A Little Street Magic (3 page)

“No proof of that at this time. Fogbottom had a request in for a first edition book. Ah,
The Happy Prince and Other Tales
. It’s by...”

“Oscar Wilde,” Logan said. “Haven’t read it myself, but I did see a copy at the library last week. Guessing not a first edition.”

“Probably not,” Damian agreed. “First edition for it runs around forty thousand, and I don’t think the library has that kind of budget.”

I peeked at the body, or what was left of it, and my stomach clenched in protest. “I don’t think book collectors do that to people.”

“Depends on the book.” Logan was studying the hanging body. “Someone hunting down grimoires might have the power to do that.”

I dropped my eyes back to the crate’s top, noticed there was a bit of finger bone with blackened skin attached, and closed my eyes. “That is now duking it out with old Henry Wilkins for worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Wilkins.” Damian snapped his fingers. “The serial killer who skinned his victims alive. From now on, anything this bad is a Wilkins.”

“Noted.” Logan was sniffing again. “I don’t understand how there’s so much blood.”

“It always looks like too much for one person.” I opened my eyes, wanting to close them again immediately. Instead, I studied the late Arthur Pettigrew’s hanging remains.

His head, most of his chest, and part of one arm had survived the explosion. Everything else, ka-blooey all over the room. There were streaks of rawness showing through the blackened exterior.

“Not what I meant.” Logan pointed under the body, and to a few other spots where blood had spilled. “That’s fresh blood. Or rather, not boiled blood. It landed there before the perp blew him apart.”

“Perp?”

“Guess I’ve been reading too many thrillers lately.”

“I mean, perp works, I just prefer bad guy or killer myself.”

“Perp is correct,” Damian said. “I hate to ask, but can you pick up any scents that would indicate a vampire or shifter did this?”

I shook my head while Logan did more sniffing. “Wouldn’t be a shifter. They can’t do magic, so would’ve had to use actual fire and an explosive. Did anyone hear a boom?”

“No vampire scents, but the blood and meat smell is pretty overpowering. Not much smoke either. I’d kind of expect more.”

I side-eyed Logan. “Have you smelled burned people before?”

“No, but I burned a roast and the smoke filled up my apartment.”

“A person isn’t a roast, Logan.”

“We’re all meat to someone.” He nodded at the remains. “That poor old guy was definitely meat to whoever killed him.”

I hated when people made points like that. It did bad things to my worldview. “That’s not a cheerful idea. Hey, Damian.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you do that past time-lapse spell?”

The warlock rolled his eyes. “Look around. I can’t draw a clean circle in here. By the time this place is fully processed and then cleaned, it’ll be too late for that spell to work.”

Foiled. “Why isn’t anything easy anymore?”

No one bothered to try answering. Damian decided to theorize. “Two possible motives leap out. Either someone had an issue with our vic, or he surprised a thief, who turned violent.”

There were open boxes on the shelves and a few crates on the floor. One of the crates was opened. “Is there a safe?”

“Over on this side, and torn open. Can’t tell if anything’s missing, but if robbery was the motive, the perp wasn’t interested in money. There’s a few cash stacks in the safe.”

“Has the safe been done?” was my next question.

“Only the door and interior edges. Everything’s been photographed, but the contents haven’t been dusted yet.”

“Okay.” I began to pick a path to the other side of the door.

Damian sighed. “Cordi.”

“What?”

“Everything’s been photographed and your shoes are protected. You don’t have to mince.”

“Mince?”

Logan backed him up. “You’re mincing. Definitely mincing.”

“Fine. I’ll keep right on mincing, because I don’t want to step on little bits of Mr. Pettigrew. That’s disrespectful.” Also extremely disgusting, shoe coverings or not. Crap, I shouldn’t have thought about that. I’d probably have a nightmare about tiny Pettigrew pieces crawling all over me now.

The safe was a solid box with a keypad and handle. I didn’t envy the person who had to process the contents, because they were as gory as everything else. What the hell had gone on in this room?

As I crouched down, Damian came to stand behind me. The handle of the safe was bent out nearly straight, and the bolt was wrenched out of shape too. “Wow, the killer has to be super strong. Is this bolted to the floor or wall?”

“No, and it wasn’t moved. It’s still right against the wall.”

The top was dusty and free of handprints. “So what? He just yanked the door open really fast?”

“Don’t know.”

Right, that’s why I was here, to try and shed some light. “Glove coming off.”

“Just the handle,” Damian reminded me.

“I know.” I touched the handle and waited. After a moment, I let go. “Nothing useful, sorry. Just a sense of satisfaction. Business kind, not ‘Ah-ha, I killed a guy’ kind.”

“Damn.”

I stood up and Damian turned to look at the remains.

“Dude, I’m not touching that.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You thought it really loud, and I’m standing right here.”

“Idle thought. You couldn’t until the autopsy’s done.”

“Not touching it then either.” Uh-uh, no way, no how.

Damian grunted. “How hot does a fire have to be to cause a human body to partially explode like that?”

“Fire doesn’t explode bodies, at least not by itself. It cooks the moisture out, burning from the outside in.” Logan cocked his head when we looked at him. “I cut open my roast to see if the center was edible.”

“Again with the roast.” I pointed at him. “We’re going to have a talk about mentioning food at murder scenes, mister.”

“Sorry, but my observation stands. The outer layers were completely dry and blackened, the inner portion dry and brown. It didn’t explode, it shrank.” He looked at the remains too. “There’s still raw flesh on that part. But all the pieces are burnt.”

My stomach began to roil again. Right. “Unless you have something else I can try psychometry on right now, I need fresh air.”

“No, but come into the station tomorrow. I should have some things you can handle then.”

“Sure.”

“Sorry for ruining your evening.”

I glanced at Pettigrew Partial. “It’s nowhere as ruined as his was.”

We started for the door, and I asked, “What’s going to happen to his dog?”

I
sat on the floor, my eyes locked to those of a silent Rottweiler. An animal control officer had hold of the dog, with a pole and loop. Tilting my head, I checked the tags hanging from his collar. “Rufus, huh? You’re lucky the cop you bit is a dog lover, or he may have fed you a bullet for dinner.”

Rufus stared back impassively.

I straightened my head. “My name’s Cordi, Rufus, and I can understand you. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Rufus kept staring.

“Mr. Pettigrew was killed at his shop. If you’ll talk to me, you might be able to help us find out who did it.”

More staring. The AC officer was shaking his head. “You do know dogs can’t talk, right? I’d like to go home, lady.”

“For your information, I’m a psychic, and dogs do talk. Remember that the next time you’re putting some down. They’re probably begging for their lives.” Satisfied by the sick expression appearing on his face, I turned my attention back to Rufus. “Come on, boy. Talk to me.”

The Rottweiler continued to stare. I moved a little, but his eyes didn’t follow me.

“I need help.”

“You damn sure do,” The AC officer muttered.

I ignored him, and called for backup. “Leglin.”

The pole hit the carpeted floor as the AC officer backed away when my hound appeared. Rufus didn’t move.

“What the hell?”

I ignored the man. “Leglin, this is Rufus. He lost his master tonight. I can’t get him to talk to me.”

Leglin stretched his nose toward the other dog. “
Hello, Rufus
.”

No response. My hound sniffed the dog’s muzzle, and licked his cheek. Rufus, kept staring, a black and tan statue.

“
He’s in shock
,” Leglin said.

“Crap. Get me that blanket.”

The AC officer shook his head. “You know what? You’re on your own, lady. I’m out of here.”

“Fine. Get that thing off him.”

“I’m not getting anywhere near that monster of yours.”

“He won’t hurt you, and he’s not a monster. He’s an elf hound. But whatever.” I scooted forward and removed the loop from Rufus. “There. Leglin, the blanket, please.”

The AC officer picked up the pole and held it between him and Leglin as he began to edge past. My hound looked at him, and softly growled. “
He smells of death
.”

“Not surprised. He works at the pound. They put animals to sleep there. Permanent sleep.”

Leglin growled again, louder. The guy went pale, and suddenly bolted.

“That was just plain mean,” Logan said from the doorway. “All he does is his job.”

“He won’t be doing it on Rufus. Besides, you’ve never been to the pound. It’s awful. They put dogs and cats down after 3 days, and all the animals know it. I could tell that before I learned to actually talk to dogs.” Leglin brought me the blanket. I wrapped it around Rufus and moved to sit beside him. After putting my arm around him, I said, “You’re not going there.”

“Where is he going?”

“To see a vet if he doesn’t snap out of his shock soon. He may know something. Even if he doesn’t, I’m not going to let him end up at the pound. People don’t adopt dogs like him much. Bad press. Not as bad as pit bulls get, but,” I shrugged. “I’ll take him home. For now.”

Logan smiled. “I knew you were going to say that the minute we got here and saw him.”

Rufus shuddered and blinked. I hugged him. “Hey, I’m Cordi. That’s Logan, and this is Leglin.”

He let out a heart-breaking whine. “
Master is gone
.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m going to take care of you.”

Logan pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call Damian.”

––––––––

I
left the doggy huddle, accepting a cup of coffee from Logan when I reached the kitchen. “He doesn’t know anything. Pettigrew was a nice old man, never gave any sign he was having any problems.”

“How’s Rufus doing?”

“A little better. That’s helping.” I nodded at the dog pile. Bone and Diablo were cleaning the Rottweiler’s face and ears. “I’m glad you asked Damian about his stuff.”

“Familiar things help people. Figured it would help him.” Logan took a drink of his coffee. “Are you going to keep him?”

“I don’t know. Kind of have a full house, and the Tinies aren’t happy I brought a big stranger home.” I’d had to shut them in the guest bedroom.

“Sunny might take him.”

“No. She found homes for her little guys. Doesn’t want another dog living there, except Kyra.” Kyra was Tonya’s Husky. “Kyra goes to the shop with Tonya now.”

“Oh. What about your dad?”

“Maybe. Depends on Betty and Amadeus. You saw how he freaked out over my Pit Crew.” I had a drink. “But two little boys may be the right medicine.”

“If your dad can’t take him, I’ll give him a try. Or Terra might. She misses Romeo, that German Shepherd from the dog fighting group. Took forever to find his owners.”

“Okay. If the Tinies come around though, I’ll keep him. Let’s give it a week, see how things shake out.”

Logan nodded. “We probably shouldn’t talk about the case where he can hear us.”

“No. I kind of don’t want to talk about it at all. Except Dodson. He was a prick. I can’t believe Stannett hired him.” I took another sip and leaned against the counter.

“I don’t think his coworkers think much of him.”

“Damian wanted you to whomp him.”

Logan chuckled. “The thought crossed my mind, but you didn’t seem keen on that idea.”

“I’ve never had to bail someone out of jail. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I promise to do my best not to end up in jail.” He nodded at the dining area. “You were going to tell me about your visit with the ancestors.”