‘Well, it’s pushed the murders off the top spot. Brightman won’t like that.’
‘I’m having trouble seeing that as much of a silver lining. How’s your fairy?’
‘Jasmine,’ Clarke replied after a pause to switch mental gears.
‘Huh?’
‘I decided to call her Jasmine. My mother had a cat called Jasmine when I was a kid. A familiar, actually. I tried that spell of yours. Had to rework the symbols until I could understand them, but I tried it. Then I explained that I’d be calling her Jasmine. She seems to have got the idea. I told her it was preferable to calling her “fairy” all the time.’
‘Okay, how’s Jasmine?’ Sondra asked, grinning for the first time all evening.
‘She’s doing fine. Filling out a little. No sign of her wing getting better yet, so I’ve put some climbing ropes in to–’
‘I’m sorry? Climbing ropes?’
Even over the phone, Clarke was starting to sound embarrassed. ‘Yeah. Well, string. I’ve fixed bits of string in a few strategic locations so she can climb up onto tables and stuff. And I got her a litter tray. She got the hang of that pretty quickly. I think she’s been doing it behind the kitchen cabinets until now.’
Sondra scrunched up her nose, but it was pretty much the same as having any other small animal in the house. When Jasmine reached her full strength, she might even be able to take on mice, which were a lot less hygienic than fairies. ‘That’s… cute.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Clarke replied, sarcasm dripping. He sobered suddenly. ‘When are they going to call us in to handle Orctown?’
‘Probably not tomorrow. Not until they’ve figured out how much magical support the gangs have, and SWAT can deal with some of that. Tomorrow, we push as hard as we can on the murder investigation, because we might have to drop it on Thursday. Many lives are going to take precedence over seven.’
22nd February.
Sondra stood in Dickerson’s office, her face impassive as she listened to Issacs spouting crap. Inside, she was seething, but she had already spotted the flow of the politics and there was nothing she could do that would fix this.
Clarke looked like he was about to explode, but he was taking his lead from Sondra’s impassivity. His eyes were on Hall, forever silent and standing behind Issacs’ seat. Sondra wondered whether her partner would go for the man if Sondra twitched.
The FBI were taking the case and they had a good, operational reason for doing so. Even if it was bullshit.
‘The commissioner agrees with the FBI,’ Issacs said. Again. Unnecessarily. ‘Detective Blake’s relationship with Dillan Archer and Grant Henderson is a conflict of interest. She cannot maintain her objectivity under those circumstances.’
Dickerson turned his gaze to Sondra and she gave such a slight shrug that it was barely perceptible. Her boss perceived it fine and turned back to the FBI agent. ‘Let me make this clear, Special Agent, my detectives can all maintain their objectivity at all times. Detective Blake has more experience and is more capable than anyone else in my unit.’ Issacs opened her mouth but he just kept talking over her. ‘I don’t need to hear any more of your political bullcrap. You’ve already persuaded the commissioner to fall for your arguments, so my hands are tied. It’s your case. If you screw it up and come back here trying to blame Arcane for your failure, you’ll discover that the commissioner isn’t your friend.’
Issacs started to say something and then apparently thought better of it. She got to her feet. ‘Thank you for your cooperation, Captain Dickerson.’
Dickerson waited for the door to close behind her and Hall before speaking again. ‘Sleeping with them was not your best move, Sondra.’
‘Sleeping with Archer was not my best move, sir. He wasn’t that good a lay. Sleeping with Henderson was just bad luck. No one had been killed when I did, and you know this is all an excuse anyway. Issacs has wanted the case from the start, and the commissioner is just worried about Orctown.’
Dickerson frowned and looked down at his desk. ‘Yes, well, he has a point there. We’re expecting street protests today. Intelligence says several are being organised. We could shut them down, but–’
‘That would be really stupid.’
‘Exactly. But letting them run will probably embolden the gangs anyway. It’s a no-win situation. We’re just waiting for the fireworks now.’
‘But Henderson was the fourth,’ Clarke said. ‘Sorry, sir, but this guy’s killed four. The FBI won’t catch him before he chalks up three more and then he’s gone for seven years.’
Dickerson paused, looking up at Clarke for a second. ‘Son, can you tell me that you and Sondra will catch him before he finishes? Will. Not can or might.’
Clarke opened his mouth to say the first thing that came to mind, stopped, and lowered his eyes. ‘No, sir.’
‘Right. It’s out of your hands. Don’t give them any excuse to point accusing fingers when they fail. You’re going to have plenty to do in the next few days. Stick with your partner and learn. Sondra’s been through this before. She knows what she’s doing.’
~~~
‘Can I ask a personal question?’ Clarke asked.
It was mid-morning and Sondra had been waiting for him to ask whatever was on his mind for a couple of hours. ‘Shoot.’
‘Why? I mean, why the one-night stands? A woman who looks like you could–’
‘Would you be asking a guy the same question, detective?’
‘Uh, no.’ Sondra was about to end it there when he added, ‘If you were a guy, I’d assume you were being a dick and leave it at that.’
‘Okay. It’s not what I look like, it’s what I am.’
‘I… don’t get it.’
‘I don’t age. I watch everyone else age, but I stay the same.’ She paused a second to see whether he would get it now, but he still looked puzzled. ‘Dickerson.’
Clarke’s eyes widened. ‘You slept with–’
‘No.’ Sondra waved the question away before he could finish it. ‘He was engaged to Madelaine when I first met him. I don’t poach. But Clem was twenty and still a patrol officer when I first met him.’ She smiled. ‘Maddy didn’t like me much when we first met. She said I was too pretty for any woman to feel her husband was safe around me. That was years later when Clem was made head of Arcane. He was thirty-seven and I looked exactly the same as I did when he was a street cop. I’ve watched him get older, while I stay as I am.’
She paused, looking across the desk to where Clarke was clearly starting to see where she was going. ‘So, say I find the man of my dreams and settle down. And there I am, forever twenty-six, while he gets older, and older, and I eventually have to bury him. And before then, he starts feeling guilty about taking up my time while he can’t be what he was to me. And maybe I start to resent him. Maybe I start sleeping around to get what he can’t give me.’
‘That sounds like a lot of rationalisation,’ Clarke said.
‘Maybe. Maybe I just have commitment issues. I’ve never been in a relationship longer than three months. Uh, plus I don’t like to limit the field to just men I like. I mean, if Clem hadn’t found her first… Maddy’s a stunning woman.’
‘Uh, oh.’ Clarke’s cheeks coloured.
‘You asked.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did. Uh, so the protests have started.’
‘Uh-huh. And they’re about what I expected. A teenager was killed. Doesn’t matter that he was armed, because he didn’t fire his gun and he didn’t shoot Officer Castillo. He’s an innocent.’
‘I guess in his mother’s eyes, he was.’
Sondra nodded slowly and a little sadly. ‘It’s a valid point. I wonder if his mother will be happy with all the death and injury that comes out of her son’s actions and everyone else using his death as an excuse.’
~~~
Sondra heaved a sigh as she stepped out of Arcane’s front door to see Brightman waiting on the sidewalk. Moynihan, working the front desk, had warned her he might be there. The
desk sergeant could kick him out of the foyer, but not off the street. Well, not without making up some charges anyway.
‘Want me to get rid of him?’ Clarke asked, coming out behind Sondra.
‘No. You get home to Jasmine. I’ll take care of Brightman.’
‘Okay. Uh, don’t do anything permanent to him.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Which was a lie. Sondra had entertained daydreams of frog transformations on a number of occasions. She raised her voice. ‘Devon Brightman, as I live and breathe. What are you doing here? As if I didn’t know.’
Brightman grinned. He really was a charming sort of man when he wanted to be. ‘I’d like your comments on the FBI taking over the case you’ve been working on, of course.’
‘How about my comments on you letting the FBI take over the case?’
His grin vanished into a perplexed expression, eyes widening a little. He had not even known what he was doing when he decided to broadcast his editorial, which was about par for the course with Brightman. ‘What?’
‘You brought up me knowing Grant Henderson, on screen. You gave them a conflict of interest they could use to apply leverage on the commissioner. And you lied about asking me for a comment. I hope you’re happy. I’ll give you your headline. “WNSN’s star reporter ensures serial killer’s reign of terror continues.” How’s that? Too long?’
Rallying, Brightman managed a half-smile. ‘So, you have no confidence in the FBI team?’
Sondra knew he was recording. Somewhere on his person was a microphone, or a charm of some sort. She sighed. ‘You’re an asshole, Brightman. I don’t know Special Agents Issacs and Hall well enough to either have or lack confidence in them, but neither of them have any magical talent and this is a case involving some very dark magic. I do know that switching the entire investigative team is not a good way to catch the perpetrator.’
‘It’s fresh eyes.’
‘It’s running to play catch-up, and they don’t have long to do it. On the bright side, I get to go home on time so I can watch the evening news. I don’t think you need to rush back to the studio. Your lead story is going to be pushed way down the schedule.’
‘Sure, Sondra. I’ve got an entire report lined up.’
‘Better make it a short one,’ Sondra replied, starting down the street and away from him. ‘The evening news starts after sundown.’
~~~
‘And now, we go over to Devon Brightman for more on the announcement from the FBI and NYPD today.’
‘Thank you, Anita.’
Brightman was looking smug. Sondra decided that his expression was smug. He was trying for professional, but he was coming over like the cat who not only got the cream, but also got away with it without being noticed. He was sitting at the news desk on WNSN’s main newsroom stage, giving out ‘serious reporter’ vibes, and Sondra had a strong feeling that he only had a few minutes to capitalise on that.
‘In a surprise move today,’ Brightman went on, ‘the FBI and NYPD announced that FBI Special Agents Issacs and Hall would be taking over the hunt for the serial murderer leaving magically transformed corpses all over Manhattan and Brooklyn.’
Sondra shook her head. ‘All over’ was an exaggeration, and it had hardly been a surprise. The fact that Brightman had not seen it coming was a surprise all right, but his perspective did tend to go once he thought he had a good story to chew on.
‘Detective Sondra Blake, who we reported on yesterday regarding her relationship with the latest victim, Grant Henderson, was unavailable for comment today.’ At least he had actually asked for one this time. ‘Special Agent Issacs was more forthcoming.’
The screen shifted to a close-up of Issacs standing in Federal Plaza. ‘The FBI is confident that it is only a matter of time before this heinous criminal is brought to justice,’ she said, her face set into a grim expression of determination which she probably practised in front of the mirror. ‘I, and my partner, together with all the resources of the New York field office will be devoted to the task of bringing him in.’
‘The FBI was involved in similar murders seven years ago in Florida,’ Brightman’s voice said from off-camera. ‘No one was caught then. What makes you think that things will be different this time?’
‘Seven years is a long time in the science of crime, Mister Brightman. Our methods have come a long way.’
‘But you still have no specialists in magical crimes such as this, Special Agent. You have no experience in investigating magical crimes.’ At least he had thought of that angle before Sondra had mentioned it.
‘Crime is crime,’ Issacs began, and then the screen cut back to Anita Bellman, the news anchor.
‘I’m sorry, Devon,’ she said, looking more shocked than sorry. ‘We are going over live to our camera crews in Orctown. Uh…’
Once again, the image switched and Sondra let out a slow sigh. The video feed was showing a shopfront with flames streaking out of the broken window. The view shifted slightly and the orcs became visible. There were more than a dozen of them, all in jeans and jackets. The jackets showed gang signs, but Sondra frowned as she recognised more than one gang among the group.
‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ Sondra muttered. A memory flicked forward in her mind and she got to her feet, heading for the bedroom to change.
Behind her, Anita Bellman was sounding as though going off-script was not something she had ever done before. ‘Uh, as you can see, we have, uh, orcs on the streets and using Molotov cocktails… Uh, I’m informed that some are using what appear to be fireball charms. A number of fires have broken out…’
Sondra grabbed a fresh suit from her wardrobe and tossed it onto her bed. KonTash. All the crap with Issacs and the case had pushed the name from her mind. There was not much she could do about the murderer, so it was time to start concentrating on the war.
~~~
The trouble with orcs using only a single name was that, well, they used one name, qualifying it with a lineage when necessary. The standard databases had been modified to handle it, but when you just had the name and no lineage, one KonTash was much the same as any other. There were, in fact, twenty-five orcs named KonTash listed in the NYPD’s records. Even more had a social security number, but no criminal record. Sondra was having to prioritise and work her way through manually.
She had rejected eight from the police database when the office door opened and Clarke walked in. He was in jeans, a T-shirt, and a windbreaker rather than his usual suit and tie. The shirt was tight enough to show some fairly impressive abs; worth some appreciation, but Sondra did not have the time to give them true justice right now.
‘You didn’t have to come in,’ she said.
‘You’re here. You’ve got something?’ He closed the door and took off his jacket, dropping it over his chair.
‘I’ve got a name. KonTash. I can drop you some of the pile I haven’t worked through if you want to help search for one KonTash who might be the KonTash.’
‘Sure. What am I looking for?’
Sondra frowned. She was not really sure what she was looking for, but there were a couple of criteria she could immediately think of. ‘He’s either someone with a history of gang involvement, probably the Red Skulls, or he’s a shaman. I’m betting he had a record. Otherwise we’ll have to try some alternate means of hunting him down.’
‘Okay.’ Clarke sat down at his desk and booted his computer. ‘Drop me the list and we’ll see where we get.’
Ten minutes later, they were still working through the list. ‘Uh, if this guy is a shaman, what are we expecting?’ Clarke asked. ‘I don’t know that much about shamanistic magic.’
Sondra took a second to drop her current KonTash into the reject pile. He had been arrested for public urination and so was either a master criminal or the sixteen-year-old he seemed to be. ‘Shamans work magic through spirit rituals,’ she said. ‘They know how to ask certain kinds of animistic spirits to work magic for them, in essence. The rituals are usually
longer than our spells and there’s often more rigmarole. They make more use of sacrifices, whether blood or material. But it comes out more or less the same. They still have to gather the energy for the spell and pass it on to the spirit, or spirits, to make it work.’
‘Don’t they get in soul debt to the spirits that way?’
‘The reputable ones don’t. The ritual is a kind of transaction. Power for an effect. Asking for more from the spirits is a temptation, of course, and some of them fall into it. Seeking direct help from a spirit or demon is a quick way to power. It’s not like magicians haven’t fallen into the same trap.’
‘No, true. There was a guy in–’ He cut off and Sondra looked up from her search. ‘Uh, this guy looks interesting.’
Sondra got up from her seat and walked over to lean on Clarke’s desk, her other hand on his shoulder. ‘Twenty-two, six-eleven, two hundred and five pounds. Arrested for vandalism, three times, and aggravated sexual assault.’
‘The aggravated came from use of a lust spell. There’s a note saying his master kicked him out following the arrest. He was in training to become a shaman. He got off lightly as far as the courts were concerned because he was underage.’
Sondra gave a grimace. ‘Fourteen at the time of arrest. Member of the GashdaGa Thon. So, he’s got some shamanistic training and he’s a member of a gang which prides itself on being all “old orcish values” and such. Good find. Print him out and we’ll go through the rest. Is there an address listed?’
Clarke turned from the screen as he hit print and discovered that his face was far too close to Sondra’s cheek. The scent of her filled his nostrils: tropical fruit from her shampoo, tea tree oil from her soap, the musk of general humanity and… There was a spicy, almost sharp scent behind it all, something too subtle to identify, but there and driving straight for Clarke’s hindbrain where it was not sure whether to run for the hills or beg for the chance to worship at her feet. Maybe not her feet. Maybe another part of her anatomy.
Sondra leaned away from him as she turned her head to look at him. ‘Address?’
The Vanity Case (Sondra Blake Book 1) Page 11