Grimm - The Icy Touch (15 page)

“I take it we didn’t get all they had,” Hank said.

“I’m sure that wasn’t their only supply. But by the way...” He nodded toward Nick and Hank. “Good work, interdicting that stuff. God knows what they might’ve done with it here in town...”

“That mythology you mentioned,” Renard said thoughtfully. “Could it relate to this use of scopolamine, and the other stuff in the mix?”

Bloom pulled on his chin.

“Could be! Interesting thought. You mean those stories about beast people, monsters—could be hallucinations induced by this stuff? Like they’re using some kind of hallucinogenic programming to make people even more afraid of crossing them?”

Picking up on what Renard was up to, Nick nodded in agreement.

“Scopolamine, from what I read, makes people extremely suggestible,” he said. “Dose ’em with it, tell them they’re seeing a monster—and they’ll see one.”

Bloom tapped his keyboard.

“I’m going to put that in the file as a possible angle on their hold over people...”

* * *

Renard was silent as they left the briefing room and walked down the hall together. In the elevator to the street, alone with Hank and Nick, he said softly, “Let’s talk in my car.”

The shower had eased off, but the car’s windows were glazed with rainwater. Nick waited for Renard to speak. The captain sat behind the wheel of his new Renault, frowning in thought, and saying nothing.

In the end it was Hank who spoke first.

“Nick—remember when you and Monroe were talking about that council, a Wesen outfit that enforces a code of some kind...”

Nick nodded. “Council of Walenstadt, 1521. ‘Guidelines to ensure the safety and well-being of the Wesen community.’ The Code of Schwaben.”

Renard turned to look at Nick, his frown deepening.

“Was it necessary to talk out of school about that, Burkhardt?”

Nick shrugged. “You forget. I’m not Wesen. I’m a Grimm. I don’t have the same set of rules. I told Hank about it because it’s information he needs. He’s in the loop. And he’s a useful man. He’s done a lot of the Council’s work, really. Even before he knew it...”

Renard turned to Hank.

“Why do you bring up the Council?”

“Because, Captain—maybe
they
should be handling this, not us. They sent in that outside shooter to take out those Wesen who were robbing banks with their natural fright masks hanging out. So let them handle this. Then— it wouldn’t be on us. It just bothers me that we can’t clue the rest of law enforcement in on the Wesen side of The Icy Touch. We shouldn’t be keeping information back from the feds—or from the rest of the department. It’s not even
legal.”

Nick winced. “You’re right—but it is what it is, Hank. Long as I’m a Grimm I’m going to walk the edge of the legal. And I’ll probably step over it sometimes. I’m sorry you get dragged over it too, man. I really am. But I figure you’re a detective partly because you like to solve mysteries. This hidden world is a whole new level of mystery. Once you’re in on it... you’re in.”

Renard cleared his throat. “I don’t know if there is a file on Wesen at the CIA, or MI6, or the DIA. Or even the FBI. But—I know there are Wesen tucked away in some of those agencies. My guess is, they suppress clues that could lead investigators to the Wesen. So if you decide to break this open, Hank—you’d have them after you too.
And
the Council.

“And me.”

“Another threat, Captain?”

“Doesn’t have to be. You can work with us.”

“I’m playing by your rules,” Hank said, “because right now it seems to be the best way to make sure I can stop these sons of bitches. And because Nick’s a good man. I’ve been his partner for a long time. That’s why I’m doing it. Not because I’m scared of the Wesen council. Or you.”

The interior of the windows was steaming up with their breath. But to Nick it almost seemed as if the simmering anger between Renard and Hank was steaming up the glass by itself. He could feel the tension humming in the air.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hank went on. “What about the Council closing down The Icy Touch?”

“They’ll be kept informed,” Renard said. “But I don’t know if they’re likely to take any action. First of all, we don’t know specifically who we’re dealing with. We’ve got no names to give them. And it’s not clear to me that the cartel has broken the Code. They haven’t exposed Wesen to the world. They’ve only threatened other Wesen.”

“Seems to me they’re putting all Wesen at risk,” Nick said. “They’re taking over human organizations using Wesen powers. The risk of it all coming out, in that kind of fight... seems pretty strong to me. Could be explosive. It could blow up the whole Wesen community.”

Renard grunted. “We’ll see.” He paused, then added, “There’s someone else who might be interested. The Gegengewicht.”

“The who?” Hank asked.

“Gegengewicht. It means ‘the counterweight,’” Renard replied. “A secretive Wesen organization. I don’t know much about them. I have a second cousin, Beatrice, in France— she tried to recruit me into it, a few years ago. They seem to be a Wesen counterweight to the Royals—they think the Royals are a danger to Wesen, and they’ve got some kind of agenda of their own to counter Wesen criminality.”

Renard started the car, ran the wipers, and drove out onto the street.

“I’ll research it,” he said. “Right now, you two need to start sifting through Portland Wesen. Someone out there has to have some connection to The Icy Touch... Find them!”

Last guy we found with a connection is dead now,
Nick thought, as the rain picked up again.
Who else are we going to sacrifice to this investigation? Who else is going to die?

* * *

Ten-thirty-nine p.m. Lillian Perkins, Lily to her friends, was pretty sure she was in trouble. Lily chewed it over in her mind as she walked across the wet asphalt circle of Shady Court, carrying her backpack loosely over one shoulder. She’d agreed she would come home and check in with her mom before going out, and that she wouldn’t stay out after ten even when she had permission. It was
way
after ten—and she didn’t have permission.

Mom, it was like this... We were just hanging out at Celia’s and then someone came over with this DVD and I always wanted to see the movie and...

No, that wouldn’t work.

How about,
We got to talking about our homework and geography was so interesting that...

No, even worse. She’d definitely never believe that.

Lily was almost at her doorway when the man stepped out from behind the bushes and grabbed her arms from behind.

He moved so fast she had only a glimpse of his bearded face, his wild eyes. She tried to scream but he clamped a big, rough hand painfully hard over her mouth.

Lily was lifted off her feet. It sounded like the guy was growling like an animal, which threw gasoline on the fire of her terror, and she wriggled and bit down as hard as she could.

The man yelped and jerked his hand away from her.

She shouted hoarsely for her mom and twisted loose, stumbled toward the front door, fell—and her falling was the only thing that saved her from being struck when he slashed at her with something...

Something rippled at the white-painted wooden column on the corner of the front porch, just over her head—something that seemed to dig long grooves into the wood, like
claws
slashing into the post.

Then she was crawling, and her mom was shouting from the front window, and the growling man had her by the ankles, was dragging her off to the left; toward the bushes and toward the darkness.

“Raise her up and then hold her for me,” said a gruff voice.

She was grabbed under the armpits, lifted off her feet— and someone raised a syringe without a needle into view, and squirted it between her lips.

A sickening taste filled her mouth, fumes rose into her nose... and then a strange cloudiness rolled over her.

“You’re going to come quietly,” one of the men said.

And at that moment coming quietly seemed the most natural thing in the world.

It was as if she was floating a little above and behind, watching herself walking passively between two men, climbing willingly into their van.

Somewhere her mother was calling her name. But she didn’t care. Because the cloudiness was warm and safe and spreading...

So that she felt nothing at all.

Maybe it was Blutbad instinct. Monroe had brought the Perkins family under his protection—it was the only way he could even begin to make up for killing Alvin Perkins— and once he’d done that, it made their home part of his protected territory. Anyway, that’s how it felt, in some primeval part of him. And that instinct was telling him:
Check on Lily.

Something’s wrong...

Monroe parked his truck several blocks away and then walked the rest of the way to Shady Court. The rain had let up. Crickets sawed away. A half moon edged out between two clouds, not far above the Portland skyline. There was a good smell of fallen rose petals and wet earth in the night air.

When he was a half block from Shady Court, he knew for sure that something ugly had gone down.

Sirens, flashing lights up ahead. Cops—at the Perkins house.

He started to run, then slowed to a fast walk, realizing that he didn’t want to call attention to himself. For years he’d gone out of his way to make sure the Perkins family didn’t know about him.

When he got to the corner he played nosy bystander, hands stuck in his pockets, gawping at the police cars, the take-down lights on the cruisers alternately painting the scene blue and red. Two uniformed officers, one male, one female, no one he recognized, were talking to the weeping Dorine Perkins on the front porch. A third cop, a young Latino guy, was stretching out the yellow police investigation tape. Disembodied voices crackled from the radios in the cop cruisers.
“Five six four, do you read...”

Two plainclothes guys wearing latex gloves, probably forensic technicians, were using tiny brushes and bottles, trying to take samples from a fresh mark on a wooden post. Even from a distance, Monroe could see what it was.

Claw marks
—the distinctive marks of a Blutbad’s slashing talons.

Monroe felt a long rippling chill go through him. His mind raced...

Maybe they’d seen him with Nick and Hank at Smitty’s place. Maybe they’d been following him—he’d suspected someone was following him, more than once, these past few days. They’d figured out the connection between him and the Perkins...

He’d been so worried about Rosalee, he’d not thought he’d need to protect them as well.

He saw the backpack, its strap broken, lying in the yard. The forensic techs were turning their attention to it now.

Monroe recognized that backpack.

It was Lily’s.

Have to know more. Just have to.

He saw Sergeant Wu walking up to the front porch. Monroe was tempted to try to get Wu aside, see if he could draw him out on this.

No. He couldn’t just walk up and ask. Too many cops around here. He didn’t know every cop on the force and Nick didn’t want anyone to know about their friendship who didn’t absolutely have to.

Monroe yawned, as if he was losing interest in the scene, turned, and walked off as if he were continuing his stroll, around the police cars, to the left of the cul de sac. He kept going, hands in pockets, and turned a corner.

The house on the corner was dark, unlit—he could sense it was currently unoccupied. He glanced around to see if he was unobserved, then darted quickly from the sidewalk between the two houses, moving into shadow as quickly as he could. He had an urge to woge, to get into his Blutbad form with its full animal sensitivity, but he repressed it. If the cops even caught a glimpse of him in that state... bad scene, dude.

He climbed over a redwood fence into a backyard, sniffing the air for dogs. He didn’t want to have to pry the slavering jaws of someone’s pitbull from his ankle. There were dogs barking a couple of houses behind him, but he couldn’t sense any up ahead.

Monroe vaulted over a low picket fence, and came down on someone’s flowerbed, crushing their perennials. It bothered him—he had a real householder’s sense of orderliness, and he hated to violate someone else’s. Worse, he was putting his bootprints here in the soft dirt of the flowerbed. That could confuse the investigation, if the cops checked back here—and they probably would. But it was too late to do anything about it now; probably leave more traces if he tried to cover it up. He’d have to toss the boots in the Willamette, later. Damn, they were nearly new...

He crossed to a low fence between the backyard he was in and the Perkins’ yard. A flashlight was bobbing along, pointed away from him, behind the Perkins’ house. He could see the silhouette of the cop holding it. Looked like Wu was checking the backyard for traces of the intruder, any other evidence.

How were they going to explain away the fresh claw marks on the post? Vandalism? Some psycho using a gardening tool to leave his special sign?

Wu stepped around the farther corner of the Perkins house, out of sight. The other cops were busy out front.

This is my chance.

Monroe vaulted over the fence, and ran in a crouch, up to the nearest back corner of the Perkins’ house.

He went very still, hunkered down, sniffing...

He smelled cat piss. Not Wesen cat. House cat.

He sniffed farther along the edge of the house.

“Shady Court,”
said a radio voice.
“Confirm a negative on ambulance at this time.”

Monroe smelled turned earth, worms... and there. A rich, strong, distinctive Wesen smell. A Blutbad had urinated here. He sniffed at it again. A male.

The Blutbad had left his scent—and Monroe suspected he’d done it on purpose. Could be he’d left it for Monroe himself to find...

Monroe glanced toward the front, hearing cop voices approaching. One was definitely Wu.

“Sure it looks like claw marks, kinda like on the bodies we found in Canby but, hey, I’m not saying there’s a connection. Probably not the same perp. Maybe they both got a crying need for a manicure... I hope that girl’s okay...”