Red (16 page)
As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. My defensiveness deflated and I grabbed Nate’s arm, easing out from behind him.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “Someone should have said something. I assumed Sophia had come after me to either kill me or warn me off permanently by scaring the shit out of me. I should have had someone look into it.”
Halloran and Nate both gaped at me like flying monkeys had just shot out of my ass.
(Hey, I’ve never claimed to be good at apologizing. In fact, I do it so rarely I get very little practice.)
“Listen,” I said, “you’re the last person I want to help, Halloran, believe me. But if the thing that came after Sophia is the same murderer we’ve been following on another case, we need to figure out why you were targeted. Otherwise the next time it comes for you, you might not be so lucky.”
Halloran seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, with a glance toward Sophia, he ran his hands through his sandy hair and let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. “I have no idea who could have done this.”
Seeing that Halloran was no longer a threat, Nate’s tension eased a bit. He stuck his hands in his pockets, taking on a more casual stance. “You’re a pretty powerful man,” he observed. “Powerful men tend to make powerful enemies. There’s no one you can think of who’d want you dead?”
Halloran let out a short laugh. “On the contrary—I can think of plenty of people. But I know of no one who controls such a creature.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “So start naming them and let us sort out which one might be behind it.”
Halloran shook his head. “They’re other businessmen, other professionals—competitors.”
Nate took out a notebook and pen and began jotting down notes. “And they’d kill you to become the new pharmaceutical king?”
Halloran shifted a little in his chair. “It is not the pharmaceutical distribution business that is so competitive.”
“Fairy dust?” I guessed.
He looked at Nate, then back at me. “Off the record?”
I cursed inwardly, damning my luck. I had Halloran in a corner, finally ready to admit to the kinds of crimes that could put him away for years. It was the perfect chance to take him down. But if he had anything on the murders, I had to know. “Yeah,” I agreed grudgingly. “Off the record.”
“There is no one who would dare challenge me on that front,” he boasted. “It would be suicide to even attempt such a coup. There are, however, other ventures in play in this city that will change everything. You cannot even begin to fathom the implications, Enforcer.”
“So, why don’t you enlighten us?” Nate prompted irritably.
“Does this have anything to do with your recent investment in the restaurant business?” I asked, going on a hunch— although how being part owner in a successful restaurant could have a transformative effect on Chicago was beyond me.
Halloran shrugged. “That is only a minute piece of it.”
The surprise I felt at actually having hit on something with my hunch must have shown.
Halloran’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s much, much bigger than one person—or even one investment,” he went on. “And those of us in positions of power are vying for control in a true winner takes all situation.”
“Control of what?” Nate interjected.
Halloran’s lips curved into a taunting smirk. “I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss that at this point.”
Nate returned the smirk mockingly, clearly frustrated with the Sandman’s evasiveness.
“Are the other Tale crime lords involved?” I asked, trying to keep Halloran from skittering back behind his reticence. “Are they the powerful people you mentioned?”
Halloran’s brows lifted at my frank question. “Do you mean people like your friends Vlad Dracula and Nicky Blue?” When I only glared in response, he said haughtily, “I imagine you know far more about their activities than I, Enforcer.”
“You going to keep jerking me around, Sandman,” I drawled, “or do you want to help me catch who did this to Sophia?”
Halloran’s eyes sparked with anger, but he let out a long sigh and eased back in his chair. “I can honestly say I have no idea who the other players are in my side ventures. We deal anonymously through an intermediary.”
“Fine, then tell us the name of the intermediary,” Nate demanded.
Halloran spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “No name has ever been given. That is the truth.”
“Can you give us anything to go on at all?” Nate asked with forced politeness. “Any reason why someone would want to target you or someone you care about?”
Halloran gave Nate a bored look. “Detective, it would be less time-consuming to give you a list of those who do
not
wish to bring harm to me.”
not
wish to bring harm to me.”
“You told me you and Sebille Fenwick are butting heads over how to run Todd’s show,” I said. “Any chance someone’s trying to send you a message to step off?”
Halloran shrugged. “I cannot imagine Sebille would be idiotic enough to go to the mattresses with me over a difference in opinion. However, although I am Todd Caliban’s largest investor, I am not the only one. I suppose it is possible another would like to squeeze me out. That being said, anyone who would attempt to murder me must have known that I would respond mercilessly if I survived—quite a gamble, wouldn’t you agree?”
I inclined my head with a shrug. “Okay. So what’s your point?”
“My point, my dear Enforcer,” he sighed, his tone patronizing, “is that I would have expected my professional colleagues to use a more adroit method than a werewolf assassin to eliminate me. It’s hardly efficient, is it? A shot from a rooftop sniper or a car bomb would have been more in line with our idiom.”
“Dead’s dead, Halloran,” I pointed out. “What’s the difference how an assassin goes about killing you?”
“The occasional assassination is a business necessity,” he replied. “And, like any other business transaction, should be conducted efficiently and effectively. This was neither.”
I frowned, trying to read between the lines. “So what are you saying? This is a newbie?”
Halloran shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps just hoping to appear so.”
Recognizing that we’d pretty much gotten all we were going to get from the Sandman, Nate closed his notebook and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Regardless of whether this is a seasoned professional or a new kid in town, you need to let us handle this, Halloran.”
Halloran sneered at him. “One does not rise to power by being an idiot, Detective.” He folded his hands placidly across his abdomen, resuming that cool, calculating demeanor I knew of old. “I intend to protect my investments by any means necessary.”
“We can help you,” I pointed out, “but you can’t go all vigilante on us.”
He merely smiled at me.
“Think of Sophia,” I pleaded, gesturing toward the sleeping woman.
He didn’t even glance her way. “I will send her away to a safe place to convalesce. She will be guarded.”
I pressed my lips together in an angry line. “Tim—”
Nate gently touched my arm. “Come on, Red. We’ve got all we’re going to get.”
I cast one last look at Sophia, feeling guilty that my presumptions had led to her condition. Then I followed Nate from the room, hoping the pretty shape-shifter’s jackass of a boyfriend didn’t end up getting her killed.
Chapter 20
“So, where to next?” I asked as Nate led me through the hospital’s underground parking lot.
“Want to take a trip to the morgue?” he replied, fishing a set of keys out of the pocket of his trench.
“Not especially,” I said warily. “Why? You have friends in town?”
Nate gave me a cockeyed grin. “Not at the moment. I just thought we could drop in on Trish and see what she’s come up with from the various crime scenes.”
I shrugged. “I guess now’s as good a time as any. How do you plan to get there? Last time I checked, your precious unmarked was barely drivable.”
He stopped in front of a dun-colored sedan that looked like it had been a shining star among the American auto industry sometime during the Regan administration but had lived long past its prime. The paint had flecked off over the years, creating a liver spot effect that added to its weathered, aged appearance. A jagged crack started in the upper left corner of the windshield and zigzagged diagonally across the glass, ending in a starburst in the center of the passenger’s line of vision. A sizable dent marred the front fender and the dings and scratches from years of being victimized in parking lots just like this one were too numerous to count.
Nate made a sweeping gesture across the front of the craptacular heap of junk and looked at me expectantly.
I stared at him. “What?”
“Your chariot awaits,” he announced.
“No, really,” I laughed. “Where’s your loaner?”
Nate gestured toward the car again. “This is it. This was the only one available at such short notice.”
I pulled open the passenger door and climbed inside, cringing at the persistent stench of mildew. “Don’t ever say anything about my Range Rover again,” I mumbled as Nate coaxed the jalopy to life.
We sputtered, grumbled, and rumbled out of the parking garage and into the drizzle of the late morning. Nate switched on the car’s windshield wipers, but only one of the blades actually touched the window as they arced to and fro across the glass.
He hunched lower over the steering wheel in order to get a clear view of the road. “Not a word,” he ordered with a glance my way. “Not a single word.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I assured him, grinning wickedly. “I think the car can pretty much speak for itself.”
Nate gave me a sour look. “Don’t you have something to do besides making snide remarks about the car?”
“Sadly, yes,” I confirmed. “I should probably return some of the calls that came in before the attack. Fortunately, about fifteen of the twenty were from you.”
Nate stiffened defensively. “I was worried about you,” he reminded me. “And for good reason, as it turned out.”
“No arguments there,” I replied, dialing Nicky’s number. “But, for future reference, if you don’t get an answer after the first five or six calls—odds are good I could use a hand.”
“It’s about time you called,” came Nicky’s voice in my ear, cutting off whatever remark Nate had planned.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“Eddie told me you were attacked,” he said. “You okay?”
“Been better.” I glanced over at Nate, somewhat wistfully. “I’m just lucky Nate got there when he did, or it could have been a lot worse.”
Nate glanced away from the road, his gaze holding mine for a moment before turning away again.
“Want to talk about it?” Nicky asked.
Part of me wanted desperately to talk to Nicky about the whole thing—especially the part about the crazy thoughts I was having about Nate. But now definitely wasn’t the time. “Nah, nothing more to tell at this point. I saw you called a couple times—did you find out anything?”
“A whole lot of nothing,” Nicky told me.
“What’s that tell you?”
“It tells me people are trying too hard to keep quiet. There’s usually at least a few rumors floating around. This one’s airtight.”
“You aren’t involved in any way?” I asked.
Nicky chuckled, understanding exactly where my head was. “Believe it or not, Red, I don’t have a hand in every business in town. There are some things even I won’t touch, and people know better than to ask.”
“Sorry,” I said. “You think it could have something to do with Vitamin D?”
“Got me. You thinking it does?”
I frowned to myself, mulling over the various conversations I’d had with the Sandman. “Halloran tells me no,” I replied.
“You believe him?”
I let out a sharp sigh. “I’m still on the fence. His girlfriend Sophia was attacked last night and nearly killed. I’m thinking the thing that attacked us is the same creature we’re trying to find on a few other murders. He thinks it has to do with this super secret deal going down.”
“Super secret seems about right,” Nicky muttered. “I don’t like it when something’s going on in my town and I don’t know about it.”
“Tell me about it.” Then a thought struck me and I glanced into the backseat of the car. “Hey, Nicky—do you still know that computer guy?”
“Yeah,” Nicky said slowly. “He’s still a friend of mine.”
“Are you insane?” Nate suddenly interjected. “Hamelin’s hard drive is evidence. If we tamper with it at all, it’ll be inadmissible as evidence against anyone involved. Mary Smith will have our heads.”
“Yeah, like I’m worried about Mary Smith,” I shot back. “She can bite my much shapelier ass.”
I heard Nicky chuckle and returned my attention to him. “So can you have your guy take a look at something for me?”
“Your ass or the computer?” Nicky retorted.
“The computer, smart guy.”
Nicky chuckled again. “Anything for you, kid. Just tell me where you want me to pick it up.”
“How about the morgue?”
The FMA morgue really wasn’t a morgue as such. It was more a forensics laboratory with an autopsy table and a couple of freezers for storing bodies. And, all things considered, it was actually pretty cozy. Trish had completely redecorated when she took over, covering the walls with prints of the work of Ansel Adams and other, more contemporary photographers like Christopher Burkett and Charles Cramer, to take away some of the closed off, sterile feel of the room, which was otherwise filled with steel furniture, gleaming glass, and various high-tech gadgets and gizmos that looked like they belonged on the set of
Star Trek.
Star Trek.
When Nate and I arrived, Trish was elbow deep in an autopsy of what I assumed was one of Halloran’s doormen, if the scraps of blood-soaked clothing spread out on the countertop for analysis were any indication.
“Suit up!” Trish called out, not bothering to look up from the dead Tale’s chest cavity.
Nate and I obediently grabbed surgical garb and gloves from a nearby shelf and pulled them on before heading over to take a look at the remains on Trish’s table. I immediately wished I’d stayed by the door. Even through the masks, the stench of blood and flesh assaulted my nostrils, making me retch. And if that hadn’t done it, the sight before me would have. Although the crime scene photos I’d seen in Al’s office were horrific, they were nothing compared with seeing one of the victims up close.
“Great God,” I murmured, glad I hadn’t eaten anything yet that day.
“You should have seen the other guy,” Trish replied, lifting the man’s heart out and placing it on a scale. “At least this one’s still recognizable as having been a person. The other one came to me in chunks.”
I swallowed a couple of times, keeping my nausea from overtaking me. “Got it. Thanks. End of story.”
Trish glanced my way, and I could tell she was grinning at me behind her mask. “Sorry. I forget not everyone’s as used to this kind of thing as I am. Don’t feel bad. Even my photographer had to take a break a few minutes ago—and Mike does this for a living.”
“Have you found anything useful?” Nate asked, annoyingly unaffected by the grisly autopsy.
“Yeah, I think so,” Trish said, her excitement unmistakable. “I found a sample of hair on this one’s uniform. I’ve compared it to a sample I found at the scene of Matilda Stuart’s attack and of the murder of Julie Spangle—the first victim.”
“And?” Nate prompted.
Trish stripped off her gloves and tossed them into a biohazard container. “Come take a look,” she said, motioning us over to her table of microscopes.
Nate bent over the first one and peered at the prepared slide. “What am I seeing here?”
“This is the sample from Julie Spangle’s murder.”
Nate moved to the next. “And this one?”
“Matilda Stuart’s attack.”
“And this last one is the current case, I presume?”
Trish nodded. “Notice anything?”
“They’re different,” Nate said, straightening from the third microscope with a puzzled frown. “I expected them to be the same.”
“So did I,” Trish admitted. “The modus operandi for each crime is identical. The wounds are the same even down to the depth of the claw marks. And yet the hair samples, while similar, are definitely different.”
As Trish spoke, I took a look at each of the samples, noting the very minute differences between them. “So does this mean it’s more than one werewolf?”
“Possibly,” Trish said, turning back to the autopsy table and drawing a sheet over the remains. She then pulled down her mask with a frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately, we’re just really starting to understand the science of lycans. There are dozens of species and they vary in origin from those born into the condition to those who have it forced upon them through a curse to those who choose to become wolves on their own volition.”
“What’s your gut feeling on this one?” Nate questioned.
Trish crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “Best guess? You’re either dealing with a close-knit family of lycans so similar in their physiology as to be almost indistinguishable—which, statistically, would be almost impossible—or there’s magic involved in the transformation, which would explain the very slight deviations in composition. Because the change to wolf isn’t at a true genetic level, there are variations so minute you can only see the difference under the microscope.”
I pulled off my mask and gloves and tossed them into the trash. “Damn it.”
Nate glanced at me, meeting my tortured gaze. “Seth’s condition is a curse, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He went afoul of some witches long before we met. He’s been searching for a cure since then, but obviously hasn’t had any luck.”
“If we were to get a sample from a suspect,” Nate said, turning back to Trish, “could you analyze it at the genetic level and tell us if it’s like the samples from the crime scene?”
Trish shrugged. “Yeah, sure. If you think you can get close enough to a werewolf to get some of his hair, I can take a look. But good luck with that. I don’t know anyone crazy enough to try it.”
I sighed. “I do.”
Trish opened her mouth to respond, but I heard the door to the lab open behind us, and saw her face transform with a combination of surprise and embarrassment. Visibly flustered, she smoothed the front of her surgical scrubs, then tucked an errant ringlet behind her ear, leaving a smudge of blood on her cheek. She flushed a little when she asked, “May I help you?”
“Just looking for a friend of mine.”
I caught a glimpse of Trish’s disappointment as I turned to accept the kiss Nicky dropped to my cheek. “Thanks for coming,” I said, returning his embrace. When he’d finished shaking hands with Nate, I gestured toward Trish. “Nicky Blue, this is Trish Muffet.”
Nicky stepped forward with a grin. “The cleanup lady,” he drawled. “I’ve heard of you.”
Trish’s face flooded with color. “I’ve heard of you, too, Mr. Blue.”
Nicky laughed. “Nothing good I’m sure.” He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Don’t believe everything you hear. Red can tell you I’m not such a bad guy.”
“That I can,” I agreed. “Speaking of which, we have the project out in the car.”
Nicky gave me a tight nod, then turned back to Trish. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Muffet.” Then he reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “Here you go. You have a little something there on your cheek.”
Trish took the handkerchief and wiped at her cheek. “Thank you.”
She started to hand it back, but Nicky folded her fingers around the material. “Keep it.”
Trish blinked at him and offered him a shy smile. “Thanks.”
I rolled my eyes and gave Nicky a nudge toward the door. “Come on, you charmer.”
“Thanks, Trish,” Nate called as we headed outside. “We’ll be in touch.”
When we were safely out of earshot, Nicky let out a low whistle. “That is one beautiful gal right there,” he said with an appreciative shake of his head.
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