by Alex P. Berg
I rapped my fingers on the table’s cool metal surface, eyeing Ritchie the whole time. His slumped posture, his tears, his resignation. It all spoke to his truthfulness, despite the disbelief his story inspired.
“Well, Ritchie,” I said. “I have some good news for you.”
He looked up, his eyes wet and shimmering. “Yes?”
“Heather’s safe now,” I said. “Chaz will never hurt her again. Thanks to you. You, however, could be going away for a very long time.”
Ritchie hung his head and begun to cry again. I clapped Steele on the shoulder, and we both rose and headed for the door.
41
The door clicked shut behind us, and Steele and I began our trek back to our desks. The halls echoed our footsteps, as most of the beat cops and detectives had long since headed home for the night.
“Well, that went surprisingly well,” said Shay.
“I know,” I said. “I didn’t expect to get such a detailed testimony considering the amount of drugs and booze he wolfed down last night. And who ever thought peanut butter would be considered a murder weapon?”
Shay snickered. “You really think he’s going to go to prison for an extended period of time?”
I shrugged. “Depends on where the prosecution decides to take it. Best case scenario for him, they charge him with reckless endangerment. Worst case would be manslaughter, I think. But even if he doesn’t get convicted of murder, those are serious charges. He’ll be behind bars for a while.”
“At least Heather will be happy,” said Shay. “She’ll inherit Chaz’s fortune.”
“However large or small that may be,” I said. “I’m guessing she might be disappointed in the amount. Although, who knows? She might be more devastated by Ritchie’s conviction if that backstage canoodling at the Moxy was any indication.”
“She can pay him visits,” said Shay. “Just not conjugal ones.”
“Because they’re not married?”
“Because those aren’t allowed in real life.”
We found Rodgers and Quinto, along with Cairny, at their desks outside Steele’s new office, the trio chatting up a storm and laughing intermittently.
“Hey guys,” said Shay. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re still interrogating suspects.”
“What?” said Rodgers. “Oh, no. We’re not working. But we felt we’d set a bad precedent heading home before you did, especially given your sleep struggles last night. Besides, we were curious about how it would go with Ritchie.”
Quinto gave Steele a nod. “How are you holding up, by the way?”
“I’m upright, somehow,” said Shay. “But I’m on my last legs, so I’ll make it quick. Ritchie confessed. He killed Chaz, but it wasn’t murder. That’s on the baboons. Still, this is probably the first time in recorded history that peanut butter killed a man through means other than choking or obesity.”
Our detective and coroner pals stared at us with questioning faces.
“We’ll explain tomorrow,” I said. “You can probably fill in the details for yourselves. Whatever you imagine won’t be crazier than the truth. But Steele’s right. It’s high time we turned in.”
“Fair enough,” said Cairny, as the assembled masses grabbed their jackets. “But before you leave, Daggers, I wanted to let you know. I performed a physical on Mr. Forsythe, one that included a thorough examination of his teeth, and though I can’t make the claim with one hundred percent certainty, it’s my opinion as a medical professional that he’s not nor ever has been a vampire.”
Quinto gave Cairny a look. “And how thorough was this physical, exactly?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Besides, I touch dead people for a living. You’re worried about me touching a living one?”
Quinto chuckled. He, Rodgers, and Cairny all said their goodbyes, including another round of congratulations for Shay, before heading for the front door. Shay walked into her office, snagged her overcoat off a rack, and joined me in heading toward the exit.
“So…” she said. “Anytime you’re ready, feel free to congratulate me for being right this whole time.”
“About what?” I said.
“Occam’s razor? The simplest explanation is almost always the correct one. I totally called it.”
“Simplest?” I sputtered. “You call what happened simple? Vampires would’ve provided a much more sensible explanation for the day’s events.”
“Speaking of which, you really had Cairny check Benson Forsythe for signs of vampirism?”
“Why not?” I said. “She was here. Her investigation into Chaz was complete. Might as well put a bow on that line of thought.”
Shay laughed and shook her head. “You know, it’s amazing to me how after you’d drawn the connection between the peanut butter and the baboons, and even after Cairny admitted that baboon teeth could’ve been responsible for Chaz’s wound, you still held out hope that a vampire did it.”
“Hope is a strong word. I simply wanted to eliminate the option. Besides, you forget there are a few things baboons and peanut butter can’t explain about the case.”
Shay cracked open the door and held it for me as we stepped outside. “Such as?”
“Benson’s odd magnetism,” I said. “His power over those drug-addled women. And Chaz’s own connection to the bats. Tell me, if he wasn’t a vampire or vampiric thrall of some sort, how did he get the bats to fly around him while he was in the cage? Why didn’t they escape? And why did they only settle down when he passed out?”
“I don’t know,” said Shay. “Dumb luck?”
I tilted my head. “You of all people know that’s not a thing. Not in our line of work.”
“And vampires are?”
I smiled. “Could be. If we happen across another murder of Chaz’s nature, I’ll certainly entertain the idea—so long as the stiff’s not covered in butter or jam or honey or something of that nature.”
We paused on the precinct’s front steps, the darkened night air finally bringing with it a bit of a chill.
“So, uh, Jake,” said Shay. “I know it’s been a long day, and I’m not in the mood for long, emotional discussions, but other than your apology this morning, we haven’t had a chance to discuss our relationship.”
My stomach froze with dread, but I managed to push past the icy obstacle and compose myself anyway. “Look. Shay… I meant everything I said this morning, about your intelligence, your tenacity, your leadership ability. I thought you’d make an excellent interim captain, and after seeing you on the job today, I know you will. You already are.”
Shay smiled. “Thank you, Jake. That means a lot. But I was talking about our, you know…real relationship. In some ways it seems like a forgotten past, but at the same time, our magical night together on the Prodigious was only two nights ago.”
“Right.” I swallowed and cleared my throat. “And you were, perhaps, ah…looking to relive it?”
Shay lifted an eyebrow. “You’re feeling forward, aren’t you? To be honest, yes, but not tonight. That’s sort of my point. I’m a dead woman walking right now. I’m amazed I’m still on my feet.”
“Right,” I said, feeling simultaneously disappointed and relieved. “Can I walk you home, at least?”
“Walk? Are you kidding. I’m taking a rickshaw. Seriously. I’m done.”
“Well, at least you finally admitted it.”
Shay smirked. “As I said I would.”
“Of course,” I said. “You’re a woman of honor, as well as beauty, intelligence, and…well, there are too many adjectives to list. The point is, I guess this is where I say good night.”
“Hold on, now,” said Shay. “I didn’t say you weren’t welcome at my place. I simply said I wasn’t getting frisky. There’s a difference.”
I stood there for a moment as the hamster that worked the wheel in my brain took a break, probably looking like a doofus the whole time.
&
nbsp; “Daggers?”
“Right,” I said, snapping out of it. “Just working through the implications of that. I’d love to come over. Though perhaps I should drop by my place first and grab a fresh set of clothes. Maybe a few.”
“Whoa there, cowboy. Now you’re getting presumptuous. This is a one night offer. No exchanges, refunds, or returns. Or at least, that’s the current policy.”
“Works for me,” I said. “I’m the master of punishingly slow relationships. To me, this feels like riding a racehorse. Or a race camel, as today’s events have proven is a thing.”
Shay chuckled and shook her head. I leaned over the steps, looking for a rickshaw, but none appeared. As I stood there, Shay snuck in and wrapped an arm around my midsection. I kept one arm free to hail a cab and reciprocated the hug with my other. Though the night’s chill had finally intensified, it was more than her physical proximity that filled me with warmth.
I smiled, and so did she. Together, we stood on the steps, pressed against each other as we waited for a ride.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hi. I’m Alex P. Berg, a mystery, fantasy, and science fiction writer and the author of Steele of the Night. If you enjoyed this Daggers & Steele mystery, be sure to look for the next novel in the series, Steele Life, in which the stroke of an artist’s brush brings deadly consequences.
Want more exciting adventures, head-scratching mysteries, and snarky dialogue? Check out two of my other series:
*The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Rich Weed #1): Follow private detective Rich Weed and his trusty android sidekick Carl in this pulp-inspired science fiction mystery set in the year 3330.
*The Black Mast Murder (Driftwood #1): Mystery and intrigue rule the high seas in this Pirates of the Caribbean-style adventure featuring constable John “Driftwood” Malarkey and his supernaturally-gifted wife, Gwen.
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