by Alex P. Berg
STEELE OF THE NIGHT
A Daggers & Steele Mystery
ALEX P. BERG
Copyright © 2016 by Alex P. Berg
All rights reserved. Published by Batdog Press.
ISBN 978-1-942274-22-3
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer or with written permission from the author. For permission requests, please visit: www.alexpberg.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination.
Cover Art by: Damon Za (www.damonza.com)
Book Layout: www.bookdesigntemplates.com
If you’d like to be notified when the next Daggers & Steele novel is released, please sign up for the author’s mailing list at: www.alexpberg.com/mailing-list/.
Table Of Contents:
Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41
About the Author
1
Fine frozen flecks filtered through a sea of clouds, slowly drifting onto rooftops and streets and knit cap-covered heads. They gathered on metal gutters and the fine needles of the occasional pine that sprouted from New Welwic’s vast expanse of concrete and pavers, but like icy magician’s assistants, they disappeared as soon as they met the ground’s warm embrace. They tried in vain to bring with them a goosebump-inducing chill, but the air itself opposed them. Given the salt-laden headwinds I’d experienced over the past few days during my cruise through the Wel Sea, today felt balmy by comparison.
Some of the flecks drifted onto my jacket, instantly melting into moist specks thanks to my body heat. Hopefully they wouldn’t harm the leather.
I turned the corner from Schumacher onto 5th, looking up at the 5th Street Precinct’s imposing façade as I always did. Oftentimes, because of the building’s orientation, the sun gleamed off the wide, iron-banded double doors in front and filled the seal of justice overhead with a divine, righteous light, sending shadows dripping from the soaring eagle’s claws and providing a gravitas to the scales clutched therein.
Not today. The entire seal appeared flat and lifeless, as if viewed with one eye closed. Perhaps the gods conspired to make the elements reflect my own state. If so, I could only hope the clouds would break soon. I’d already concluded I’d do whatever it took to get my feet back on the sunny path.
I yanked on the doors and stepped foot into the precinct. The officer stationed at the welcome desk gave me a nod, and I returned the favor. Beyond him, in a dark cavernous room made even less appealing by the current solar conditions, stretched a quagmire of portable office partitions, worn wooden desks, and coat racks sourced from the finest government surplus furniture supplier. Despite the fact that smoking was supposed to be limited to the front steps, hints of tobacco lingered in the air, as well as whiffs of roasted coffee beans, the drug of choice for those of us who were law-and-order minded. Both of those scents masked the ever-present muskiness of the pit’s interior, a mixture of old stone, packed bodies, and whatever aromas wafted up from the morgue in the basement. Thankfully, the latter was only a problem during the worst days of summer.
I glanced toward the pit’s side, where my desk sat empty except for the persistent pile of paperwork that graced its corner. Its condition didn’t surprise me, but the barren nature of the desk across from it did.
Steele’s workspace had been nearly cleared. All that remained were a small framed portrait of Shay and her parents, a bundle of silk flowers that had replaced the plant she’d once tried to nurture in the pit’s too-gloomy interior, and a few stacked books.
As if on cue, a mountain approached the desk and scooped the remaining items into an empty fruit crate. Not a real mountain with crags and snow and leaping goats. More of a metaphorical one, with broad shoulders, tree-trunk legs, crags on his forehead, and a less stony disposition. Folton Quinto, to be exact—all six foot six and three hundred odd pounds of him.
My gray-skinned, part-troll detective friend of a decade hefted the crate the way a smaller man might lift a pillow. He turned and brought it with him into the Captain’s office—or at least what used to be the Captain’s office. Now it was simply the captain’s office, with a small ‘c,’ or perhaps Captain Steele’s office. The latter seemed like the obvious way to refer to her, but it didn’t roll off the tongue quite the same way her predecessor’s designation did.
I caught sight of her through the office’s interior windows, standing at the exterior ones with her back to me and staring at the gloom outside. She hadn’t spotted me. Neither had Quinto, unless I was mistaken. I took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to the break room.
I snuck in there with no one the wiser, working my way to the coffee pot. I snagged a mug off the shelf and filled it with coffee that based on the steam was somewhere in the temperature range of boiling hot to ‘removes the entire lining of your mouth.’ I set my full mug aside while I filled another with hot water from a simmering pot. As I flipped through the tea box in search of something earthy and strong, a familiar cheery voice sounded behind me.
“Daggers! Hey. I didn’t see you come in.”
I turned to find Quinto’s longtime partner and another of my dyed-in-the-wool friends, Gordon Rodgers, standing behind me. Due to his impeccably shorn sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and youthful charm, Rodgers looked much like one of those cover models for teen romance novels. Of course, the guy was married with a couple of kids, and he’d long since traded in his rakishly disheveled shirts and worn jeans for suits and ties, but I’d bet he could land a job selling perfume to old ladies in a heartbeat if the detective thing stopped working out.
He gave me a nod. “You’re in early. I mean, not in the absolute sense, but for you.”
I shrugged as I plucked a packet of black breakfast tea from the basket. “I couldn’t sleep. Lots on my mind.”
Rodgers pursed him lips. “Yeah, I hear you. Say…is that a new jacket?”
I looked down at my black leather torso insulator. “Yeah, I picked it up on my way into work this morning. Lambskin, with a removable fleece lining for cold days. I figured it was time.”
“You bought it this morning?” Rodgers whistled. “You weren’t kidding. Was the sun even up when you left your apartment?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Hard to tell with the clouds.”
Rodgers blinked. “And all this was voluntary? You weren’t coerced or blackmailed in any way?”
“What can I say? I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“More like uprooting an entire tree.” Rodgers eyed me dubiously. “So…I hesitate to ask, but what happened to your old jacket? Did you drag it behind a shed and put it out of its misery?”
“I’ll give it a proper burial. Stick a picture of it above my mantle.”
“Be sure to send word if you’re having a memorial,” said Rodgers. “I’ll send flowers.”
I snickered. Rodgers was getting better at his zingers, as well as keeping a straight face while he delivered them. Maybe there was hope for him, yet.
I tore open the tea packet and plopped the bag in the mug of hot water. “I’ll do that. Regrets only.”
“So what about Daisy?” asked Rodgers. “How’s she adapting to the eviction?”
Daisy was my foot and a half long steel truncheon. I’d christened her years ago, though I’d forgotten why. Probably because I’d been bored and lonely and de
sperate for human contact. Thankfully my personal situation had improved since then—I hoped.
“She’s doing fine,” I said, patting my jacket. “This coat’s got deep pockets, just like the last. Give her a week, she won’t know the difference.”
“A week? I figured you’d sweat through the lining in an hour or two, tops.”
“Very funny.” I tested my coffee and found that it had cooled to a mouth-pleasing scorch. As I took a sip, I peered around the edge of the break room cabinets and hazarded another glance toward the captain’s office.
Rodgers noticed my gaze. “So, uh…how are you doing? You know. With everything.”
He didn’t have to elaborate. I knew precisely what he referred to.
After our jowl-faced bulldog of a Captain had revealed to us last night that he’d chosen to resign in the face of corruption allegations—unfounded to be sure—he’d named Steele to the position of interim captain, in part for her intelligence and overall skill but equally in part for her newness. Having spent only a brief six months on the force, she couldn’t in any way, shape, or form be tied to the elements of corruption that had tainted both the Captain and a number of other police officers, including my own former partner, Griggs.
In some ways, it was a smart decision. In other ways, it was utterly terrible. Either way, I hadn’t taken it well. Despite the fact that I’d been implicated by association in the corruption scandal, I’d still harbored hopes of becoming captain. Maybe not this soon, to be sure, but some day. To be passed by Steele, who possessed roughly a twentieth of the experience I did, hadn’t sat well with me. Still, I should’ve gone over and embraced her, clapped her on the back, congratulated her, and told her how proud of her I was.
Instead I’d stormed off in a huff.
On any other day in our history, my resentful fit barely would’ve registered—Steele had forgiven me for far worse behavior—but the situation, our situation, had changed dramatically over the past few days. We were no longer mere partners. We’d grown much closer over our three day luxury poker cruise case. We’d shared tender moments. We’d become intimate. And at least one of us was falling hopelessly, head over heels for the other—the one with a gruff exterior and a heart of gold. The former owner of a desiccated, cracked leather jacket in need of euthanizing, to be precise.
And that same doofus had mucked everything up.
I plucked the tea bag from Steele’s mug and pitched it into the waste bin. “I behaved like a petulant child last night, Gordon. I might’ve really screwed the pooch. I’m about to head over and apologize, but I figured I’d stop by and get her a peace offering before I did so.”
Rodgers eyed the tea. “Well, that sounds like a good call. You did storm off without saying anything. But I’m sure it can’t be that bad. Your reaction was natural, given the circumstances.”
I gave him a look. “It’s more complicated than that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Can’t really talk about it here. I’m sure you can connect the dots.”
The eyebrow lowered. “Right. Well, I wish you the best of luck. But before you go…”
“Yes?”
This time, Rodgers glanced toward the captain’s office. “She needs help, Daggers. It’s obvious. Quinto and I are doing what we can, but you’re her partner. You’re the one in the position to do the most.”
He didn’t even know the half of it.
I grabbed the mugs and turned toward the door. “Way ahead of you, Rodgers. I just hope she’s willing to accept my hand when I offer it. I should’ve tucked an olive branch into my jacket pocket instead of Daisy.”
2
The door to Steele’s new office had been propped open. I approached it and knocked on the frame as best I could given the two mugs I held.
Shay turned from the window at the sound. Today she wore an elegant black suit with high-waisted pants and a tightly-tailored jacket that flared out over her hips. A bright ultramarine shirt formed a neat triangle over her torso, framed by her jacket’s wide lapels, and a pair of black heels brought her naturally tall, lithe form to a clean six feet. She’d parted her hair simply, letting the long locks fall on either side of her face. Her peaked elf ears poked through the cascade of chocolate brown. She blinked and cast her piercing azure eyes in my direction. My heart thudded in my chest, despite my resolve.
“Daggers?” Her already arched eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What are you doing here so early?”
Quinto, who leaned over the captain’s desk arranging the items he’d brought with him in the fruit crate, straightened and took note of me as well. “Whoa. Yeah, what is it? Eight-thirty? I wasn’t aware you even knew this portion of the day existed.”
I ignored the big guy’s barb, delivered with one of his trademark wide, bucktoothed grins. I lifted the mugs. “I brought coffee and tea. Mind if I come in, er…Captain Steele?”
“Oh, come off it. You don’t have to call me that. Steele will suffice.”
But not Shay, I noticed. Was it a conscious slight or an unconscious one? Or perhaps a result of Quinto’s presence?
The big guy gave me a nod. “I only see two cups, and you know I don’t drink coffee.”
“And I only have two hands,” I said. “Besides, this stuff is piping hot. With your surface area to mass ratio, I figured it would make you unnecessarily warm, especially considering all that heavy lifting you’re doing.”
Quinto glanced at the crate. “The lifting’s all done. Steele didn’t have much to move, to be honest. I suppose that’s a good thing. It’ll make the move back easier once her interim status expires.”
I crossed over to Steele and extended the mug of tea. “Black. That’s the way you like it, right?”
She accepted the offering with gentle hands, but her eyes retained a hint of wariness, like a stray dog unsure of a stranger’s intentions. “Thanks.”
I took a sip of my brew to calm my nerves, although given the caffeine, I wasn’t sure it would provide the desired effect. “So…how are things going so far? You know, with the new position.”
“As well as could be expected, I guess,” said Shay, testing her tea with her lips. “Quinto’s helped me move my things, as you can see. Rodgers has been running interference, which is nice. I’ve only been approached from officers once with a request for input. Then again, I’ve only been here for a half hour, so there’s plenty of time for disasters to develop.”
“You can’t approach this promotion with that sort of attitude,” I said. “Think positive. I’m sure you and I will encounter smooth sailing as long as we work together.”
One of her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly at that last part. Did she doubt our ability to succeed, or had she thought I wouldn’t be on board with such a truce? Or more worryingly, did she not want any part of it?
Quinto stepped over to join us. “So, Captain Steele. Now that your personal items are in place, what’s on the docket?”
Shay gave him a quick glance. “I told you, belay the captain stuff. When it’s you, me, Rodgers, Cairny, or Daggers, Steele is fine. No need for titles among friends, even if I am your superior officer for the time being.”
“You got it.” Quinto smiled. “Although, to be fair, if you don’t want us to think of you as our captain first and foremost, maybe you should stop using verbs like belay.”
The look on Steele’s face said she wasn’t much in the mood for nautical humor. “Quinto, perhaps you could grab that mug of tea you were pining after? I’d like to have a word with Daggers.”
She didn’t specifically say alone, but it was implied.
Quinto’s smile disappeared. “Right. Sorry.”
The big guy about-faced and headed out the door, closing it behind him as he did so. The latch clacked, and the muted din of the pit faded to a dull hum.
I glanced at my partner. “So…how are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” she said, taking
another sip of her tea. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep much.”
“I guess that makes two of us.”
Steele opened her mouth. “Look, Daggers, about last night—”
I held up a hand. “No. Please, let me speak. First and foremost, I’m sorry. Truly. I acted like a complete and total ass last night. I should’ve come up and congratulated you, told you how proud I am, offered to take you out for a dinner and a drink, or whatever it is that would’ve appealed to you at the time. Instead I threw a hissy fit and stormed off because…I’m an idiot. And because try as I might, I haven’t managed to expel every last demon from within me. I still get jealous, both in relationships and in the workplace, apparently. I still get mean when I drink to excess. And I still have occasional bouts of anger and depression, though they’re getting better. But those are my problems, not yours. The point is, I apologize for my behavior, and I want to make it clear that I’m here for you. As a partner. As a friend. And hopefully, as something more than that…assuming I haven’t screwed things up beyond repair.”
Steele took a moment to respond, letting me soak in the unshed tears that floated in her eyes. “Jake…thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that. But you’re wrong about one thing. Those problems? Your jealousy, anger, and lingering depression? Those aren’t just your problems. They’re mine too—as your partner, friend, and yes, as something more. You can’t shut me out like you did last night. If we’re going to make this work, you have to let me in. Let me help you with some of those.”
My heart soared upon hearing her words, knowing my actions hadn’t fully stretched beyond the pale. I nodded. “Yes. I know.”
“Do you? Then why are you still so angry?”
I notched an eyebrow. “Angry? What are you talking about?”
“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes,” said Shay. “I can see it in your face. The creases in your brow, the tension in your jaw. Maybe you want to be fine with me being named interim captain in your stead, but you’re clearly not.”