Stafford got out of his vehicle and walked up to the large front doors with the air of someone who’d been here before. He pounded on the right side door with one fist, and beckoned to us to join him.
The door opened, and I caught a glimpse of an older woman with greying black hair and spectacles that magnified the disapproving look on her face. She looked at Stafford as if he were something sticky she’d stepped in, then gave the same look to Liam, me, and Scath as we came up the sidewalk.
“Can I help you, Detective Stafford?” she asked, in a tone that matched her facial expression.
“I need to talk to Nikolaos. Now.”
She folded her hands in front of her. “I don’t suppose you have an appointment?”
“Here’s my appointment,” he countered, shoving his badge into her personal space.
“Mr. Sideris is a busy man.” Her features hardened as if disapproval alone could hold back an officer of the law. “If you want to speak to him, make an appointment.”
“If he’s so busy, then he’d be very inconvenienced if I dragged his sorry ass down to the station, wouldn’t he?”
“Excuse me,” Liam interrupted. “Ms…?”
The woman didn’t take her eyes of Detective Stafford. “Piper.”
“Ms. Piper. I’m Detective Sergeant Liam Osbourne of the Cleveland Metropark Police. This is Ms. Renard, a consultant, and her partner Ms. Scath. I’m afraid we have some sad news for your employer, Mr. Sideris. If you could let him know we’re here?”
“Sad news? What news?”
“Given the nature of what I have to say, I’d rather deliver the news personally. I hope you understand. If you could take us to see Mr. Sideris?”
She paused, reconsidering the request. Finally, she nodded. “Wait here. I’ll see if he’s available.”
She closed the door without inviting us to wait inside. As soon as the door shut behind her, Detective Stafford whirled to face Liam.
“I don’t appreciate you butting in. I know how to talk to these people.”
“Obviously,” Liam deadpanned.
“Let’s not argue where possible suspects might hear us,” I told the detective. “We all want to find out who hurt Jamila, don’t we?”
Stafford sucked in a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “Sorry. Listen, Nikolaos and I have history. I have been waiting to catch this guy for something, and this is my chance.”
“What is it you think he’s done?” I asked.
The older man wrinkled his nose. “He’s a hedge fund manager.”
“What’s a hedge fund manager?” Peasblossom demanded.
Stafford swiveled his head, searching for the source of Peasblossom’s voice. Peasblossom snickered under my hair.
“A hedge fund manager is someone who makes money with other people’s money,” Stafford said slowly. “He convinced my granddad to invest his life savings in some worthless stock. My granddad lost everything.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.
Stafford snorted. “But that’s not what really grinds my gears. Sideris is a sorcerer. And don’t think he doesn’t use his magic to give him an unfair advantage.”
My brain had ground to a halt on the word “sorcerer.” That couldn’t be a coincidence.
“You’re telling me you disapprove of magic users using their magic to give themselves an unfair advantage in their careers?” Liam asked.
“That,” Stafford said, jabbing a finger at Liam. “That right there. That’s why I hate him. Guys like me, low man on the old totem pole, we use magic to get ahead and we’re cheaters. Lazy good for nothings that don’t put in the hard work. Meanwhile, I don’t see anyone calling Sideris a sloppy hedge fund manager. No one’s lining up to tell him he’s a lazy son of a bitch for using magic to cheat. It’s a double standard because he’s rich and I’m not.”
“And it sounds like he still managed to lose your granddad’s money,” Liam added. “It must really disgust you that not only does he use his magic to give himself an advantage in his job, but he doesn’t even use the information to benefit the people he’s supposed to be working for. That he uses it to his own benefit instead.”
Stafford’s mouth snapped shut, and if the look on his face was anything to go by, he’d picked up on Liam’s unspoken accusation. Before he could think of a comeback, the door swung open, and Ms. Piper gestured for us to come in.
“Mr. Sideris will see you now.”
We all filed into the house and Ms. Piper closed the door behind us, then led us through the large two-story foyer, down a hallway to stop just in front of a sprawling Great Room with a ceramic tiled floor textured to look like overlapping circles of white powder. I had to nudge one with my toe to make certain it wasn’t a salt circle.
“Mr. Sideris is waiting for you in there.”
Windows and a sliding glass door comprised most of the far wall, offering a view of a beautiful garden in a fenced in, private backyard. Two huge armchairs, occupied by men, were near a stone fireplace that took up the right side of the room.
Detective Stafford spread his arms as he headed straight for the two men sitting in the chairs. “Nikolaos, I’m hurt. One of your people disappears and you don’t call me? No faith in my ability to bring her back to you, safe and sound?”
The first of the two men—Nikolaos Sideris, judging by the way Detective Stafford addressed his comments to him—sat straighter in his seat. He wasn’t a large man, maybe five-eight, five-nine. His brown hair was brushed behind his ears, curling against his neck to flirt with the shoulders of his grey suit. His white skin was only a few tones darker than his dress shirt, and I’d have put his age at early to mid forties.
“Detective Stafford, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He removed the gold-rimmed glasses from his face, closed the planner on his lap, and set both of them on a table that sat between the two chairs. “Who has disappeared?”
“Jamila. Your ‘assistant?’ She’s dead.”
Nikolaos stared at Detective Stafford, then looked to the rest of us and back again. “Dead?”
“Mr. Sideris, my name is Detective Sergeant Osbourne, and this is my consultant, Ms. Renard and her partner, Ms. Scath. I’m sorry to tell you this, but Jamila Samaha was murdered two days ago.”
Nikolaos closed his eyes and bowed his head. His lips moved as if in prayer.
The man sitting in the chair next to Nikolaos scooted forward in his seat. His stylishly cut hair was shorter and darker and going silver at the temples, and he had a dark brown complexion. He looked at least five inches taller and ten years older than Nikolaos, and he too wore an expensive looking suit, but in dark blue. Unlike his companion, this man’s features were stern, his pinched brow and the deep lines at the corners of his mouth broadcasting a distinctly unfriendly attitude.
Nikolaos’ visitor glared at Stafford the way I’d seen police officers look at violent offenders while their injured spouses refused to press charges. Angry and disgusted, but resigned to the reality that they could do nothing about it. For now.
“What happened?” he asked, deliberately addressing the question to Liam.
He had a slight Arabic accent, so faint I almost missed it. Echo’s memory reverberated in my head, repeating the words spoken as Jamila’s life drained away. Not the same.
“We’re not sure yet, Mr….?”
“Moghadam. You’re not sure, so you don’t know how or why she was killed?”
“Can I ask what your interest in Jamila is?” Liam asked carefully.
“Mr. Moghadam is a lawyer,” Nikolaos explained. “He does pro-bono work helping people apply for citizenship.”
“Were you helping Jamila?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t discuss my clients—not even to confirm or deny that someone is my client.” Moghadam stood quickly, smoothing down the lines in his dark blue suit. “If you’ll excuse me…” He looked at Nikolaos. “We’ll continue later. Now seems like a good time for me to speak with her?”
> Nikolaos nodded and gestured at the sliding glass door. “She’s outside. You’ll probably find her behind the rhododendron.”
The lawyer nodded, and without another glance at anyone else, left via the sliding glass door and disappeared into the garden.
“He’s not a bad guy,” Nikolaos said after he’d left. “He just takes client confidentiality very seriously.”
“Is he here to see you or a woman?” I asked, craning my neck to try and spot Moghadam outside.
“Both. Mr. Moghadam is one of that rare breed of lawyer with a social conscience. He’s become quite adept at convincing me to part with large sums of money for worthy causes. He likes to take the opportunity any time he comes to see Renee.”
“Is Renee his client?”
Nikolaos arched an eyebrow. “Confidentiality, Ms. Renard.”
I winced. “You’re right of course. I’m sorry.”
The hedge fund manager leaned back in his chair, hands closing over the arms as if bracing himself. “Now, what happened to Jamila?”
“She was attacked,” Liam said, his tone automatically sliding into polite and professional. “Not far from the Cleveland Clinic Lutheran Hospital. The initial autopsy suggests wild animals. Maybe wolves.”
“Wolves?” Nikolaos blinked. “In Ohio?”
“No need to be coy,” Detective Stafford drawled. “He knows all about werewolves. Don’t you, Niko?”
“You believe Jamila was killed by werewolves.”
Nikolaos’ tone emptied of emotion, and I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately trying to hide his feelings, or if he was overwhelmed and trying to remain calm. I’d found that men who dealt with large amounts of other people’s money tended to have a natural talent for handling good or bad news with a minimum of emotional inflection.
“Yes,” Liam said. “We—”
“That’s why Osbourne is here,” the detective interjected. “He’s the head of the Wild Animal Task Force. And I’m helping him. After all, just because it was werewolves that killed her doesn’t mean they did it on their own. Werewolves don’t generally hunt down prey in the middle of the city. Like as not, we’re looking at a couple of rogues, maybe they’ve fallen on hard times, were willing to risk getting Osbourne’s attention if someone had the money to make it worth their while. Economy isn’t what it used to be, you know. Lots of businesses failing. But then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
“He’s rambling,” Peasblossom muttered. “How’d this guy get promoted to detective?”
Nikolaos seemed to notice the bewildered look on my face, along with the growing irritation on Liam’s. “It’s all right. Detective Stafford has a low opinion of hedge fund managers—most people do. And I suppose it doesn’t help that my people don’t exactly have a sterling reputation either.”
“Your people?” Liam asked.
Nikolaos looked at me. “I am the seventh son of a seventh son.”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, Detective Stafford mentioned you were a sorcerer.”
“Technically, yes, but I daresay my father would disagree. He’s rather disappointed in my lack of magical ambition.” He shrugged. “But I saw what it did to my father, and I’ve no interest in becoming that sort of monster.”
“And you thought hedge fund manager was an improvement?” Stafford scoffed.
Nikolaos winced. “I won’t lie. I was raised with a certain lifestyle, and this job has allowed me to maintain it. But to be fair, I do try and mitigate the less pleasant parts of my job with good works.” He gestured toward the sliding glass door. “Like donating to Mr. Moghadam’s charitable causes.”
“So you don’t practice magic?” I clarified.
I didn’t meant to sound insulting, but I’d never heard of a sorcerer turning his back on his craft. Sorcerers were rare, more so now than they used to be, now that fewer families needed to have large numbers of children for economical reasons. Even if Nikolaos had wanted to eschew his magical studies, I couldn’t see his family allowing it anymore than Arianne’s family had been keen to allow her to forgo children.
“I practice limited magic. A few tricks here and there, nothing serious.” He cleared his throat. “Getting back to Jamila. I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you. Jamila worked for me, but we weren’t close.”
“What exactly did she do for you?” Liam asked.
Nikolaos leaned back in his chair. “I supposed you’d say she was an apprentice of sorts. Not exactly a common occupation now, but one I’m familiar with. She performed mostly secretarial work, but I was teaching her about hedge fund management. She was very good with numbers.”
“Did she seem upset recently?” I asked. “Any change in her mood or behavior?”
“She did seem more stressed than usual. But if I’m honest, she never struck me as a particularly happy woman. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d lost someone not long ago, someone whose loss she still felt a great deal. I tried to broach the subject a few times, but she didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it be.”
“When was the last time you saw Jamila?” Liam asked.
“She doesn’t work for me everyday. I believe the last day she was here was Thursday, so two days ago?”
“Did Jamila have any friends that you knew of?” I asked. “Anyone she was close to?”
“I’m afraid not. She very much kept to herself when it came to personal matters, and I tried to respect that. Jamila had family in Syria, and I know her sister was trying to find a way to join Jamila here. I’d said if she had the necessary skills, I would file a non-immigrant petition on her behalf with USCIS and try to get her a work visa, but she said that would take too long.”
“Speaking of which, do you have copies of Jamila’s citizenship paperwork?” Liam asked. “Driver’s license, social security number?”
This time, Nikolaos couldn’t hide his reaction fast enough. His gaze fell away from Liam’s, and he crossed one hand over his chest to pick at an imaginary piece of lint on his left shoulder. “I don’t think I have those on me, no. I’d have to look through my files. Ironically enough, Jamila would have put those papers away.”
“Was she a citizen?” I asked.
“No. But she had a work visa.”
Liam and I shared a look. So the man who had brought Jamila over didn’t even provide citizenship papers. Only a work visa. A work visa that would expire. Meaning his victims would need to come to him again…
“How did you come to hire Jamila?” Liam asked.
Nikolaos hesitated.
“We truly aren’t interested in anyone’s legal status,” I said gently.
“Not to mention we’re going to look it up later anyway,” Detective Stafford added. “Either she has paperwork and it’s on file, or she doesn’t.”
The sorcerer waved a hand. “Oh, it’s not that. I really do have her paperwork, I’m just embarrassed to admit I relied on her so heavily that I can’t find it. No, I hesitated to say where I hired her from because it could be considered proprietary business practices. The company advertises using magic that makes their ad appeal only to Others.”
“And the company name?” Liam asked.
“Foundations,” he said. “They’re very exclusive. To hire one of their people, you have to submit an application. Among other things, you have to prove that the position you want to hire them for will provide an education, allow their employee not only to perform the job, but to hone their skills. Meet people.” He snorted. “You should have seen the questionnaire I had to fill out. I had to double-check they weren’t a matchmaking company.”
“That’s…interesting,” I said slowly.
“So you knew Jamila was Other?” Liam asked.
“Yes. She was a fravisha.”
“A guardian angel,” Liam remembered.
“Yes.”
“Did her charge live near here?” I asked.
He frowned. “I don’t think she had one, now that you mention it. At least, I’d be surprised if she
did. She spent long hours here, some workdays.” He paused. “Actually, you might try speaking to Renee, my gardener. Jamila liked to spend her lunch breaks in the garden, I believe they talked.” He looked toward the large windows to the garden. “Only, right now she’s speaking with Mr. Moghadam, of course.”
“Well, our business is more important,” Stafford said. “I need to speak to her now.”
This time I gave him a dirty look for the complete lack of tact, but Nikolaos spoke before I could make my rebuke verbal.
“I’m sorry, Detective Stafford, but I have to ask that you remain with me and let Detective Sergeant Osbourne and Ms. Renard talk to Renee. I appreciate that you have a job to do, but Renee is already going through a difficult time. The last thing she needs is your abrasive approach when questioning her about someone who may very well have been her friend.”
I waited for the detective to object, but he just shrugged and walked to Moghadam’s vacant chair. He flopped down and lifted one leg to rest his ankle on his opposite knee, looking as if he expected to have a friendly drink with Nikolaos while Liam and I questioned Renee.
“Do you have Jamila’s address?” Liam asked. “Or was that with her paperwork too?”
“It was,” Nikolaos admitted. “But it doesn’t matter. Foundations, the company I hired her from, also provides room and board for their employees. And I have their card.”
“She lived at the agency that hired her out?” I asked, surprised.
Nikolaos fished through the pockets of his planner for a minute before coming up with the business card. “Yes. I’m telling you, they really are something special. I’d bet my last dollar every woman who goes through that company ends up in a position of wealth, if not power.” He paused, as if he’d thought of something else and was debating whether or not to share it.
“If you know anything, please tell us,” I said. “The smallest detail could be important.”
Nikolaos nodded. “Renee. I hired her from Foundations too.”
Liam’s aura flared, a brief sensation of sparks falling over the half of my body closest to him. I met his eyes.
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