Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “I just wanted to bring you this.” I handed her the bag and she accepted it quietly.

  “I asked about his things,” she said. “Detective Malone said we couldn’t have them back. He said they were part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “He’s still trying to find a way to blame Flick for his own murder,” I said angrily.

  “I don’t understand it,” she said as her eyes misted up. “What is wrong with that man? Why can’t he just leave it alone?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But we’re going to find out. Trust me on that.”

  “You’ve been so kind. Did you get my message?”

  I frowned. “No. When did you call?”

  “Last night,” she said. “I just wanted to invite you to the memorial. We’re giving Flick a sendoff next Saturday at Ocean Beach. His family couldn’t get into town, or we’d have done it sooner.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said. I pulled out my cell phone and realized that the battery was dead. I hadn’t been home much in the last few days, and I had completely forgotten about charging it. The piece of junk needs to be charged daily because it’s old technology and the battery isn’t very good. The only reason I haven’t upgraded to a better model is because it’s large enough to fit comfortably in my hand. Well, not all that comfortably, but at least it doesn’t slip out of my grip every time I try to make a call. Cell phones are designed with humans in mind, just like cars. In the real world, one size does not fit all.

  “What now?” Butch said as we walked up the street. “Do you have any idea who the killer is?”

  “Not really. My best lead took a nine millimeter to the forehead last night.” As we walked up to the tram I told Butch about everything that had happened on the case so far, up to and including Castle O’Rourke’s murder, and ending with me being thrown in jail. I couldn’t help but snarl a little as I said Malone’s name.

  “So you think it was Malone, then?” he said. “You think he killed Flick?”

  “I don’t know. There’s definitely something suspicious about the way he’s behaving. He’s doing his best to keep me off this case even if it means charging me with murder.”

  “Aye, or framing you for murder,” Butch said.

  I considered that. “It is an incredible coincidence that the gun used to kill O’Rourke ended up in my blazer.”

  “Aye, and how did Malone know where to look for it?” Butch added. “Your Blazer isn’t even home, is it?”

  “No, it’s in the parking garage on Geary. At least, that’s where it was when I left it. I suppose it could be anywhere now. Malone could have had it impounded.”

  “I bet it’s still there,” Butch said. “I bet Maloney Baloney doesn’t even know where it is.”

  “Maloney Baloney?” I said with a chuckle.

  Butch laughed. “Yeah, he needed a nickname. Dirtbag just didn’t have the same finesse.”

  “Maloney Baloney… well, it does rhyme at least. I’ll give you points for that.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  I thought it over. “Well, if we’re right and Malone really is trying to frame me, that means he killed Castle.”

  “Makes sense to me,” said Butch. “All he had to do was wait for you to show up.”

  “Right, and since he already had the gun, he just claimed that he’d found it in my Blazer. Being Chief of Detectives, nobody that works under Malone would dare question his story.

  “So let’s go after him, then,” Butch said. “Put me in a room with him for ten minutes. I’ll get a confession for ya.”

  I chuckled. “As tempting as that sounds, I think you’re forgetting something.”

  “Such as?”

  “What part does the mayor play in all of this? After all, it was his sword that killed Flick. Supposedly, the rest of the weapons in that suitcase belonged to him as well.”

  “But he reported them stolen,” Butch said. “He couldn’t possibly have killed Flick.”

  “Maybe. If he bothered to report it at all. Malone could have made that up just as easy, especially since there’s no record of those weapons at the police station.”

  Butch let out a quiet whistle. “So you think they’re working together, the mayor and Malone?”

  “At the moment it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Think about it: those weapons disappeared from the police station after not even being logged in. Malone just happened to have the gun that killed Castle. I’d bet that both Flick and Castle O’Rourke could have told us where those weapons came from, but they’re both conveniently dead, maybe both by Malone. And if that sword really did belong to the mayor and he had reported it stolen, then why was the mayor’s wife covering for him?”

  “They didn’t have their story straight,” Butch said.

  “Exactly, because the mayor has been too busy with his campaign to explain everything to his wife. So, when I showed up asking questions she just naturally tried to cover for him.”

  “You’ve got a point,” said Butch. “The whole thing is fishy. But why? What’s the big deal with those weapons? How could it be worth killing two people? And framing you for murder?”

  “I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully. “This would all be a lot easier if we knew what Flick had found out. Unfortunately, whoever killed him was smart enough to take his notes.”

  “What about Flick’s boss?” said Butch. “The newspaper editor might know what Flick was onto.”

  “Pol Wurzt? I already talked to him. He knew Flick was on the case but they hadn’t talked in several days.”

  “So we got nothin’,” Butch said glumly.

  “I wouldn’t say that. If Malone or the mayor really are in on this weapon scheme, they must be pulling some income from it.”

  “Brilliant!” he said. “How do we find out?”

  “I know just the man,” I said. “Well, not a man exactly. About half a man.”

  “We’re gonna go see Tas?” Butch said.

  “Yeah. He owes me a favor. I’ll call and make sure he’s-” I reached for my cell phone and remembered that the battery was still dead. “Crap. Butch, call Tas and tell him we’re coming over.”

  Butch rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. “Sure thing, Boss.”

  We hopped on the tram and rode it to the nearest stop. A few minutes later, we rolled to a stop at the north end of the undercity.

  “We can jump trams here,” Butch said. “The next northbound should be along in a few minutes.”

  “No way,” I said. “We’re driving.”

  “Oh right,” he said with a smirk. “I forgot about your last ride up north.”

  I glared at him. The northbound tram to Tiburon travels under the San Francisco bay. The last time I’d ridden it, I’d been in an accident and nearly drowned. The tram had crashed, damaging the walls in the process, and I got a bath in about a million gallons of bay water. And then there were the sharks…

  As far as I was concerned, the northbound line was off limits. Instead, we took a connecting tram to the parking garage where I’d left my Blazer. Not surprisingly, we found it intact, just where I’d left it.

  “You were right,” I told Butch. “Still here. Doesn’t even look like it’s been touched.”

  Butch grimaced as we approached it. “Is it legal to drive a car with that much rust?” he said.

  “The seat belts still work,” I said with a shrug. “Well, mine does anyway.” He glared at me.

  Chapter 7

  About an hour later we pulled through the gates of Tas’s exclusive bay front neighborhood and drove up the wide, paved road to his mansion. He was out front when we arrived. He was wearing Bermuda shorts with a towel around his neck and taking pictures of his six bikini-clad girlfriends as they washed his Ferrari. I stared for a moment as I parked, and then shook my head and laughed. I glanced at Butch and saw his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

  “Easy fella,” I warned him. “You’re a m
arried man now.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with lookin’,” he said. Then his face fell and he gave me a pleading look. “What are we gonna do about Talia, Boss?”

  My heart went out to him. I patted him on the shoulder. “She’s going to be fine, Butch. I don’t know what kind of spell she’s under, but we’ll find a way to break it. There’s always a way.”

  He nodded absently. I didn’t point it out to Butch of course, but the truth was that some spells couldn’t be broken. I’d come across them more than once. Ten years earlier, an undercity high school experiment had gone wrong and the school principal, a bald-headed dwarf named Mr. Haggarty got transformed into a lizard. Even the Elders couldn’t find a way to return him to normal. Haggarty was doing okay for a while, living in a cage in the classroom until one of the students forgot to lock the cage and he escaped through an open window. He was last seen skedaddling across the campus toward the lake. There were other times, too. More than I cared to remember.

  In some ways, fairy magic is a lot like science. There are certain things you can do and other things that just don’t work. For example, in a science lab you can mix two harmless chemicals together in a test tube and end up with a powerful explosion. But after the explosion, imagine trying to restore the two chemicals to their original state. It’s just not possible. Magic is like that sometimes. You can make things happen that just can’t be undone.

  I climbed out of the Blazer and approached Tas, smiling. Butch stood beside me.

  “Steward… Butch, it’s good to see you. I heard about Talia. I’m sorry.”

  “Just a hitch,” I said. “We’ll have her fixed in no time.”

  Tas nodded. He looked skeptical, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  My eyes lingered on his three hundred thousand dollar car writhing with beautiful, nearly-naked women. “Can we talk inside?” I said.

  “Good idea. I need a drink.”

  “Me too,” Butch grumbled.

  Tas led us through the foyer and into a large living room with a fireplace, a wall-sized TV, and a fully stocked bar. “What’ll you boys have?”

  “A beer!” Butch said enthusiastically.

  “We’re on duty,” I said. Butch lowered his eyes. Truth is, there’s no rule about the Steward drinking on the job. I just wanted to stay sharp. I wanted to keep my wits about me, and I wanted Butch sober.

  “Tas, I need you to search some financials for me.”

  “I see. Didn’t I just run a background search for you a few weeks ago?”

  I pursed my lips. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “That’s what you said last time.”

  “Tas, cut me some slack. This is official Steward business.”

  “All right. I’ll do this one for charity, but don’t think I’ll forget that you owe me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said cynically.

  “Uh huh. So what’s the score?”

  “An old friend of mine, Flick Hunter. He was murdered the night before last.”

  “Oh right, the newspaper guy. He was into some weapons thing, wasn’t he?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “In fact, it’s the other way around.”

  He blinked. “I don’t follow.”

  I took a deep breath and explained my theory about the mayor and Chaz Malone. “I’m not one hundred percent sure they’re working together,” I admitted, “but at least one of them is involved. Whoever killed Flick did it to cover up the weapons smuggling operation. The way I see it, somebody’s on the take. Somebody’s making money off the deal. I need you to find out who. This could be my smoking gun.”

  Tas swirled his drink, staring into the glass. “All right, who’s first? The mayor or the cop?”

  “The cop,” I said between clenched teeth.

  Tas led us down the hall to his cold, dark, Gigeresque computer room. Network cables and power cords covered with thick metal shielding dangled from the ceiling, forming a web over our heads as they trailed back and forth to the racks of computer hardware. They looked like tendrils spreading out from the belly of some hideous alien-cyborg creature. Red LED lights flashed here and there in the darkness, and racks of computer equipment loomed obelisk-like around us.

  “This place is creepy,” Butch said. “Do you sacrifice virgins in here when you’re not hacking?”

  Tas smirked. He settled into a large leather chair in front of three computer screens and tapped his keyboard. An image of a gnome wizard from World of Warcraft appeared on his screen. Butch chuckled, and Tas shot him a glare. I nudged Butch with my elbow. Tas was the last person we wanted to piss off. We didn’t just need him today; he was one of my best resources.

  Tas hit a few buttons on his keyboard and various windows began popping up on his screen. He tapped the keys in weird, seemingly meaningless patterns, occasionally pausing as a password login or some other security effort appeared to block his progress. Nothing stopped him for more than a few seconds. Naturally, Butch and I were oblivious to most of this except for the things that Tas bothered to explain.

  “Hah, that was a one-twenty-eight bit firewall,” he said, chuckling. “Uh oh, now it’s an encrypted password. Good grief do these banks get their security systems out of cereal boxes?”

  “That bad?” I said.

  “Laughable.” He paused to strike two keys simultaneously and a series of password logins simply vanished. He let out a belly laugh. “Sarbanes-Oxley, suck this!” he said.

  Two minutes later, we were in. Tas sat back in his chair with a triumphant smile on his face as Malone’s bank account came up on the screen. “Okay,” he said, smirking. “What now?”

  “Account history,” I said. “I need to find out if Malone’s got dirty money coming into any of his accounts.”

  “All right. If we search the last twelve months, we can see his usual spending habits. He gets paid here and here,” Tas said pointing to the first and fifteenth days of a month. “Not a bad salary for a cop.”

  “Not bad at all,” Butch said, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes.

  “Malone’s balance is about fifty grand,” I said, pretending not to notice Butch’s stare. “Does that add up?”

  “It seems a bit high,” Tas said. “Based on his salary, it is technically possible that he could save up that much over several years. And supposing that he lives off of instant noodles and never has to buy gas.”

  I frowned. “There’s got to be more,” I said. “Are you sure he doesn’t have any other accounts?”

  “Not under this name,” Tas said. He scrolled up the screen, scanning the numbers.

  “Wait!” Butch said. “What’s that?”

  “Looks like a deposit,” said Tas. “Twelve grand on the third of September.”

  We exchanged glances. “That’s a lot of money to come out of nowhere,” I said. “What happened to it?”

  Tas scrolled down. “It all went out in one check… hang on.” He clicked through to another screen and then pulled up the image of the check. “Huh. Look at that. It’s a campaign donation.”

  My mind instantly flashed back to my conversation with Moira Keyvle, the mayor’s wife. “He’s running for mayor of San Francisco,” I murmured.

  “Who is?” Tas said. “Malone?”

  “No, Kerry Kevyle, the mayor of the undercity. He’s going into human politics. His wife told me about it last night.”

  Tas whistled. “Ambitious, isn’t he? Looks like he’s got a serious donor.”

  I leaned forward, staring at the screen. “Can you search the mayor’s bank records for more deposits like that?”

  “Sure thing.” Tas jumped back to the main screen and quickly located the mayor’s account. It was conveniently at the same bank. After a few moments, the search results popped up. We saw a long string of numbers.

  “They’ve been doin’ this for years,” Butch observed.

  “Yep, about three,” said Tas. “Looks lik
e it started about the time Kerry was running for mayor of the undercity.”

  “So Malone is laundering the money,” I said, frowning. “He’s making cash deposits into his own account and then writing checks to the mayor as donations. Looks like he’s keeping a percentage maybe?”

  “Ten percent,” Tas said, doing some quick math. “Not bad for a passive second income. All he has to do is turn his head and the money rolls in.”

  “So what do we do?” said Butch.

  “I don’t know,” I said, leaning back against the desk. “We can prove that they’re laundering money but we can’t prove the mayor is complicit. We also can’t prove where the money came from. Not yet, anyway.”

  “You don’t think the mayor’s innocent in this, do you?” Tas said.

  “Not a chance. He’s just keeping his books clean.”

  “So we have to catch them in the act,” said Butch. “Simple.”

  “Not really,” I said. “You’re forgetting that we’re wanted men.”

  “What’s that?” said Tas.

  “Right now, the cops are after Butch and me. We busted out of jail this morning. Malone said he found the gun that killed Castle O’Rourke in my Blazer.”

  “That’s not good,” Tas said, stroking his chin. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “As a matter of fact there is,” I said. “My Blazer spent the night in a parking garage downtown. I have a feeling they’ve got security cameras.”

  “You wanna see if Malone went into that parking garage?”

  “I already know he didn’t,” I said. “I just want proof. You think you can do that?”

  “Say no more,” Tas said. “It’ll take a while, though. I’ll call you when I have the video.”

  “Great, thanks buddy.” I turned to leave and then paused. “Tas, there is one more thing…”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a lot of heat on me and Butch right now. It’s gonna be awful hard to get to the bottom of this with uniforms chasing us all over town.”