Blood of the Pride

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Because they’d haul my ass in and I couldn’t tell them anything more than I’ve told you.” He snorted and shook his head. “They’ve got the crime scene. They’ve got way more information than this scrap could give them with no prints and no way to track it back to the owner.”

  I couldn’t dispute his logic. If the police were running cold it was unlikely a photograph would blow the case wide open.

  Unless they could scent it like I had just done.

  “So how does an old hack working for a tabloid rag afford this?” I raised one eyebrow. “Working under the table, maybe? Criminal attachments, maybe?”

  “Inherited old money, maybe?” Bran walked away from me and sat down on the couch, spreading his arms across the long, leather back. “My parents were pretty well off.”

  “Did they approve of your work?” I picked up both photograph and envelope and returned to my seat, placing the two items on the glass table between us. It was better to keep my distance and my senses clear.

  “They died quite a few years ago so it’s a moot point.” He avoided my eyes, focusing instead on the accusing photograph forming a wall between us. “So, what next?”

  “Tell me what sort of people bring you their garbage and think that it’s fit to print.”

  He grinned. “Well, aren’t you the snob?” He shrugged, the blue shirt riding up and down across his broad shoulders. “I get the same sort of ‘deliveries’ as everyone else in the business—some very honest, hardworking people seeking to have their story told—and more than my fair share of wackos looking for their moment in the sun. They’ve got the 9/11 tapes, the Bigfoot photographs, the reason why the oil prices are so high and the air car conspiracy. All wrapped up, usually, in a brown paper bag smelling of booze and old vomit tied with twine and a handwritten letter declaring that I’ll be saving the world if I just print this.” His head rolled back and he stared at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling. “Those are just the ones I can stand to remember.”

  “Delivered to your front door?” I jerked a thumb behind us at the entrance. “How did they get past your doorman, who seems to be ex-military?”

  He frowned while he kept looking at the ceiling. “Good point there. Dan only allows private couriers to my door and that’s with an escort. Everything else stays down at the front desk until I check in.”

  “And this guy slunk in, trotted up to your front door and slipped this under without getting caught.” I leaned forward, cupping the now warm coffee mug in both hands. “He really wanted you to get it. Didn’t trust Dan to hold it for you or send it to your office. Wanted you to focus on it, make it a priority.”

  “Why?” Now it was his turn to lean forward. “What’s so special about this woman?” His fingers, long and slender, pulled the photograph closer to his side of the table. “Who was she?” His eyes went to the handwritten note. “What was she?”

  “Janey Winters was a teacher, nothing else.” The cup of coffee grew colder in my hands, along with my tone. I’d pointed him at the rabbit hole and the bastard was curious enough to fall in, damn it. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and someone wanted to make a spectacle out of her death, which you provided when you sent this to your editor and it got published in that piece of crap you call a newspaper.” A growl began to grow in the back of my throat, threatening to break free. “You shouldn’t have published that photo.”

  “Hey, back off.” Bran pointed his index finger at me. “First, all I knew was that there was a funky picture of a cat woman slipped under my door and that’s a story. I didn’t print her name or anything and we blurred the important points, so don’t get your knickers in a knot more than you’ve already done.” His stare returned to the ceiling, inspecting every knothole. “Now all you need to do is tell me about her skin condition. It would be a great follow-up column.”

  “I think not.” I got up from the table and snatched up the picture, stuffing it into the torn envelope. “I’ve got what I came here for. I’ll leave you to your trash reporting and malicious rumor mongering.”

  He stood between me and the door. All I had to do was get by him and I could get on with my life and my investigation.

  His expression reminded me of a kit on his first hunt. I wasn’t getting away from him that easily.

  “There’s no need for name calling.” Bran moved closer, still blocking my escape. “I’ve played nice. I’ve let you in to my apartment, into my life. I had nothing to do with her being murdered, so why the hate?”

  “I don’t hate you.” The amount of emotion in my words shocked me. “I just have a job to do.”

  “As do I.” There was a predatory spark in his eyes. “Which is why I’m working the rest of this case with you.”

  The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I shook my head. “I can’t. I work alone.”

  “Not anymore.” He stuffed his hands back into his pockets, an almost childlike grin on his face. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to put in another story talking about your involvement in the case.”

  The words caught in my throat. “That would compromise my work. I might never find the killer.”

  “That’s right.” Bran nodded with a knowing look. “So, why don’t we start with me asking my doorman for a glance at the security tapes to see how that envelope got up here?”

  Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose, buying some time. “I don’t have partners.” I chose the words carefully, saying them slowly. “I work alone. I’ve always worked alone. However…” His scent washed over me in waves, sending my pulse into triple digits. I was breaking my own rules. The problem was, I liked it. “As long as you do nothing and write nothing until we finish this up, you can come along. And I want a full apology printed in the Inquisitor for publishing that picture.” My eyes flew open, glaring into his dark brown ones. “That’s as far as I’m willing to take negotiations. Take it or leave it.”

  “Deal.” Bran reached behind him, grabbing the doorknob. “So let’s go talk to Dan.”

  Chapter 6

  The doorman was actually ex-SAS, a retired officer who wanted to keep working despite receiving a decent pension. He motioned us to the back of the security station where the cameras and tapes were kept.

  “They’re on a twenty-four hour cycle, sorry to say.” He shook his head, the few white hairs peeking out from under the pseudo-military cap. “So there won’t be anything if it happened more than a day ago.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?” Bran frowned. “Not like you, Dan.”

  The salt-and-pepper moustache bristled at the admonishment. “I didn’t miss anything. No one gets in here on my shift.” He wagged a finger at the ledger sitting atop the polished counter. “They all sign in and sign out. I don’t let anyone just wander in here.” He pulled the ledger around to face him before flipping through the pages. “You haven’t had any deliveries in weeks, Mr. Hanover, other than food services.”

  “I believe you.” Dan broadcast respect and authority, reminding me of Jess. Men like this didn’t lie. “We were just wondering how this fellow walked in and out like that.”

  Bran looked at me, a confused expression on his face. “How do you know it’s a guy? Why not a girl?”

  Because I could tell by the scent. “I guess I just make the assumption ’cause it’s likely a guy did the killing.” I shrugged. “Consider it a generic term, then.”

  He turned back to Dan. “No offense meant. We were just concerned.”

  “As you should be.” The thick Scottish accent grew more and more noticeable with each syllable. “I’ll tell the other fellas to sharpen up their act or they’ll be outta here.” He jerked a thumb toward the street to make his point. “That’ll be enough of that around here.”

  “Thanks.” Bran clapped a hand on the pseudo-military uniform shoulder. “I knew I could count on you.”

  The veteran let out a rumbling chuckle through the moustache. “For you, Mr. Hanover, anything.” His cool gray eyes sear
ched my face. “Been awhile since you brought a lady friend home. Wish you’d do that more often. Be a pleasant sight for these old eyes.” Dan threw me a sly wink, invoking a smile in return.

  “Reminds me of an old English sheepdog.” I flagged down a cab as we stood outside the condominium on King Street. “Sweet old man.”

  “Sweet enough to disarm three punks last summer who were looking to do some break and enters.” Bran chuckled. “Underestimate him at your peril.”

  The streets were now dark, the majority of commuters having fled the downtown core for the supposedly safer suburbs. I opened the back door of the cab and slid in across the broken vinyl seats, sticking a bit on the duct tape crisscrossing the well-used cushion.

  Bran sat beside me “Where to now?”

  “The crime scene.” I directed the cabbie to drop us off a block away from where Janey Winters’s body had been found, settling back for the short drive. “Best place to go right now.”

  The bunched-up envelope dug into my side where it had been crammed into the small inner pocket of my leather jacket. I had the original photo, but it wasn’t going to undo the damage to Janey’s reputation or the danger to the group.

  The cab came to a shuddering stop, the brakes screeching their annoyance. I passed the driver a twenty and got out of the car. Bran followed, scrambling to keep up with me.

  The walk down the street to the alleyway was well lit and filled with pedestrians making their way to the small cafés and bars littering the area. A streetcar rumbled by, stopping at a cyber café to take on a handful of students swinging fat backpacks. This was hardly an area to grab a woman off the streets to drag her into an alleyway. She hadn’t been tackled and pulled into darkness. She’d walked in with her eyes wide open.

  “Hey.” Brandon caught up to me, tugging on the back of my jacket. “What are you looking for? The cops probably went over this place with a fine-tooth comb.”

  I pulled up short, seeing a flash of yellow tape fluttering in the wind. “They might have missed something.”

  Something to do with the Felis.

  The yellow crime tape had been stretched from one end of the entrance to the alley to the other, originally crisscrossing in a giant X but now ripped down and flying free. I stepped over the threshold into almost total darkness.

  The alley was barely large enough for two people to walk down side by side. The brick walls were scratched and dented. A small trail of liquid trickled down past me into the street, stinking of urine, bleach and other things I couldn’t identify.

  “How can you see anything?” A bright light flashed behind me, momentarily blinding me. Bran held up a small flashlight. “God, this place reeks.”

  “Turn that off.” It wasn’t a request. As the light faded my eyes readjusted to the darkness. A scattered trail of rotting tomatoes and lettuce was spread across the concrete floor.

  I knelt down, trying to recreate the scene in my mind.

  Janey had ended up here, her feet pointed toward the street. I looked at the bricks on each side and the ground. It was a mess. Scratches, deep scratches. Felis nails had done those, not human. She had fought him to the end, trying to use the walls for leverage.

  “How can you see anything?” Bran repeated and crouched down, resting his back against the wall.

  I picked up Janey’s scent easily. There had been enough of it back at the Winters house that it was impossible not to notice. But there was another one there, one I didn’t know.

  It wasn’t Dennis. I could put Jess’s theory to rest on that part. There was another Felis signature here and it was solid. It was strong, male and so thick it clogged the back of my throat as I tried to imbed it in my memory and my senses.

  It was the same as on the photograph.

  The Felis had not only killed Janey but taken the photograph and delivered it to Bran.

  There was only one target for me to hunt.

  It didn’t make me feel any better.

  “What are you doing?” The reporter sighed, rubbing his leather duster back and forth against the wall. “Dang, my back’s itchy.”

  Then I saw it.

  It might have just been a smattering of small hairs sticking out of a crack high on the wall but it was a whopper of a clue.

  Bran followed me as I stood up to pluck it from the dirty crack with my bare fingers.

  “That’s not evidence, is it?” He glanced back toward the street as if he expected the police to descend on us at any minute.

  “No.” I pulled a small baggie from my pocket and flicked the hairs in, sealing it tight. It was Felis and not the normal alley cat kind. Thinner, grainier and coarse to the touch.

  “If that’s evidence it should have been collected by the cops.” He shook his head, moving closer to me. “You’re going to get us both arrested.”

  “I didn’t think you were afraid of much.”

  Bran’s hand landed on my shoulder. “I’m not afraid of much but I do dislike being hauled off to jail for messing with a murder case.”

  “Well, you’re not. So there.” I pocketed the plastic bag. I pulled out the bent envelope and salvaged the photograph. “Come here, please.”

  “Do this, come here. Feels like I’m your boy-toy slave.” He chuckled as he moved to stand beside me. “Now what?”

  “I’m standing right over where the body was.” I handed him the photograph, pushing it into his hands. “Turn on your flashlight if you need to.”

  The small white beam sent jagged shards of pain through my eyes before I could adjust. “Does your cell phone take pictures?”

  “Do they make any that don’t?”

  I decided not to tell him about my ancient pay-as-you-go model.

  “May I have it, please?”

  He handed it over and waited.

  “Good.” I lifted the phone to my face and looked at the image. “This would be about where the photographer stood when he took the shot, right?”

  The light bounced around the narrow alley before landing again at our feet. “More or less.”

  I looked through the viewfinder and pushed the button. A quick flash illuminated the two of us. I handed the camera back. “How close is that to what we have?”

  “Hardly.” He showed me the backlit image. “You wouldn’t have caught her feet and hands.”

  “So I’m too short to have stood here and taken that picture, correct?”

  Bran shone the light on the black and white photo. “I’d say so.” The beam bounced around the narrow alley before returning to our feet. “Unless he had his hands over his head this picture must have been taken by some guy about my height, at least.” The reporter flashed the beam at our feet, illuminating us in an eerie glow. “He wasn’t a short one, that’s for sure.” He smiled at me. “I’d guess you’re about five foot four, eh? I’m a bit taller than that.”

  “Really.” I studied him for a minute. “Not by much.”

  “Hey.” Bran spread his hands with a smile. “You know us men. Always exaggerating something.”

  “Hmm.” I traded the photograph for the cell phone. “Well, that gives us some idea of the killer’s height.”

  “One guy grabs her, snaps her neck. Other guy stops by and takes a photograph,” Bran mumbled. “Sends me the photograph with a question about ‘What is she?’ Not who she is but what she is.” He turned toward me. “Why would he be asking that?”

  The illumination from the cell phone disappeared, leaving us in darkness. His heady scent threatened to overwhelm me, screwing up my thoughts and emotions. It was like a thick afghan blanket that started to curl up around and over me, cradling me in its warmth and rocking me to a deep, contented sleep.

  “Just take a step away from me, please.” I closed my eyes again as they readjusted to the dark. My senses were reeling from the musk of a Felis male, two strong Felis women and a single, very strong human male who kept muddying the waters. One of us was dead and the other the killer.

  It would seem that all I had t
o do now was race back to the farm and hand them the hair to have them check it against the database, but that wasn’t going to happen. We didn’t keep records like that. There were still some things in which the Pride were woefully behind, and creating a database of all Felis DNA was one of them, or had been when I’d left.

  “Right. I’m out of here.” I stepped over the imaginary body and made my way out the narrow passage onto the street, pulling in a deep lungful of relatively clean air.

  Something swept across my senses, a wave so overpowering it threatened to swamp me. I held my ground in the dizzying haze of food carts, diesel exhaust and body odor from the unwashed masses, turning around slowly to try and find the source. It was Felis, that much was sure, but too little to identify. Had Jess put a tail on me or was there another nearby?

  “And…” Bran appeared behind me, letting out a cough. “Where to next?”

  I shook off the feeling I was being watched. There were hundreds of Felis in Toronto who lived and worked every day just like I did. It wasn’t impossible for one of them to have just passed me. “Me? I’m going home to sleep. You, you’re heading home, as well.” I waved at him as I walked away. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  Chapter 7

  The streets were filling up with tourists getting out from the stage shows or the movies, each looking for a nice slice of Toronto to take back home with them. As I maneuvered through the crowd I could hear Bran swearing behind me, but his voice faded with time and distance.

  I hopped the first streetcar that came my way, pushing my way through a posse of chattering teens to grab a seat near the back. I’d always been a fan of the Red Rocket and used it as much as possible. The cost of gas and downtown parking helped keep my driving down to a minimum, thank you very much. I glanced behind me as we lurched forward, grabbing the plastic seat next to me for support. Sure enough, I had lost Brandon in the crowd.

  I huffed when we slid to another stop, the back doors opening to let off another gaggle of chattering kids. There was something reassuring about the streetcar’s rocking motion and it helped tune down my overwhelmed senses. It wasn’t too often that I was at a murder scene and never that of a fellow Felis. Usually I dealt with runaway teens and adultery accusations with a few background searches tossed in. It wasn’t glamorous but it paid the bills.