’s spine as he reached the foot of the stairs that led up to the street.
He holstered his weapon, moved past Ritsuko, who settled on a bench nearby, and kicked the body none too gently in the ribs. When the man didn’t move, he turned to her, taking in her bruised cheek.
“You look like hell. Worse, you look like me. But your dance partner got the worse end of the deal.” He sat next to her, staring at the body nearby. Getting shot at’s a pain in the arse.
“He chose to die,” she said quietly. “Rather than be taken.”
Mikani had no explanation. The implications were chilling. He gestured at the corpse where port security was clustered. “And he killed one of his own.”
She looked pale, and he had the ridiculous desire to reassure her, to say everything would be fine—that there were no secrets or anarchist plots. But the truth was, the situation had just gotten even more complicated. Their only link to the mastermind was now spattered on the wall; they’d have to be clever to find Toombs’s employer from what the actor had told them.
“There will be hell to pay,” she mumbled. “I can’t wait for the dressing-down.”
“We tried to bring them in for questioning, but they wouldn’t come along peacefully. I don’t see how Gunwood can blame us.”
“That’s never stopped him before,” she said gloomily.
“Come on, partner. There are forms to fill out and questions to answer.” He flashed her a wry smile as he pushed to his feet. “And you know how I love paperwork.”
• • •
RITSUKO PRESSED ICE bundled in a thin cloth to her swollen cheek. It had been an hour since the guns fell quiet and the Port Authority security detail cordoned off the area, keeping curious spectators away from the bodies
. Journalists from the newssheets would be here soon, poking around, sketching the scene, and asking inconvenient questions. Inconvenient because we don’t have the answers. It made no sense someone would’ve contracted such a monstrous task.
Maybe he was lying. There is no second man. It was the kind of thing that criminals said to lessen their sentences. Happens all the time. Sometimes they blamed Ferisher spirits for whispering wicked ideas into their ears as they slept. She wished she could dismiss the actor’s claims, but there had been just enough proof to support his story.
More to the point, she felt shaky deep inside. Her hands lay clenched on her knees to hide the tremors. More than one constable had clapped her shoulder in the past fifty minutes, others from the Port Authority. They all thought she’d done something to be celebrated—put a bullet in a bad man, dropped him like a dog.
I killed someone today, Grandfather.
She pictured his disapproving face, his voice whispering in her ear. The dead are with you, always, Celeste. His ghost will never let you rest.
Mikani didn’t seem to be frozen in the same way. At the moment, he was talking to the chief of security, completing the official inquiry. The Port Authority had reports to file as to exactly what had happened. Going forward, the Council would probably request armed constables on the premises. From time to time, inquiries came her way, and she just nodded at whatever Mikani said. She didn’t hear the words anyway; they were blocked out by the sharp report of the gun echoing in her ears. Though she was glad she hadn’t panicked, after she shot the first suspect, it was all reflex and training. Because Ritsuko had been killing the same man in her head for the last hour.
His face. His eyes.
She clamped down on the nausea and tried to stop thinking about how it looked when a person died. You can actually see the moment when the mind slips away. Clenching her jaw, she set the damp towel on the bench beside her.
Silently, Mikani came over, offered her a mug, steaming and sweet-smelling. She stirred, then shook her head. “No thank you. Are we finished here?”
He nodded and sipped the tea with a shrug, making a face. “Unless you want to help with the reports, we’re done.”
“I’d prefer to get back to Central.”
To get away from this place and all those bodies.
“The sooner we talk to Gunwood, the better, probably.”
He set the cup aside and led the way to the exit. Constables, the usual morbid onlookers, and journalists formed an inchoate mess right outside. Mikani shoved a path to the cruiser; and Ritsuko appreciated his willingness to do it, so she didn’t have to. She followed in the channel he cleared and crawled into the passenger side after he unlocked the doors. The vehicle jerked into motion, forcing the crowd to give away. For a few seconds, Mikani was quiet, focused on getting them out of the area without running down any pedestrians.
“That was your first shooting.”
“Yes.” The movement of the vehicle didn’t make her feel worse, at least. There was comfort in driving away.
He made a soft sound of acknowledgment. “You know it was you or him. It had to be done. And . . . that doesn’t make it any easier.” He glanced over at her, briefly, then returned his attention to the road. “You can, what, hear him? See him, still?”
Startled, she asked, “Is that what it was like for you, the first time?”
I’ve never asked him how many . . . or when. Mikani had more time on the street than she did by far. The years she’d spent filing and working down in the Dungeon as a lab tech, he had been an inspector. Which is a lot more opportunities to shoot people.
“The first time. The second time. This last time.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, partner, but it doesn’t get any easier. What helps me is focusing on the people that I save.” He paused, chewing his bottom lip. “You’ve been to my cottage. You saw the religious medallions, cameos. Knickknacks.”
“I did,” she agreed, not understanding what he meant.
“Some belonged to victims, those I couldn’t help. Their families sent things as a way of thanking me for finding their killers. Others came from the people I did save, as gifts. I cherish those most.”
She took a deep, gulping breath, hanging together by a thread. “I really need you to pull over now.”
He swerved against the curb, startling a couple of scavenging urchins. As soon as the cruiser stopped and he engaged the brake, she came up on her knees. Ritsuko felt sure he expected her to bang open the door and cast accounts into the gutter. But she needed something else entirely, and she felt too awful to care if it was appropriate. So instead she crawled over the cruiser’s hand brake and into his lap.
He shifted, then wrapped his arms around her. In response, she wound hers about his neck and buried her face in his chest. She couldn’t cry, but his warmth was what she needed, something to push back the cold. Shivers ran through her for long moments as she listened to his heartbeat, steady, soothing.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she eventually mumbled.
“You’re no fun.”
She pushed out a shaky laugh and pulled back, retreating to her seat with as much dignity as she could muster. “That never happened. I’m well enough now. We can go.”
Mikani gave her a long, appraising look. As he turned his attention to getting them out of there, he said, “Larceny and thews. At least I know why you stay with me.”
You have no idea at all.
Half an hour later, they entered the duty room to deafening cheers. More boisterous yells followed and the clamor of congratulations. Men toasted each other, and they raised glasses to Ritsuko and Mikani. From the smell, it wasn’t tea, either.
She cut a look at her partner, wondering aloud, “What’s this?”
He looked around, ignoring the calls directed at them. “I don’t know. Let’s ask Gunwood.
Ritsuko dodged around men determined to whack her on the back, those who had never bothered to speak to her before—except to ask for a sandwich or a hot beverage. The commander’s office was quieter, at least, but Gunwood’s nose had the red shine of someone who had been drinking, too. His eyes sparkled when he spotted her in his doorway.
“Come in, you two. I don’t remember being happier than I am now. Well done!”
Mikani stepped in, taking his usual stance in the corner. “While I’m glad you’ve finally come to appreciate our genius, Gunwood, care to fill us in on what the hells is going on?”
“Toombs is dead. The Summer Clan are calling off the blockades. Aevar is, of course, arguing that he needn’t pay the reward, as Toombs was killed before being formally judged and charged.” The commander reached for a document that bore his stamp and signature, offering it to Ritsuko. “If you two will sign this, I intend to recommend you both to the Council for commendation.”
“Gunwood . . . Commander. It’s not over. Toombs wasn’t working alone.” Mikani unfolded his arms and stepped forward, looking to Ritsuko for support.
She offered, “He said he wasn’t. But criminals will say anything. Do we have evidence to validate his claims?” She considered the button and the coins, but wasn’t certain if they constituted indisputable proof.
Mikani frowned, then closed the door. Gunwood sat up straighter, his joy fading to the more usual what have you done now expression he wore around them.
“Someone sent those men after us, and Toombs. He was trying to flee the city . . . he didn’t hire his own assassins. And you saw him, Ritsuko—there’s no way he could’ve moved those things on his own, disassembled or not.”
She nodded at that. “True. He was in bad shape. Thin, starved even. Did you notice the ligature marks on his wrists?”
Gunwood interrupted, coming to his feet. “He probably hired the thugs to help him move the machines. They killed him when they feared he’d hand them over, too.” There was doubt in his eyes, though. “Or maybe he didn’t pay them, as promised.”
“That doesn’t explain why they chose death
over incarceration,” she noted.
She had a bad feeling that worsened with every inconsistency Mikani pointed out. The men in the duty room seemed to think they had cracked the case, put the maniac down in a glorious gun battle. But she feared there was more to come, between what Toombs had told them, the suicide squad, and the unexplained clues.
“Some of the penal farms are quite nice.” Mikani shrugged at Gunwood’s glare. “You must admit the pieces don’t add up, Commander. And we still have no idea where Toombs got the money to pay for everything.”
“Plus the coins that paid his debts,” Ritsuko added.
Gunwood leaned on his desk, his jaw clenched. “You two can’t let me have even one good day, can you?” He eased back into his seat, rubbing his jaw, and was silent for a full minute, breathing deeply. When he put his hands down, he gave them both long, searching looks. “I hope to hell you’re wrong. But if you’re not, well. We can’t tell the Summer Clan and Houses that Toombs wasn’t working alone. Or there will be more riots, or worse. Pursue this quietly. And for gods’ sake, do it quickly.”
Ritsuko knew that tone and headed for the door. “Yes, sir.”
Mikani followed close behind, uncharacteristically quiet. She cut through the celebration in the duty room with murmured apologies, and breathed easier when she got into the lift. As soon as the cage lurched into motion, Mikani touched her shoulder.
“I couldn’t tell Gunwood.” He rubbed his temples, as if one of his migraines was setting in. “But when we first got to Toombs, I read him, Ritsuko.” He met her worried gaze. “The man was scared, tired. And there was something more . . . that cold, dead feeling? It coiled around his mind like a snake, but . . . it wasn’t him.”
CHAPTER 23
THE BUTTON RITSUKO HAD FOUND AT THE CRIME SCENE WAS A vital clue, and Mikani figured it was time they followed up on it. A history professor might shed some light on its provenance and point them in the right direction, so they’d come to the Academy in search of an expert opinion.
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