I enter the holding cell and take a position against the back wall, between the two chairs Ella and Riker will use when they interrogate Wallace. I want to be visible. I want him to see me. I want him to know he made a mistake last night, treating me like a disposable source, and now it’s come back to bite him in the ass. I want him to focus on me, and I want there to be a silent, biting conversation between us, even as Ella and Riker break him down from the outside in.
To be honest, I want my anger at Wallace to distract me from the fact that Cooper Lee is still missing, but my presence here does serve as a psychological tactic that’ll be useful during the interview. The guy who got fleeced by the Wolf last night, looming in the background, dressed all in black, his hard gaze affixed to Wallace, never wandering. Vincent Wallace isn’t the most stable person, emotionally, and though I don’t like exploiting people’s mental problems—I have enough of my own to know I’d be horrified if they were used against me—we need Wallace to spill his secrets faster than a busted dam spills water.
Because, as of ten minutes ago, we have less than twenty-four hours to solve the riddle.
Less than twenty-four hours to stop another magic bomb from going off.
Less than twenty-four hours to prevent more death and destruction in Aurora.
This isn’t the time to play the case slow and steady. We’re on the clock, and therefore, so is Wallace.
Naomi leads the Wolf into the room, shackles around his arms and legs, and pushes him into the single chair on the side of the table opposite Riker and Ella. Producing a key, she unlocks one of the cuffs on Wallace’s wrists, then jerks his hands around his body and relocks the same cuff after slipping it through the metal loop on the table. She checks her handiwork, ensuring that Wallace is secured, and nods respectfully to my teammates and me before backing out of the cell and closing the door.
Wallace looks more bemused than scared. Limp, shaggy hair hangs over his eyes, which blink, slow and heavy, not quite sure how to process what they see. A five o’clock shadow surrounds his deep frown, and his lips twitch every time the links on his shackles clink. His posture is loose, shoulders low, back bent at a ten-degree angle. Trying to cast himself as harmless without appearing too submissive.
Ella takes her seat next to Riker, intentionally scraping her chair across the floor to make a grating sound that must be hard on Wallace’s enhanced Wolf hearing. Wallace winces, but doesn’t complain out loud.
Ella rests her hands atop a manila folder that contains a few printed pages of background information on Wallace, every piece of dirt we were able to find on him during the hour that Naomi and her teammates spent hunting him down. There’s not much there: a few traffic violations, one battery charge for a bar fight that was ultimately dropped because Wallace was defending someone else, and a brief stint in a juvenile detention center for stealing his asshole stepfather’s truck when he was sixteen.
But we don’t actually need any dirt on Wallace. The folder is just there to make him nervous, and the info about his background will be used to pressure him if he holds out on us.
Which he may not do at all, judging by his growing discomfort.
Riker and Ella let the silence grow thicker for nearly five minutes, until Wallace has literally started sweating, and then my captain smacks his palms against the table, startling his target, and says, “So tell me about the vampires you were spying on, Wallace.”
Surprise flickers across the Wolf’s expression, and he replies, “I wasn’t personally spying on them, Riker. I was a go-between.”
“For who?” Riker taps his index finger on the tabletop, a steady rhythm that mimics the ticking of a clock. “Someone higher up on the chain?”
Wallace mentally runs through his options, his teeth gnawing on his tongue, jaw shifting side to side. He can try to flee by transforming into his animal form—he’d escape from his restraints, but then he’d have to face three armed DSI detectives. So no go. He can try to lie—but we’ve figured out enough of the convention center scheme to pinpoint any missing pieces of his story. So no go. Or he can tell us the truth—that’ll risk retribution by the Lycanthrope government for spilling state secrets, but it’ll guarantee he gets out of the dungeon in one piece, and that he avoids punishment under regular human law for obstructing an investigation.
Wallace concedes his loss. “All right. Fine. I’ll tell you the whole damn story. If you let me go immediately afterward and promise, in writing, not to tell anyone I was involved in these…proceedings.”
“Done.” Riker’s straight, unreadable expression doesn’t change at all. “Write that up, will you, Ella?”
Ella slips a blank piece of official DSI stationery out of the manila folder and pulls a pen from a pocket in her coat. She scrawls a few lines on the page, signs it, and slides the paper across the table to Wallace. The Wolf grabs the paper, holds it up as high as he can with the cuffs on, and thoroughly reads whatever Ella wrote—a promise for immunity, I guess—before he folds the paper in half and sets it aside.
“Okay,” Wallace says, “let’s rewind to last year, the Jameson case and the McKinney business.”
“This started that long ago?” Ella asks.
Wallace scowls. “Let me tell the story, please.”
Riker and Ella glance at each other, then shrug.
Wallace shakes the hair out of his eyes and begins recounting a tale that may help us crack this case. “The day I joined you for that task room meeting, and learned McKinney had been in recent contact with Richard Wheaton, I called the president’s office, requesting information about that meeting—what they talked about, why the audience was granted in the first place, that sort of thing. At first, I was totally stonewalled. One of President Wheaton’s aides told me not to call again regarding the matter of McKinney, and that any future inquires I made on the subject, at any level of the Congress, would be summarily ignored.
“Needless to say, my anxiety shot through the roof.” Wallace fidgets in his chair. “I knew there was something going on, but I was apparently too low on the ladder to be allowed into the loop. Until Kinsey back there discovered the truth about the Jameson murders: that McKinney’s second, along with the wizard and the former mayor, were killed by a shapeshifter mercenary hired by the vampires. Shortly after that news broke, I received a call from Richard Wheaton himself.”
“The President of the United Lycanthrope Republic called you?” Riker says.
Wallace nods. “Yes, on his personal phone.”
Ella asks, “And what did he have to say?”
“He told me,” Wallace continues, “that he and McKinney were old friends who ran in the same pack decades ago, and that McKinney had approached him, using their old connection, to make a plea for the Republic to mobilize against a growing vampire threat. According to McKinney, the vampires are plotting a major offensive against both the ICM and the Lycanthrope Republic—for what reason, no one has yet figured out—an offensive that has the potential to permanently shift the balance of power in the global supernatural community. The ICM rogues in Aurora, formerly led by Allen Marcus, are part of a loose alliance of rogues, a national alliance, possibly even international, working together to stop the vampires before they get the ball rolling on their supposed world domination scheme.”
Riker runs a hand through his hair. “You’re saying Marcus’ group was only a small cog in a large, poorly built but easily repaired machine, and that all the rogues we’ve taken down so far have likely been replaced already?”
“It’s not too hard, I imagine,” Wallace says, “to convince people to join an underground movement after you tell them their lives are in mortal danger, that a powerful, long-feared foe has decided to attack. So I would guess that any rogues left alive after the Jameson debacle last year went out and recruited new ‘soldiers’ for their cause. So, yeah, my instincts say there is indeed a new, and bigger, group of ICM rogues now active in Aurora. But I have minimal intel on them; that’s why I asked Kinse
y if DSI thought the ICM, or their rogues, were responsible for the convention center collapse. I was probing, to find out if you knew more than I did.”
“Let’s backtrack for a second,” Ella says. “Wheaton filled you in on his conversation with McKinney, and then what? How did that lead to the spies at the convention center?”
Wallace gives her a wry smile. “The news about the shapeshifter convinced a previously skeptical President Wheaton that McKinney was right to fear the vampires. But he couldn’t blindly submit to McKinney’s plea to mobilize the Wolves against a vampire offensive that had not yet occurred on any scale defensible to start a war over. So he decided to begin running covert operations to discover more about the vampires’ plans. Since Aurora appeared to be a focal point of activity for the ICM faction that is seemingly well-informed about the vampires’ plans, Wheaton asked me to keep a very close eye on potential ICM rogues, and on any vampire movements in the area.
“Three weeks ago, I caught a lead.” Wallace drops his gaze to his blurred reflection on the table. “After putting out feelers across the entire werewolf community in Aurora, a cousin of mine, one of the administrators of the Wellington Wallace Convention Center—that namesake comes from my grandfather, Bertram Wallace, by the way—informed me that a mysterious international group of businesspeople had scheduled a private meeting at the center. When she looked into their origins, she found their company was a shell corporation with an address based in the city of Arad, Romania. The country of Romania, as I’m sure you know, is the seat of the International Vampire Parliament.”
Riker pinches the bridge of his nose. “So the ‘businesspeople’ were actually a group of vampires who were planning to hold a secret meeting in the convention center yesterday. And these vampires wound up the targets of an attack by the ICM rogues.”
“Do you have any idea why they were meeting there?” Ella says.
“None whatsoever. That’s what the ‘spies’ were supposed to determine.” Wallace tips his head back and stares remorsefully up at the bright ceiling lights. “Unfortunately, as soon as they got into position to listen in on the vampires’ conversation…the whole fucking building got blown to kingdom come.”
Riker asks, “And how did your president respond to the attack?”
“As soon as the news hit the airwaves, President Wheaton called me again and demanded I find out what happened. After I confirmed with the medical examiner that all four Wolves died in the blast, along with, I assumed, all the vampires, I went in search of information on the whereabouts of every ICM member in the city around the time of the attack. I discovered that no ICM practitioners were in the convention center when it came down. None of them were injured. None of them were killed. None of them were affected in any way.”
Wallace’s voice grows rough. “I know that’s a coincidence. No way every ICM practitioner in the city was involved in the attack. I just can’t help but be a little resentful about it. Four Wolves dead. And not a single practitioner with even a scratch. It’s—”
Riker holds up his hand to stop the Wolf’s rant. “I understand how you feel, Wallace. Really I do. But let’s move on. Do you know the identities of any of the current ICM rogues?”
Wallace deflates. “No. I was hoping you had rooted them out, or that you had discovered a piece of evidence at the convention center that would incriminate at least one person. But when Kinsey came up empty last night, and I realized DSI was even further behind than me, I went off to hunt for evidence on my own. So far, though, I haven’t caught the trail of any of the responsible practitioners. But I mean, I’ve only had a day…”
“So have we. And look how much we’ve learned in that time.” Riker pushes his chair back from the table, then makes a subtle hand gesture to Ella. “Well, Wallace, thank you for your cooperation. Though I wish you had expressed it last night, instead of waiting until we forcibly dragged you in here. Next time you get a call from President Wheaton, let him know I’m sorry for his losses, and tell him DSI is on the case.”
“Uh, sure.” Wallace grimaces. “I’ll tell him that.”
He definitely will not tell Wheaton that. The Wolves don’t have any love for us Crows, and they don’t want us involved in their business. Even if it’s our business too.
Ella rises from her chair, crosses the room, and knocks on the door three times. The door is unlocked from the outside, and Naomi pokes her head in to confirm we’re done with our werewolf of interest. Then she enters the room, marches up behind Wallace again, undoes a single one of his cuffs, and drops the key on the table for him to unlock the rest himself. Wallace is annoyed at her behavior, at all our behavior, but again, he doesn’t complain. Because he’s in our domain right now, and he knows damn well he wronged us by not giving us this information sooner.
Wallace unshackles himself and hesitantly stands. “Am I free to go?” He picks up the paper with Ella’s written promise on it and waves it for emphasis.
Riker nods to Naomi, who moves back into the hallway and says, “Yes, Mr. Wallace. I’ll escort you to the front lobby.”
Wallace hurries out into the hall, and after one last passing glance at us, a glance that speaks of risks and repercussions—he walks away.
Ella says to Riker, “That was illuminating, but it was all background info. We still don’t have any leads on the rogue practitioners responsible for the attack.”
Riker stares at the empty doorway and replies, “Then let’s go out there and get some.”
Chapter Fourteen
I’ve never been a huge fan of irony, especially when it involves vampires.
After Wallace is politely escorted out of the building, Riker and Ella resume scouring the case files for any details that match the riddle. Desmond, who was doing the same thing while we were interrogating Wallace, settles down for his sleep shift in the lounge, curled up on a limp old couch that is way too small for a man his size. Amy continues to lead the search for Cooper, with the help of Delarosa’s team—still no trace of him yet, as of her last call. And Naomi’s team is back on the streets, on the hunt for suspicious practitioner activity now that we know the ICM rogues are responsible for the attack.
Last (and most certainly least), I attempt to check out the security cam files for the evidence lockup, only to find that all the security agents were coopted for search and rescue, after a significant number of survivors were located early this morning, trapped in what remains of a basement storage room. They needed more manpower at the disaster zone, and the security team was all DSI had left to offer. So out they went to save the day. And to impede the investigation into the theft of the fountain pen, because I can’t access any security tapes without a variety of passwords and biometric keys from the security agent on duty.
(We’re very strict on footage access, due to that whole exposing the existence of the supernatural to the public risk.)
On the one hand, I get where the commissioner is coming from—we have to rescue those victims. But on the other hand—jeez. Someone literally broke into our lockup and stole a vital piece of evidence, and I can’t find out who until one of the security agents gets back. And that could take a full work shift.
I spend almost twenty minutes pacing back and forth in front of the security office, trying to find a way around workplace procedures, before I give up and head back to the task room to report the issue to Riker.
The captain, bent over in his chair as he skims another case file, says, “I could try to call Bollinger about it, see if he can get a security agent over here on a break to release the footage, but he hasn’t been answering his phone this morning. Straight to voicemail every time. State and federal aid organizations, as well as the FBI, have finally pulled into town. He’s probably swamped at the mayor’s office, working through the jurisdictional and organizational mess.”
Ella sets her own file down. “I guess we’ll leave him a message then, unless you want to break into the security office.”
Riker scratches his chi
n. “Tempting, but Bollinger would ream our asses for it.”
I prop myself up against the doorframe. “Even if it’s in the pursuit of a thief who compromised a critical investigation? Bollinger was pretty keen on us giving this case our all, considering the stakes here.”
Riker sinks lower in his chair, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I know it sounds arbitrary, stupid even, to stall our investigation because of the slight risk that an information leak might occur through improper access of our security footage. But the rules we have are in place for a reason.” He flips a page in his case file. “Plus, there’s more than one way to solve this case, and really, we don’t even know if finding the pen is a time-sensitive issue. It may not have any bearing on the resolution of the case at all. Especially if only a trained practitioner can make the pen do anything worthwhile, something you and Cooper theorized last night.”
He picks up his cane, then sets it down a foot farther away so he can move a large stack of case files off to the side without knocking it over. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve picked up a magical piece of evidence, only to find it completely useless in our investigation. Far from it. In fact, I’d wager magic evidence is worthless over half the time. We solve cases based on forensic evidence far more often than we do with magic paraphernalia.”
I mull over that statement. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better, aren’t you?”
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