Cold Hard Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 2) (23 page)

And he saw us.

I should’ve anticipated what happened next. By approaching the young man from the sides, I’d assumed we’d cut off his escape routes, making his arrest simple and lacking in any form of cardiac exertion on my part, but I’d made one crucial error. I’d forgotten the stacks in the classics section stopped several feet short of the high arching ceiling.

The moment Eustace spotted me and my shiny friend Daisy, he grabbed his backpack and sprang up the sides of the stacks, his thin fingers propelling him up the shelves with ease.

I swore.

“Go! Go!” I waved my arms at Rodgers and Steele and took off in the direction I’d come. A quick glance at Eustace revealed he had me beat on speed and agility, but given the geometry of the room, he had to duck walk across the top of the stacks.

Meanwhile, I sprinted down the aisle perpendicular to the end of them, more or less keeping pace. This resulted in Eustace reaching the end of the second floor stacks at roughly the same time Rodgers, Steele, and I did.

An infinitesimal moment passed where we all stood, eyeing each other and trying to anticipate one another’s next moves. Eustace glanced my way, then at Rodgers, then down. The last stack stood at the edge of the second floor balcony. A good twenty-five foot drop separated the top of the stack from the reading room floor—slightly less to one of the tables.

I rushed forward. Eustace jumped.

The kid hit one of the maple tables with a thump and a yell—indicating some measure of pain. I nearly ran into Rodgers as we met in the middle of the balcony. Below us, library-goers abandoned their seats and squawked in surprise.

Eustace ignored the popular outcry. He picked himself up and half-ran, half-hobbled along the table lengthwise toward a side exit.

I grabbed Rodgers by the arm.

“Come with me,” I said.

I took a step to the side and put a foot on the balcony railing.

“Uhh…Daggers?”

“Trust me,” I said.

We both went over the edge.

I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I do understand basic physical principles, including those of mass, inertia, and the concept of lever arms. Rodgers and I landed feet first onto the edge of the reading table, our combined bulk causing the far end of the table to lift off the floor, taking Eustace with it. The young guy windmilled as the table threw him into the air. I smiled, but my mirth was short-lived.

I’d underestimated the mass of the table. I’d thought them solid maple, but based on the way ours behaved, they must’ve been composed of a cheap composite with a maple veneer. As the table lifted, it kept on going, depositing me and Rodgers flat on our asses and nearly sending the table crashing down upon us.

Before I’d even cleared the books and lantern bits from my coat, Eustace was halfway across the room, heading straight for the economics stacks.

Shay rounded the edge of the balcony, shouting at me from above. “Go! I’ll meet you in the history wing!”

Rodgers offered his hand as shocked-looking gawkers gaped at us, and we took off after the slender suspect. We made a beeline toward him, but even with his bum ankle, I could tell Eustace outpaced us. He reached the economics stacks, zipped into the first aisle, and took off.

I shoved Rodgers in the back. “Follow him! I’ve got a plan.”

I may not be the fastest horse in the stable, but I use what I’ve got. I whipped out my cursory knowledge of geometry and physics, took a hard angle along the hypotenuse of Eustace’s trajectory, and confident in my knowledge of the law of propagation of—momentum? Force? Fatness?—I launched myself at full velocity into the side of the stacks.

The entire length of the racks teetered, wobbled, and toppled, coming down in a crash of clanging metal racks and thumping book covers. The commotion nearly drowned out two distinct cries—one a surprised yelp and another involving the words ‘Daggers, you piece of—!’

I rounded the corner, gripped the edge of the now bare metal shelves, and, with a grunt, tipped them back upright. Eustace sputtered and flailed under a pile of weighty econ texts, while farther behind, Rodgers tried to swim his way out of a similar pool. Huffing and breathing hard, Steele approached me from behind.

“Daggers?” she said as she caught her breath. “What did you do?”

“I figured I’d test the theory of trickle-down economics,” I said. “Seems to have worked pretty well.”

Shay scrunched her face. “I think you’re stretching that metaphor a little too far.”

“Alright, how about this one,” I said. “I always thought economics wasn’t considered one of the
hard
sciences, but these books sure did leave some nice welts.”

I could tell Shay wanted to roll her eyes, but my wit and charm were too much for her to handle. She settled on a subdued grin. “It’s ok. Better, I suppose.”

Eustace groaned. I dug him out of his prison of books and restrained him with a love tap from my billy club—not that he needed it. Between his sprained ankle and the avalanche of books that may or may not have given him a concussion, I think the kid was pretty much spent.

Rodgers walked over, swinging one of his arms in a wide circle.

“Whoa, there,” I said. “You getting ready to pop me?”

“No, but I should,” said Rodgers. “You could’ve given me some warning. Luckily, I only got pelted with soft-bound periodicals, otherwise I’d really be miffed.”

“Don’t lie,” I said. “This’ll be one of those stories you’ll lord over Quinto for years. He’ll wish he could’ve been a part of this. He’ll be angrier than a dwarf at a carnival ride.”

“If so, he’ll be angry with you,” said Rodgers. “Which makes two of us.”

“Don’t be so sour,” I said. “We caught the bad guy, didn’t we?”

Rodgers shrugged. “I guess. I wonder what he’ll have to say for himself regarding his decision to run.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea what he’ll say regarding that,” I said. “However, there
is
something I’m very curious about.”

“Which is?” said Steele.

I eyed the bright blue backpack. “I want to know what’s in there.”

40

Before I’d even had a chance to sniff the backpack’s straps, a herd of the most surly, foul-tempered creatures ever to set foot on our gods’ green earth descended upon me in a wave of furrowed brows and accusatory fingers—angry librarians.

They weren’t particularly happy about the state in which I’d left the economics wing. I feared their molars might break under the rage-fueled pressure of their own jaws. I tried to smooth things over with a few witty platitudes, but I soon realized the librarians had all had their funny bones removed as part of their occupational training, so I cut anchor and skedaddled.

And as much as I enjoyed being right, I wish I’d been less prescient regarding Quinto. Upon finding out he’d missed not only a thrilling chase but also getting to see Rodgers pelted with magazines, the big guy’s surliness infected us all.

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered me—Shay and I would’ve hitched a ride on a rickshaw and left Rodgers to deal with the mess on his own—but given that we had two prisoners to transport, we decided a slow, steady walk was the least risky way to ensure everyone reached the station. Not only did I have to suffer Quinto’s moping the entire way back, but I never had a chance to open the backpack, either.

The chances of everyone’s moods lifting upon reaching the precinct plummeted when the Captain met our entourage head first in the pit.

“Where the hell have you all been?” he barked. “My hairline’s receded a good two inches while you buffoons have been out gallivanting in the sun and sucking on barbeque sandwiches.”

I glanced at my shirt. My wet thumb hadn’t exactly done the bang up cleaning job I’d hoped. “Sorry, Captain,” I said. “When the runner arrived this morning with the news about the third body, I took charge and requisitioned some more troops for the battle.” I nodded toward Rodgers and Quinto. “I would’ve cleared it with you, but you weren’t in.”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to process that,” the Captain said.

“Which part? That I took charge, or that I beat you in to work in the morning?”

“Both.” He nodded toward Zeb and Eustace. “Who are these chumps?”

Eustace’s brain remained addled from the whack I’d given him with my truncheon—either that or he was daydreaming about how he’d immortalize his harsh treatment in a poorly written limerick. Either way, he wasn’t interested in talking. Zeb didn’t suffer the same affliction.

“Zebruder Coriander, at your service, sir,” he said. “Head of the WPL.”

“The what?” said the bulldog.

“Werewolf Protection League,” I said.

The Captain shot me a glance that carried with it a slew of unasked questions.

“I’ll explain later,” I said. “Rodgers, Quinto, can you get our two suspects down to the interrogation rooms? I have a couple things to deal with first.”

Someone fixed the connections in Zeb’s head. “Wait, what?
Suspects?
As in plural?”

“Why do you think we brought you to the precinct?” I asked. “It wasn’t because of the spectacular coffee, I guarantee you.”

“I thought I was here to offer guidance and insight regarding Eustace,” he said.

“You poor, deluded bastard.” I jerked my thumb toward the stairs. “Guys? Interrogation rooms, please.”

Rodgers took Eustace while Quinto escorted a loudly protesting Zeb.

“Oh, and send Cairny up once you get him situated, can you, Quinto?” I called.

The big man paused, a concerned look on his face. “What? Why me?”

“Why not you?” I asked.

He tested out some shifty eyes while standing there with his mouth agape before waving me off and walking away.

I put my hands on my hips. “Something’s up with that guy. You have any idea what his deal is?”

Steele nodded.

“Care to share?” I said.

“Not really,” she said. “It’s more fun watching you try to figure it out.”

Captain eyed the both of us. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, and I don’t care. All I care about is that whoever’s been inserting ice-encrusted daggers into my populace is off the streets. Can you assure me that’s the case, detectives?”

“We’re pretty sure we got our guy, Captain,” I said.

“Well, get
extra
sure,” he said. “Get me a confession, or at the very least some ironclad evidence.
Today
. Got it?”

We nodded. The Captain stormed off to his office, and we returned to our desks, whereupon I plopped into my throne and deposited Eustace’s backpack before me. I stared at the indigo blue sack for a minute before my partner interrupted me.

“Well? Are you going to open it?”

“I’m letting the suspense build,” I said.

She shared some of her raised eyebrows with me.

“Want to wager on what we’ll find inside?” I asked.

“You go first.”

“Alright. I think we’ll find a couple of intricately wrought daggers, a container of refrigerated liquid, a bottle of ether, some syringes, and an extra-large tub of werewolf fur styling cream.”

Shay scrunched her lips. “You do know how heavy refrigerated liquids and ether are, don’t you?”

“My wager was more my hopes and dreams than anything realistic,” I said. “Give me your take.”

“I expect it has some clothing, personal effects, and maybe some cash, but probably no weapons. If Eustace is our guy, I’m going to assume he was smart enough to ditch anything incriminating before we found him.”

I waved my hands over the backpack before digging in. We were both wrong, but Shay was closer to the truth than I was.

I shook my head. “Two changes of clothes, a stack of journals filled with poorly written gibberish, and a few baggies packed with nuts and dried fruit. What a disappointment.”

“I told you not to get your hopes up,” said Shay.

I gave her a look. “No you didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you just forgave and forgot?” Shay smiled. “It’s what you always preach, after all.”

I grinned. “Touché, young pupil, touché. But regardless of who said what, it would’ve been nice to find one of those stilettos in Eustace’s backpack. Possession is half the crime—or all of it, depending on how corrupt the cops involved are.”

“I guess we’ll have to squeeze Eustace during the interrogation and hope something pops out,” said Steele.

I gave my partner a look. “Did you mean that to sound as dirty as it did?”

Shay blushed. “Not really.”

Cairny appeared out of nowhere. I nearly batted her out of the sky with my sloth-like reflexes. As I flailed, I noticed the flats on her feet. Those silent shoes would be the death of me yet.

“Hey, bestie,” said Cairny.

“Hey, Cairns,” said Shay.

I scratched my head.

“We bonded last night,” Cairny told me.

“Metaphorically, I hope.” With Cairny I never knew what kind of freaky stuff she engaged in behind closed doors.

Cairny blinked. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Never mind,” I said. “I wanted to know if you’d had a chance to look at the body that came in today. A woman. Cynthia Gladwell.”

Cairny nodded. “Cause of death is the same as the other two victims—massive trauma to the heart. As with the other two, her bleeding was minimal, and I found an injection site at her left anticubital fossa.”

“The elbow pit, yeah,” I said, nodding. “We saw that.”

“I did notice some unusual bruising at that same location, though—reminiscent of tissue that’s been frostbitten,” said Cairny. “It was present on the skin and in the muscle underneath. If this particular victim was injected with a blood thickener, I suspect it might’ve been refrigerated prior to injection.”

“Interesting,” I said, sharing a look with Shay. “But we have a new theory about why the victims didn’t bleed so much. One that doesn’t involve blood thickeners.”

“Oh?” said Cairny.

“Did you by any chance notice anything
strange
about the bodies, Cairny?”

“Besides the manner in which they died?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She tapped her fingers on my desk. “You know, Daggers, I always provide a written report of my findings after every inspection. If something’s unclear—”