Three Charms for Murder (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 5)

by Honor Raconteur

  Seaton stirred from his position on the wall and stalked forward to rest a hand against the table’s surface. “She’s a Kingsman consultant. You’ll likely know her better as the Shinigami Detective.”

  Lawler actually flinched, staring at her with new eyes, as if he only now realized his mistake.

  “Now answer her bloody question. Why did you murder the Atwoods?”

  Lawler’s shoulders slumped. And as an officer himself, he knew there would be little mercy shown him in a court of law. “Murder…wasn’t our intention. We went in to rob the place.”

  “You and your sister, Bronwyn Morton,” I prompted.

  “Yeah. You caught her already, I know. Stupid woman insisted on keeping that purse. I told her to hide it until everything had died down, but she used it, didn’t she?”

  “She had it at the office,” Jamie answered, already writing things down.

  Lawler’s eyes closed in a fatalistic way. “It figures. She never was too sharp, or her temper got in the way of making a smart decision. I don’t know which it is. She figured out I was taking things out of houses when no one was home. Wanted in on it. I let her because she and her husband could use the money, what with the Atwoods suing them. And then when the house went up for sale, she wanted to rob it. I figured, justice in its own way, so I agreed. We didn’t expect anyone to be there that night. Certainly not the Atwoods.”

  It made me wonder of Hartley, but I could bring him back around to that later and clarify just who had been stealing what. When he stumbled to a halt, I prompted him quietly, “Did they surprise you?”

  “Yeah. They did.” Lawler blew out a breath, back to staring at his handcuffs. “They realized someone was in the house—we’d turned on a few lights to see by—and they came in, calling out for someone to answer. I panicked. I wanted to get out, but of course Bronwyn was on the other side of the house, and I couldn’t leave her there to get caught. And Hartley was somewhere, as we’d been handing him goods to load into the truck. So, I snuck up behind Mr. Atwood, slapped a restraint on his wrists. Then Mrs. Atwood, she starts screaming bloody murder, and I restrain her but she’s still screaming. I was afraid someone might hear her. Bronwyn had a vial of Axphorilil on her, ’cause of her monthlies being so bad, and we used that to get them quiet. But I doubled the dose on Mr. Atwood—cause he’s so much larger of a man, see—and I shouldn’t have. With him dosed, and lying face down, he…he just stopped breathing. By the time we realized, it was too late.”

  Lawler rubbed a hand over his face, and we gave him a moment to process things. The tension in the room was thick enough to slice and serve. I instinctively felt that if we spoke now, he’d stop talking entirely.

  “When Bronwyn realized, she went mad. Said we had to kill Mrs. Atwood too, ’cause she was a witness. I didn’t see any other way out of it. I was just going to overdose her, too, but Bronwyn was on top of her before I could stop her. Choking her. She had the stomach for it, so I let her. It was too much for me.” Another hand passed over his face and it shook now, sweat beading his upper lip. “It was too awful for me. But I thought, with them dead, there’s sure to be an investigation, right? And I had to do something to make it odd. Make it look like some crazy person had done it so they wouldn’t link robbery to murder. I’d read in one of those bad detective novels about a crime so strange the police couldn’t figure it out, let it go cold. Figured it was worth a try. I told Bronwyn about it and she agreed that was the safe bet. So, she went out, back to the office to grab some charms, and I got busy setting up the scene.”

  So, the staging of the bodies really had been to throw us off. It had almost worked, too. I’d certainly found it perturbing and couldn’t make sense of it.

  Lawler’s eyes gravitated toward the window, blind to his surroundings. “Couldn’t believe it when I was once again asked to handle the investigation. Captain thought it was a robbery gone wrong. He liked the way I handled the burglaries, the way I closed the cases. Made him look good on paper. Always made it easier on me, too. So I said sure, and I went in. Because of how they died, I thought, why not say it was a murder-suicide? Seems reasonable enough. I could say Mr. Atwood was unhinged, and that’s why he posed their bodies like that. It would work. It almost did. But I didn’t think about who the Atwoods were, did I? Didn’t think about their connections.” He turned his head, almost in a flop, and stared at Jamie again. “You knew them.”

  “I didn’t,” she denied with a false calm, brittle and fracturing at the surface. I was reasonably sure she wanted to punch Lawler in the throat. “Henri did. The man you so casually dismissed as quiet and unassuming is Dr. Henri Davenforth, of the Davenforths. He’s a childhood friend of the Atwoods. They came to him for help.”

  “I knew them as well,” Seaton interjected, staring hard at Lawler with a visible tic in his jaw. “And I wouldn’t have let that slide, either.”

  Lawler let out a mirthless laugh. “So, I really had no chance of covering it up, huh? I should have abandoned Bronwyn after all when the Atwoods discovered us. Theft’s better than murder.”

  “Let’s talk about the thefts for a minute. You were taking things out of houses, and you said Hartley was there that night? Was he a partner?”

  “Yeah. And my fence. We worked together to move stuff out of the houses. He was responsible for selling everything afterwards.” Lawler answered in a tired tone, as if he were already exhausted. “Couldn’t very well sell stolen goods myself, could I?”

  Ah, yes. Of course. I should have seen that. So, Hartley’s assertion he hadn’t known the cop had been an outright lie, eh? We’d believed him in a sense because he’d been sincere about not killing anyone. But I should have questioned that connection a little further. Not that we’d had the chance to.

  “You let him go, I assume, because he could ID you.”

  “He had no stomach for murder. Once he realized what we’d done, he ran for it. He still knew where all the stolen goods were, though. I didn’t want to kill him anyway, but he bargained with that, so I’d let him out.” Lawler gave that soundless, humorless laugh again. “You’d think I’d have learned not to let my greed make decisions.”

  “You shouldn’t have been robbing the people you were sworn to protect to begin with,” I rebutted. Jamie might have a point about the punching-in-throat plan. I felt rather inclined myself at the moment.

  “Henri Davenforth of the Davenforths,” Lawler mocked darkly. “What would you know of how pitiful a working man’s salary is?”

  “I do, in fact, live on my salary and not on my parents’ largesse,” I returned evenly. “So, I would know quite a bit. I think we’re done here. Shall we go?”

  “Before I punch him? Yeah, probably for the best.” Jamie stood with a scrape of chair legs and headed for the door, with myself on her heels. But she paused there and looked back. “Lawler, one question. Was it you who burned the Atwood house?”

  “It was me.” Lawler flopped back in the chair, eyes on the ceiling. “I was petrified of what you might find there. You kept going in and out of that house, like there was something interesting there. And I didn’t know what two magicians might be able to find. I figured it was safer to burn it.”

  “And it was you who tried to run us off the road, too.” That hadn’t been a question.

  Lawler didn’t bother to look at her as he answered. “Yeah. Much good that did.”

  “I appreciate the confirmation.” That pleased her, having the answers to those niggling questions, and she sailed through the door.

  Lawler may or may not have been lying about Hartley being alive. There was no easy way to prove it one way or another. I chose to think Lawler wasn’t lying, since he admitted he had no real stomach for murder. So, Hartley was still free and probably thieving, eh? I didn’t wish the man dead, but I would have preferred him nearby and as a witness. Ah, well. With the evidence we had and the confession, this case was airtight.

  Gregson waited for us in the hallway, an interesting mix of
eager and disgusted. He looked to Jamie for the answer. “Full confession?”

  “Full confession. I don’t think it occurred to him to do otherwise. He watched his sister murder Mrs. Atwood, and it severely rattled him.” Jamie stopped, one hand propped on her hip. “He did say his captain put him in charge of all the burglaries because he liked that Lawler would just do a cursory inspection and then close the case. It made it look on paper as if they were doing their jobs well. Lawler was given the Atwood case to close for the same reason.”

  “That is absolutely disgusting, but it doesn’t surprise me—not after everything that’s been reported. Our police commissioner will not be happy to hear it.” Gregson rubbed his hands together in evil anticipation. “I can’t wait to report that one in person. Deems apparently needs a good house cleaning.”

  “Hear hear.” I lifted a hand. “Permission to report to the Atwood siblings that we’ve found the murderer?”

  “Permission granted. Just have them sit on the news until we can make an official announcement of arrest.”

  I went hunting for the nearest phone, which happened to be the one at the front reception desk. There were several phones available at the station, but most of them were in use. I gave our young officer a quick smile before putting a silencing charm around my person to keep the conversation discreet. At least for today, I didn’t want the news spreading.

  The phone rang three times before Irvine answered, sounding a little breathless, as if he’d dashed for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Irvine, it’s me. I’m calling with news.”

  “Good news?” he asked hopefully.

  It was more than a relief to answer, “Yes. Good news. We’ve found your parents’ murderers. They’re being charged as I speak.”

  He let out a sob, and I didn’t blame him. Lives lost, yes, and I could do nothing about that. But at least I’d given him the justice he’d asked for. Deserved. A bittersweet ending indeed.

  I eyed both men suspiciously as they led me into Sherard’s office on palace grounds. They were up to something. My boyfriend, especially, looked suspicious with that smug lilt to his mouth and the bounce in his stride, as if he had some delicious secret he was bursting to share. Sherard was practically giddy.

  Henri held hands with me as he towed me up the stairs. Not for the first time, I asked, “What are you two up to? Should I be worried?”

  “No,” Sherard threw over his shoulder, bouncing up the stairs like a golden retriever in search of a ball. “You’ll like this surprise.”

  “You say that, and yet here I am, still worried. You two are giddy. I have literally never seen you giddy.” And why this location? Why on palace grounds and not someone’s apartment?

  I was reasonably certain if I jumped out a window, my body could take the fall, what with my enhancements. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust these two men, but they were seriously acting out of character. Were they pod people? Beta units?

  It had been almost a week since we’d solved the case. The murderous siblings were up for trial in the next month, and we’d gotten public recognition for solving the case. Which was nice and all, but the funeral had been a little hard. I felt bad for the kids who had lost their parents, even though those kids were adults. Losing family was always hard.

  The funeral had hit me hard in the feels, harder than I anticipated. Before leaving Earth, my parents and sister were doing fine. I had no reason to believe things had changed. But being here meant no contact with them whatsoever. I found myself mourning that lost connection as if someone had died. Emotionally, it felt like it some days. Having the funeral past us was a relief.

  Henri had gotten sucked into some secret project with Sherard that he hinted at over our dates but never really told much in the way of detail. Until today, apparently.

  No, seriously, did I need to make a run for it? Henri was hyper. Henri never got hyper.

  We entered Sherard’s office to find all the cats already on scene, lounging on various surfaces, including the desk. The clean desk. What in the name of—I panned my head, taking in the room incredulously. It was clean in here! I could literally see every part of the floor, all the chairs were clear, and the books were neatly arranged on shelves. Before today, I would have sworn the zombie apocalypse would happen before Sherard fully cleaned his office.

  The largest scrying mirror I’d ever seen was set up dead in the middle of the room on its own pedestal stand. Sherard had put his comfy wing-backed chair smack in front of it, which didn’t look strange or anything. To add to the general oddity of the situation, Jules Felix stood nearby with his own cat, Mystique, cradled in the crook of his arm. The last time I saw Jules and Sherard standing in the same room, a royal mage had died. Seeing Jules here, in this office, thoroughly alarmed me.

  Henri cast me a smile over his shoulder. “It’s good news, not bad.”

  “If you say so.” I took that with reservations. Especially when he sat me down in the chair. Facing the scrying mirror. “Gents, I love you, but if someone doesn’t explain to me right now, I’m going to be running for the door.”

  Clint immediately hopped into my lap as if to thwart this plan. Traitor.

  “Two minutes and we’ll show you,” Sherard requested, already readying his wand.

  I eyed him sideways, holding onto my cat in such a way that I could scoop him up and dive for cover. “Two minutes. Alright. But if I see even a hint of a little girl in a white dress, or any other spooky thing, I’m outta here.”

  Sherard stood on the opposite side of Jules, and the two men gave each other a nod before lifting their wands and speaking in unison. A surreal, out of body experience enveloped me as I watched them work and speak in perfect tandem. Was I dreaming this? It had to be a dream. The spell they spoke was nonsensical enough for a dream. Unlike every other spell I’ve heard, they used numbers instead of words. Just one long string of numbers with the occasional directional word thrown in.

  The mirror glowed slightly, and the image abruptly changed from reflecting this room. It shot off into space, going into the inky deepness of true space with the occasional flash of a star or planet zooming past. My entire attention became riveted to that scene. I didn’t think they were here to give me an astronomy lesson. So why…?

  I glanced at Jules, wondering at his presence here. It had to be serious to make him cooperate with Sherard. And Henri still bounced a little on his toes, grinning from ear to ear. He had a wand in hand, too, as if he were ready to pitch in somehow.

  They couldn’t possibly…I mean, I know they had been researching and pouring over Belladonna’s notes, but they also said those notes made no sense. Right? So, they couldn’t possibly be doing what it looked like.

  I found myself holding my breath anyway.

  And then released it all in one gush, a sob nearly tearing out of my throat. I’d know that blue and white planet anywhere. “That’s Earth. Oh my god, you found Earth.”

  All three men looked at me curiously, but it was Jules that asked, “You can recognize your planet from outer space?”

  “Of course. We have loads of pictures of it.” I’d explain space exploration later. Much later. Urgently, I demanded, “Can you get in closer?”

  “Wait,” Sherard requested, and there was that smug grin again. The Cheshire cat had nothing on him. He turned back to the mirror and intoned, “Seek for Dirk and Amaya Edwards’ residence. Blood to blood with Jamie Edwards. Let blood call to blood.”

  My parents. He was making it so I could at least see my parents. I’d dearly love to see my sister, Carolyn, too. But what I wouldn’t give to see that my parents were still healthy and alright.

  The mirror zoomed in again, heading for California, and I recognized blips of geography as it passed. Then it stopped abruptly for a moment, hovering in front of a ranch style house with white brick in my parents’ quiet little subdivision. I’d spent my entire childhood in that house. I found myself tearing up just at the sight of it.

  Henri�
��s wand lifted and he drew several inscriptions on the glass. My hope rose as I partially recognized one. Was he really making it so I could communicate? Not just see, but speak to my parents?

  Sherard waited for the sigil to integrate fully with the mirror, a second that felt like a small eternity, and then he zoomed into the house. A blip of darkness filled the mirror for a split second before the green of my parents’ bathroom wall came into view. Sitting on chairs like the three little monkeys were my mom, dad, and sister, all of them alight with joy. I felt the same, tears burning in my eyes.

  “Jamie,” they said in near unison, and I laughed, wiping at my eyes.

  My mother reached out, touching the mirror as if she could reach me. I leaned forward, putting my own hand against hers, and even though I felt nothing but cold glass, this was so much more than I had ever dreamed of. Ever wished for. I had thought it impossible, frankly, too heartbreaking to even think about. Seeing them now left me flatfooted. So much had happened. What could I possibly say to them, where did I even start?

  “You really are there,” my father choked out, and tears streamed unchecked down his cheeks. “We tore this world apart looking for you and instead you’re there.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am. You three are a sight for sore eyes,” I responded. I dashed at tears again because I wanted to see them. “Everyone is okay?”

  “Of course, we’re fine,” Carolyn said quickly, pressing forward. She wrapped an arm around our mother’s shoulder, hugging her in. “But what of you? I wasn’t here the first time they called—”

  Excuse me, what?

  “—and they didn’t say much.” Carolyn looked between the men and asked uncertainly, “I’m not even sure how this is happening. Or how it works.”

  “I doubt you’ll have time for a very long-winded explanation. You only have an hour and a half,” Sherard warned. “We can’t keep this up indefinitely.”

  “But don’t feel like you have to say absolutely everything,” Jules pitched in. “I think we can do this every three months or so. This won’t be the only time you can see them.”