by Alex P. Berg
I shook my head. “I’d love to indulge you, but I think poison makes the most sense. It wouldn’t necessarily have to have been on the blade, either. It’s possible Biggie realized he was a dead man and took a pill to put himself out of his misery, or to keep himself from being captured and interrogated. You find any evidence of elevated drug residue in his stomach?”
“We haven’t bothered to look yet,” said Cairny. “We’ll take swabs, but those’ll require additional toxicology tests.”
“And more days of waiting. Wonderful.”
Cairny crossed to an empty exam table and lifted a saw. “In the meantime, Larkspur and I are going to put the aneurysm question to the test. Anyone care to stay for the results?”
Quinto may have been engaged to Cairny now, but his feet carried him out the morgue and up the stairs as fast as Rodgers’ and mine did.
12
I sat at my desk, plucking chunks of chicken, snap peas, and sauce-slicked noodles from a waxed cardboard container with a pair of chopsticks. I’d picked up lunch for Rodgers, Quinto, and myself at the nearest chow hut, a place by the name of Noodles and More run by an elderly gnome couple. A bare year ago I wouldn’t have touched their noodles with a ten foot pole sprayed with industrial-strength noodle repellant, but apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d changed in that time span. The noodles had improved from hellish to respectable. Perhaps the gnomes were taking night classes.
“Daggers?”
I looked up from my stir fry. A short, bald man stood in front of my desk, a smattering of stubble distributed unevenly around his rounded chin. “Hey, Boatreng. Just get back from the tattoo parlor?”
He dug into the satchel he wore over his shoulder, the one that contained his sketch pad and charcoals. “Why else would I be here?”
“It could be because you miss my charming wit and insightful social commentary,” I said. “Or maybe because it’s past lunch time and I’m holding something edible.”
“One of those is more likely than the other.” He pulled a sheet from his satchel and held it forward. “Here’s the likeness I produced from working with that artist at the tattoo shop.”
“Dwayne,” I said, accepting the sheet. “He’s a trip, isn’t he?”
“He might be on a trip, that’s for sure. I’ve worked with worse. He was able to describe the suspect pretty well.”
I glanced at the drawing, which as promised by Dwayne depicted a big scary ogre, bald as a watermelon and with a head roughly the same size. He had all the traditional features of his race: dark skin, thick eyebrows to go along with wide set eyes, a wide nose, a wide jaw, a wide neck—hell, wide everything. To go along with that, the guy seemed to be clenching his jaw in the drawing.
“Did you intentionally make it look like the suspect was constipated?” I asked.
Boatreng shrugged. “Dwayne was insistent that he sported a perpetual scowl. As a fellow artist, he implored me to depict him accurately. I can whip up another with a neutral expression if you give me fifteen minutes.”
I frowned.
“Something wrong?”
I looked at the sketch some more. There was something about the guy I couldn’t put my finger on. “No. It’s fine. Can I keep this?”
“I need to produce duplicates,” he said. “I can bring you one in a half hour.”
“Sure. That’ll be fine.” I handed the sketch back. “Thanks.”
I’d only gotten another couple bites of my chicken and noodles down my gullet before Rodgers popped over. “Hey, Daggers. Boatreng have anything?”
“A sketch. Same as always.”
Rodgers looked mildly disappointed at my lack of exposition. “Right. Anyway, Quinto and I are headed out. The big guy did some research and found a professor at the University of New Welwic who’s supposed to be an expert on poisons. Seems like a long shot at this point, but he might be able to make sense of Cairny and Coroner Lurch’s suspicions.”
“Long shots are most of our leads right now,” I said. “Want company?”
“I’ve already got Quinto. Seems like enough.”
“Rodgers, I’m sitting here eating chicken out of a cardboard bucket. The Captain’s still not back from whatever crisis pulled her away from her desk, and without Steele, I don’t have anyone to bounce my crazy theories off of. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe something not work related?”
“In the middle of all this? You want me to take time off?”
“Look, maybe it’s not my place to say anything,” said Rodgers, “but Steele invited you to join her for her brother’s graduation thingy. Sounded like she might like having you along.”
I snorted and waved my chopsticks. “Oh. That. She was only being nice. Inviting me because she thought I was unnecessarily worried about her.”
“Well, seemed to me there was genuine interest on her part to have you by her side. But, hey, what do I know? I’ve only been happily married for seven years.”
I chewed a chunk of bell pepper. “Point taken. But I’m sure the ceremony is at least half over.”
“Perfect,” said Rodgers. “You’ll need the time to head back to your place to change into something respectable for the afterparty.”
He was right. I’d get evil looks for wearing leather. “I don’t know. Seems like a lot of wasted time…”
Rodgers gave me a look. “Daggers, for once in your life, take my advice. Go home. Put on something nice. Meet Steele at whatever shindig her parents are hosting for her brother. You won’t regret it. You need to get your mind off the case. Right now we’re spinning our wheels. Trust me. Lean on your team. Quinto and I can handle it, and if we can’t, you’ll only be gone a few hours.”
I grumbled. “The CSU team is still probably combing through my things.”
“You’re running out of excuses,” said Rodgers. “Come on, man. Go.”
“Fine,” I said. “As soon as I’m done with lunch. But if you die a horrible death at the hands of ruthless thugs, don’t you dare haunt me in the afterlife. You can pester Quinto in the middle of the night and ruin his sex life, instead.”
“Just the mental image I wanted, thanks.”
Rodgers flicked his fingers at me and left. I horked down the last few lingering noodles in my carryout container and headed after him out the door.
13
When I reached my building’s third floor landing, I found a friendly face waiting for me outside my door. “Phillips. They put you on guard duty? Please tell me the Captain let you go home and get some sleep last night.”
“Not to worry, Detective,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t come in until ten. Captain’s orders. You can save your sympathy for the officer who stood guard overnight.”
“Captain Knox left a detail here, too?”
Phillips nodded. “Didn’t want any interference with the crime scene after CSU left.”
The door to my apartment stood open, though someone had strung another length of police-issue caution tape across the entrance. Inside, I could see a trio of white coat-clad technicians meticulously inspecting my living room’s remains. “They’re back.”
“Ten o’clock, same as me,” said Phillips.
I pointed at the open door. “You mind?”
“Not at all, sir,” he said, stepping to the side. “Your apartment, after all.”
I unpinned the tape and walked inside, careful not to step on any of the glass shards that still littered the floor. The CSU techs looked my way upon hearing my footsteps, but only the head tech bothered to give me a nod, a middle-aged woman by the name of Maribell or Marissa or something that started with an ‘M.’
“Detective,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
I wondered if I could get through our conversation without admitting I’d forgotten her name. “I wasn’t expecting to be back. Forgot a change of clothes for a ceremony I’m attending this afternoon. Well, I didn’t actually for
get, if we’re being technical. My plans changed.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mariwhatever turned back to her work of plucking hair fragments and mystery threads from the wall where Biggie’s body had been recovered.
I could’ve gotten away scot-free, but I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Say, have you checked that area for traces of neurotoxins?”
Marisomething cast a glance my way.
“It’s the guy who died there. Biggie, I’m calling him. Coroner Moonshadow suspects he might’ve been poisoned, but she didn’t find anything on the blade. I’m thinking he might’ve taken a suicide pill to avoid questioning. Maybe he had more than one. Could’ve lost one, even.”
Mariwhatshername lifted a brow.
“So you’re looking into it? I can tell you’re looking into it. Good. Great.” I turned to one of the other techs, feeling like a heel. “It’s fine if I grab something from my bedroom, right?”
“So long as you didn’t fight anyone in there.”
I nodded my assent before heading to my bedchambers. Once there, I sifted through the limited portion of my closet that didn’t contain plain cotton shirts and denim, trying to think what Shay would’ve chosen for me if she’d been here. Eventually I plucked free a tan linen suit I hadn’t worn in years and put it on. I felt naked in its silky embrace, and not because the linen breathed so well. Rather because I had to leave Daisy behind again. The thing barely had room for a billfold in the interior pocket, never mind a foot and a half long truncheon.
I was a master of avoiding eye contact as I left my apartment, making it back to the exterior door without so much as spotting any of the three techs in my peripheral vision. To be fair, I doubt any of them wanted to talk to me either. That didn’t hold for Phillips, though.
“Looking good, sir,” he said as I pinned the caution tape back into place. “Heading to another event with Detective Steele?”
“A reception for her brother. He graduated from business school today. Try not to die of boredom, Phillips.” I gave the young guy a wave.
“Um…sir?”
I paused in mid-stride. “Yes?”
“It’s really not my place, but ah…your shoes.”
“What of them?”
“Black doesn’t go with tan. Sir.”
I blinked. “You’re kidding, right? Am I the only one left at the precinct who’s not fashion conscious?”
Phillips blushed. “No, sir. I didn’t mean it that way. Forgot I said anything.”
I glanced down at my utilitarian work shoes. They’d been black, once upon a time. Years of scuffs had turned them more of a dark gray.
I sighed. Phillips was right. Shay would notice them. She might not say anything, but she’d notice.
I blinked as I stared at my shoes. Speaking of noticing…
I knelt and peered at the floor. As with my shoes, the floorboards were covered with scuffs and crisscrossed scratches, decades worth instead of years worth, but there were a few that looked fresh, ones where raw wood unearthed by an errant boot had yet to oxidize and fade. Several scratches, actually. A set of three, all in a row.
I looked up and moved closer to Phillips.
“Sir, really, I apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.”
I found a few more scratches near my door. From when Topples bum rushed me? “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?”
I waved him off, swatting aside the tape on my way into my apartment. Sure enough, I found another set of scratches.
“Hey, Mari…er…”
The head tech looked my way, unamused. “Yes?”
“You catalog these scratches?”
“Already in my report.”
I nodded and kept starting at them.
“I can strike them if you think they weren’t caused during the skirmish.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s not it. Go ahead and leave them there.”
I headed back to my bedroom before she could ask me what my issue with them was. It wasn’t until I was halfway through changing my shoes that I realized there were two. The fact that there were so few scratches when Biggie, Topples, and I had darn near tangoed across my living room three times over was confusing, but the presence of a set of scratches in the hallway, where I hadn’t fought anyone at all, was darn near baffling.
14
I knocked on the door and waited, muffled voices and laughter muted by the hardwood between us. I was getting ready to knock a second time when I heard the snap of a latch and the squeak of hinges.
“Ah, Jake. Glad to see you could make it.”
Stephen Steele, Shay’s father, stood behind the door, dressed in a cool grey suit that matched the streaks in his otherwise brown hair. He beamed as he waved me in with the hand that wasn’t holding a half-full tumbler of brandy.
“Come in,” he said. “Make yourself at home. You know where the coat rack is.”
As glad as I was to see the man smiling, I wasn’t naive enough to think it was because of my presence. Surely it had more to do with his middle son graduating from the prestigious UNW business program. Still, I could at least take heart in the fact that we’d all turned over new leaves since our disastrous first encounter, the one in which I’d accidentally turned a bottle of fine wine into an aerosolized spray and nearly killed their cat with an ill-timed karate kick. Since then, I’d apologized profusely, but more than that, I’d gotten to know him and his wife, not to mention their sons Samuel and Shawn. I wasn’t sure if I could officially say they’d accepted me, but they were making a much stronger effort to make me feel welcome, no doubt in response to a talking to on the part of Shay, and in turn I was doing my damnedest not to screw things up.
“Thanks, Mr. Steele,” I said, walking into the apartment. “How were the festivities?”
“You mean the ceremony? Well, I can’t say it was the most exciting thing in the world. If you’ve been to one of those, you’ve been to them all, and seeing as Shawn is the last of mine to graduate from an advanced degree program, not to mention all the undergraduate ceremonies I’ve attended…well, you can imagine how it goes. I was more looking forward to getting home.” He lifted his brandy. “But as graduations go, it was nice. Brenton Heimlich gave a speech on monetarism. Can’t say I agree with the principle, but it was pertinent given Shawn’s field. You’re familiar with him?”
“Who?” I said. “Heimlich? Never heard of him.”
“He’s an economist. You can ask Shawn about him. I’m sure he could tell you much more about his theories than I could.”
That sounded thrilling. “I’ll be sure to do that when I see him. After I congratulate him, of course. Is he in the living room?”
“No, still at the university,” said Mr. Steele. “Or rather, I imagine he’s on his way back by now. He had to stay afterwards to sign the official yearbook, shake hands, and say his goodbyes. Not that he won’t see his classmates again. He’s already secured a good entry level position here in the city.”
“That’s great to hear. He’ll be making more than me by the end of the week.”
Mr. Steele chuckled. “Don’t beat yourself up. He’ll probably be making more than me soon. So, where’s Shay? Don’t tell me you left her back at the precinct.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. What do you mean?”
“Come now, Jake. She sent word that you were in a bit of a tussle last night, but it didn’t affect your memory, did it? Shay. My daughter. Your girlfriend.”
I blinked again, feeling pressure building in my chest. “Are you saying she didn’t join you at the ceremony?”
Stephen cocked his head at me. “No. I was under the impression she’d be there, sure, but after she sent her note last night, I expected both of your schedules to be touch and go. I figured the two of you got caught up in something at work. What did happen last night, anyway?”
Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. My h
eart started pounding, and I couldn’t breathe. Blood pulsed through my head with each beat, making every artery, every capillary feel like a rushing river.
I swayed. Mr. Steele held out a hand to steady me.
“Jake, what’s going on? Are you alright?”
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I’ve got to go.”
With Mr. Steele’s confused voice ringing behind me, I turned and stumbled toward the stairs, fighting off the darkness as I forced my legs into a run.
15
My feet pounded on the stairs as I bounced off them, taking them three at a time to ground level. I blasted open the door to the street, throwing my bulk into it, nearly knocking a pedestrian to the ground as I took off at a dead sprint toward 5th Street.
A nauseating cocktail of emotions washed through me. Anger, fear, guilt, and despair, each of them fighting for control, each of them trying to drag me down to the ground, to make me decorate the sidewalk with half-digested chicken stir fry or to force me into a ball and shake with wracking sobs.
I elbowed them to the side and simply ran, faster than any rickshaw could go, partly because I wasn’t pulling a cart behind me, more because I was fueled with desperation, a dying need to understand, to search, to find. A need to silence the crippling stew of emotions with undeniable proof that their distasteful influence was unfounded.
I ricocheted off foot traffic and rickshaw drivers alike as I tore through the streets, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the city blocks disappeared behind me. My heart pumped at a hundred and fifty beats a minute, now from exertion rather than blind fear. Sweat slicked my forehead and wicked my suit to my back. I might’ve ripped it at the seams in my haste, but I didn’t care. Only Shay’s wellbeing mattered. Nothing else.
I careened around the corner of 5th and Schumacher and made a beeline for the urchins clustered around the precinct’s front steps. Some of the smaller ones looked alarmed as I barreled toward them at full speed, but most of them recognized me. They earned their coppers carrying messages for the department.