The Burnt Remains

by Alex P. Berg

  “Fetching coffee for Dean.”

  She looked at my empty hands and snorted. “Okay. And what are you doing now? Mowing his lawn?”

  I ignored the jab. “Actually, I was hoping to catch JT Vernon’s press conference. There’s a radio in the break room, isn’t there?”

  Moss lifted a hand. “Hold on there, cowgirl. Haven’t you heard? The press briefing was cancelled.”

  I blinked, confused. “Cancelled? Why?”

  Moss plucked a newspaper off her desk and handed it to me. “Apparently, Vernon planned his conference before the morning paper made it to his mailbox. Check out the top story.”

  I glanced at the headline, which read: Circus Showman and Congressional Hopeful JT Vernon Cheats Investors and Employees Alike, Exposé Discovers. My eyes widened, and I whistled.

  “To be fair, most businessmen as wealthy as Vernon have lied and cheated to get where they are,” said Moss. “Still, it’s not likely to help his poll numbers. I’d guess he cancelled his conference because he figured he’d get more questions about his business dealings than about his dead wife.”

  I unfolded the paper. “Are there teeth to the allegations?”

  Moss shrugged. “The article says they received documents from an anonymous source, but the New Welwic Statesman wouldn’t publish the story if they couldn’t back it up. There are three pages devoted to it, with a treasure trove of details to back up the thesis. Tens of thousands of crowns in outstanding backpay for his carnies. Overestimating his assets to banks to secure loans. Potential tax and mail fraud. If it checks out, he could be facing significant financial as well as criminal liability.”

  I scanned the text, getting a better sense of the details. “Who’d be in charge of investigating this?”

  “The fraud guys, I guess,” said Moss. “Though if you’re asking which precinct, could be us or Old Town depending if the team gets assigned based on Vernon’s address or the newspaper’s. Why?”

  “I think this may affect our investigation, too,” I said. “You want to take a trip to the New Welwic Statesman offices?”

  Moss smirked, a twinkle in her eye. “What investigation? You still need to get Dean’s coffee.”

  I smiled. “You’re right. I do.” I lifted the newspaper. “Mind if I keep this?”

  “Be my guest.”

  I headed out, but I stopped as I reached the end of the cubicles. “One more thing, Moss. Would it be possible for me to, ah… crash at your place for a few days?”

  The twinkle disappeared, and Moss’s brow furrowed. “Say what?”

  “I broke up with my boyfriend, and I need a place to stay until I lock down a new apartment. Dean said you might be able to help.”

  Moss’s eyes widened. “Dean knows and I don’t?”

  I shrunk into my neck. “Justice, too.”

  Moss snorted and threw up her hands. “What’s the point of having another lady on the squad if I get left out of all the gossip? Just when you think you’ve made a connection.”

  “Sorry. It’s recent. And the reason I’m asking is because of our connection. Pretty please?”

  Moss sighed. “Of course. But next time tell me first! And I demand a thorough explanation of what happened tonight, perhaps over drinks.”

  “I can do that. You’re a life-saver.”

  I shot her a finger gun before heading down the stairs to the first floor. I’d made it most of the way across the edge of the pit when a voice cracked at me like a whip. “Officer Phair!”

  I screeched to a halt at the sound of Captain Ellison’s voice, turning to pop my head into his open office door. “Yes, Captain?”

  The grey fox looked at me from his desk, the expression on his face either one of curiosity or disapproval. Maybe both. “Did you hear the news?”

  He didn’t give me a lot of context, but given Moss had asked much the same question, I took a guess. I lifted the newspaper. “That JT Vernon might be in hot water? Yes, sir.”

  Ellison clicked his tongue. “Shame, that. He’d made overtures to the department that suggested he’d be a staunch ally of the police. Not that Congressman Bumblefoot has been an enemy of ours, but still. I have to imagine Vernon’s campaign is dead in the water now, wouldn’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I couldn’t say, sir. I’m not much of a political person.”

  One of Ellison’s eyebrows rose, giving him a more devious air. “Of course not. You’re just an officer. Politics are above your head. But you have spent your short stint here assigned to the Vernon case. Who do you suppose might’ve handed Vernon’s dirty laundry to the New Welwic Statesman? That woman we arrested for blackmail?”

  The curve of Ellison’s eyebrow and the pucker to his lips told me he wasn’t entirely interested in my answer, just as they told me not to inform him of my planned trip to the Statesman. “Someone who wanted to hurt Mr. Vernon or his family, I suppose. No shortage of those around, it seems.”

  Ellison snorted. “Indeed.” The captain brought his eyes back to the file in front of him, but his tone didn’t change. If anything, it grew icier. “Regardless, I’m glad we were able to wrap up the investigation into his blackmailer, as well as the murder of his wife. We wouldn’t want a man like that holding a grudge against us, congressman or not.”

  I probably should’ve shut my mouth, but I wasn’t wired that way. “And the allegations of fraud in the paper, sir?”

  Ellison’s head slowly rose. “Something for the fraud boys to take a look at, Officer.”

  I nodded, wishing I’d simply left. “Yes, sir.”

  Ellison intertwined his fingers before him on his desk, his eyelids narrowing. “Since you’re here, Officer, how is Detective Dean doing? Not distracted from his caseload by this Vernon news, I hope?”

  Fact of the matter was I had no idea if Dean knew, but the truth was worse. Dean knew Captain Ellison wanted him to dust his hands of the case, and instead here I was, newspaper in hand with every intention of continuing to investigate Stella’s murder and the sundry blackmail and smear campaigns against JT Vernon. I might not have been under orders from Dean, but I hadn’t needed a lot of coaxing, either.

  As I stood in the door frame, I was reminded of something my toxic former training officer told me. In a red-cheeked, frothy rage he’d hammered into me that even more important than our duty to the citizens of the city was our duty to each other. To protect and serve. That was the police motto. To him it meant the men and women in blue protected each other from violent criminals and thugs as readily as from lawsuits and prosecution, that we protected each other from the consequence of our actions and from the system of justice we purveyed as much as from actual danger. I’d thought it as vile, toxic, and deranged a stance then as I did now, but as I heard the slight intonation in the captain’s voice, I realized there was truth in it, too. We did have to stick by one another. Protect each other by any means necessary, by hook or by crook, but not the bad apples.

  We had to protect the good ones.

  No one would do it for me. It was up to me to stand on the side of right, to do what I could to make sure justice and honesty and truth were served, regardless of who stood in the way. Dean and Justice and Moss were the ones on my side, the right side, and I’d stand by them. I’d put myself at risk to protect them if it meant furthering our shared ideals. The path might be difficult to navigate, and it might require me to play a game with Captain Ellison that I wasn’t particularly adept at, but I’d do it to stay true to myself and my beliefs.

  I straightened my back as I answered, feeling as confident as I ever had as an officer. “Detective Dean’s hard at work on the new caseload, sir. I’m doing my best to help ease the burden.”

  Captain Ellison smiled, but there was something about it that made me suspect he didn’t put full faith in my answer. “Glad to hear it, Officer. As you were.”

  I nodded as I headed out, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It wasn’t the act of defiance that had done it. More t
he knowledge that I’d broken the glass from the box and could now use the tool within when the circumstances demanded it: in defense of myself and the people who shared my sense of virtue.

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was near the end of the day when I arrived back at our cluster on the third floor. Moss and Justice were missing, but Dean was at his desk, with an aroma of smoke clinging to him that suggested he’d just stepped inside from a cigarette break. Normally, the scent might turn me off, but I was too amped to care.

  Dean turned at the sound of my feet. “You know, when I said you could borrow my car, I didn’t expect you’d be gone the entire damn day.”

  I dug his keys out of my pocket and tossed them onto his desk. “Sorry about that. I’ve been busy. Much more so than I expected.”

  Dean eyed the folder in my left hand. “So it would appear. Is that a CSU report?”

  The color gave it away, as well as the stamp that was partially legible through my fingers. “Guilty as charged. I’m assuming you read the newspaper story about JT Vernon?”

  “I’m not sure anyone around here hasn’t,” said Dean. “I also didn’t find any of it surprising. What about it?”

  “That’s why I’ve been gone so long,” I said. “Although, technically, I’ve been back for a while. I’ve been hanging out downstairs talking to Emmett, and before that with Ben. He’s one of the CSU techs. So I suppose I could’ve come and dropped your keys off, but I had a bit of a flirtatious rapport going on with Ben that I was hoping would pay dividends, which it did. Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  Dean smiled. I think he got a sense of my enthusiasm from the speed at which I was talking. “Do you want to have a seat?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed my dilapidated chair and wheeled it over, plopping down in front of Dean. “So after Moss showed me the story on Vernon, I headed to the New Welwic Statesman to take a look at the materials on which the story was based. There was a lot of stuff, by the way. A thick stack of paper that, as expected, had been mailed to the newspaper anonymously. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers, so I didn’t take the materials myself. Instead, I waited for a fraud team to get assigned. Eventually they arrived. Watts and Lajoie, from the second floor? I met them today. They were surprised I was on the scene, but I gave them a summary of our blackmail case and told them I needed to confirm it was the same person and they understood. Hopefully, they won’t leak that detail to the captain. Anyway, I stayed on the sidelines as they gathered the papers, but I was of help when we learned the envelope the materials had been sent in had already been thrown out, which meant I got to go dumpster diving. That endeared me even more to Watts and Lajoie, because Watts apparently has a bad back and Lajoie was wearing a dapper suit that I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to get dirty, which probably means they’ll be less likely to rat me out to the captain now that I think about it.”

  Dean nodded, though his furrowed brow suggested I was losing him. “I see. And where does Ben from CSU come in?”

  “Right,” I said. “With the detectives’ blessing, I hand carried the envelope to our CSU lab, which is where I met Ben. As I’m sure you know, CSU doesn’t normally prepare reports on the spot, certainly not when an officer such as myself asks, but I dropped your name and was quite friendly with Ben, resulting in… this.” I opened the folder and held it out.

  Dean took it and studied the contents. “He was able to pull fingerprints off the envelope?”

  “There were several—from mail carriers, probably the journalist who opened the thing—so it was a bit of a mess. But we eventually found a partial of the one I was looking for. This is it.” I tapped the image for emphasis. “See how it matches the full print on the right? That’s one we pulled off Stella Vernon’s diary.”

  Dean chewed on his lip as he stared at the results. “You’re saying Stella sent the incriminating data to the newspaper.”

  “Precisely.”

  Dean closed the folder, keeping it in his lap. “That suggests Stella mailed the documents to the newspaper before her death, which potentially implicates her husband. At least, it does if we assume Stella mailed the documents because she feared for her safety. The fact that she’d mailed them might be motive for JT to kill her.”

  “That’s one possibility,” I said.

  Dean pursed his lips. “The other is that Stella is still alive, and the documents were mailed recently.”

  I leaned in. “I have a theory.”

  Dean tossed the folder onto his desk. “I’m listening.”

  A nervous energy burbled inside me, but fear crept beside it, too. Now that I was about to share it with someone else—not just anyone, but Alton Dean—I wondered if it was better left to simmer. “It’s going to sound crazy. It did to me, at least until I spoke to Emmett.”

  “Your theory will only sound crazy if it’s not supported by facts.”

  Dean smiled, and that was the only encouragement I needed. I took a deep breath. “We tossed around the idea that Stella faked her death, and to be fair, it makes a lot of sense. We know Stella was depressed. She was taking benzedrine, which is commonly used as an anti-depressant, and her diary chronicles her deteriorating relationship with her husband. JT only admitted to becoming angry and nearly hitting her after finding out about the nude photographs, but that sort of behavior doesn’t come out of nowhere. It suggests he might’ve abused her regularly. Maybe he didn’t beat her, but he might’ve berated her. Harassed her. Gaslit her. All of which is supported by Stella’s diary. So she had a strong motive to leave Vernon behind, but what if she didn’t see a way out? It could be that they had an ironclad prenup, making Stella think she’d get away with nothing in a divorce, or perhaps it was worse than that. Maybe Vernon threatened her, convinced her he’d never let her leave. It could’ve led Stella to consider another way out.”

  “By faking her death,” said Dean.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But I’ll get back to that. First I want to discuss the evidence. We know Stella’s sister Gillian was behind the nude photographs, which she used to trick JT into providing blackmail money. Stella knew the whole time it wasn’t her, but the blackmail gave her an idea. That was her way out. Perhaps she couldn’t escape Vernon through divorce, but if she disappeared and used the blackmail to get a hundred thousand crown payout…”

  “Vernon would never know he’d been had,” said Dean. “And the evidence suggests you might be right. We didn’t find the hundred thousand crowns at Gillian’s apartment, nor the pieces of the outfit the woman who picked up the duffel from the circus was wearing. Not to mention the woman you and I saw, the woman in the sketch Feoris drew, does not appear to be Gillian.”

  “Don’t forget the suitcase CSU found in the trunk of Stella’s car, which also suggests Stella was ready to run. And the final blackmail letter to JT? You stared at it, same as I did. Tell me it wasn’t in Stella’s handwriting.”

  Dean rubbed his chin. “Okay. I buy the premise. My problem is with the execution. Faking a death isn’t easy. It’s not as if she simply went missing. We found someone’s remains, remains a coroner I trust identified as Stella’s. If she faked her death, then whose remains did we find? Did she steal them? And how did she manage to doctor them to fool Jowynn?”

  I took another breath and pushed it out forcefully. “I’m not suggesting Stella faked her death. I think she died, but I also think she’s still alive.”

  Dean’s mouth opened, then closed. He pressed his lips together, not saying a thing. “Okay. Now I see the crazy.”

  I leaned in. “Only if it’s not supported by facts, you said. Hear me out. I spoke to the zookeeper who took over for Radoslaw. While there, a brilliant red and gold bird showed up in the aviary. The new hand was adamant the bird had flown away during the murder. Radoslaw told me the same thing, yet there it was, as if it never left. He claimed it was a scarlet aracanga, also known as a firebird. The same bird after which the legend of the phoenix is based.”

  Dean’s br
ow furrowed, but I kept going. I was this far deep, after all. There was no point in pulling out.

  “I know it’s insane, but think about it. We found Stella’s remains in the middle of the aviary, a place multiple carnies confirmed was a spot Stella liked to visit. And Jowynn confirmed they were Stella’s remains! We also have reason to suspect a fire was set in the aviary. The ground underneath was scorched, after all. And let’s not forget her engagement ring wasn’t the only thing found melted. So was something else made of steel. Her car keys, perhaps. Steel doesn’t melt easily. It takes a high temperature, one most furnaces can’t reach. Remember how Jowynn said he thought the fire that cremated Stella burned hot and fast?”

  Dean cocked his head. “I don’t know, Phair…”

  “Trust me, Dean, I’m not one for off-the-wall theories. Don’t ask me how it happened. Maybe Stella lured the aracanga to her and it freaked out. Maybe she had a bond with it. Maybe the bird felt her sorrow and yearned to set her free, same as she yearned to be so. Let’s say she held it and both of them somehow… combusted. Stella rose from the ashes. If we accept that impossibility as possible, then gosh darn it, everything fits! She would’ve been naked in the aftermath of her immolation, perhaps disoriented and afraid. But she had clothes in her car. A whole suitcase full. She ran out, only to remember she couldn’t get back into her car because her keys were now a pile of molten steel hidden under ash. So she ran back to the circus, at which point a wine-soaked hobo spotted her and probably thought whatever drink he’d soaked himself in was the best he’d ever tasted. So what does Stella do? She breaks into one of the trailers that holds costumes, which we thought one of the macaques had done, dresses herself, and flees, giving herself time to set up the final blackmail drop against her husband.”

  Dean tapped his fingers against his armrest. “Phair, I’m still not seeing the facts you mentioned.”

  “Neither did I,” I continued, “until I talked to Emmett. Dean, he found feathers in the morgue this morning. Red and gold ones, and the bowl that contained the ashes from the circus had been disturbed. He even called to have pest control come by because he thought an animal had gotten in, but isn’t it obvious? The aracanga came back to life overnight! I don’t know why it took so much longer than Stella—maybe its powers had been spent on her—but it must’ve found a way out of the station and flown back to the circus. It’s the only explanation that makes sense!”