The Light Who Shines (21 page)

Jack Tanner: May 29, 2022, Red Ages

A moment after I hear Blue hang up her phone, she runs down
the hall to my office. Who in the city government does she suspect of
corruption? If I outright ask her she’ll know I can overhear all of her
conversations. When she pauses outside my door, I quickly place a file on top
of the report I’m reading and call out, “Come in.”

She wears jeans paired with a soft blue tee that hugs her
body with excruciating closeness. Her light shimmers around her as though in
tune with her obvious excitement. She slides through the door with a radiant grin
on her face. Her faithful companion comes in after her and sits next to her
feet. She stands in the middle of my office, biting her lip and wiggling her boots,
totally unconscious she does that around me.

Her voice is lively, full of light tones, as she asks
quickly, “Did you finish your interrogation of the perpetrators from this
morning?“

“I’m letting Ernesto handle that since he questioned Jeffrey
and has a line on the Dilectus Deo. But that is not what you really want to
talk about, is it?”

Blue shakes her head and says, “Jack, I think we found our
perpetrator. One of the registered owners of the matching cars in this area has
a brother living with her. He was recently arrested for a DUI while driving the
car! I’m meeting Gambino in an hour at the owner’s house.“

I was leaning back in my chair as she told me this, but I
sit forward now, smiling. “Excellent news, Blue. That is a wonderful break!”

She says, “Rubalia did the research and found him.” How nice
of her to give Rubalia credit when deserved.

“Let me know how that pans out.”

She nods at this, her excitement still palpable. Then
suddenly she starts biting her lip again as though she feels awkward. “Well,”
she says, “that is all I have.”

I say, “While you are here... I’m sending over Michael
Radskif to redo your wards. He’ll be there tomorrow at two. He can ward your
apartment inside and out so no one can portal in again. The department is
covering the cost since the need is in relation to a case.”

She frowns slightly at this and looks down at the toes of
her boots. When she raises her eyes to me she says, “Alright, I’ll plan to be
there. I’ll also let you know how things go with the case.”

“Thank you. Remember, earlier reporting is better.”

She nods and leaves my office with Varg following behind.

How has she grown into such a beautiful woman with such a
good heart? And to top that off, she is my most tenacious Inspector, solving
cases with her gift, her passion, and her considerable intuition. Today scared
the living daylights out of me, though. I need to think about hiring a partner
for her. An image rises in my mind of a man riding around with her in a car. My
gut aches at the thought, but it would be safer for her.

A few moments later I find myself still staring at the door
that she walked through. I shake myself and pick up my cell phone, dialing up
voicemail. I hit replay on my latest message. Dragomira’s unmistakable voice
says, “Jack, I met the Illustrissima. Please stop by, for we have much to
discuss.”

I frown and play it again.

“I met the Illustrissima.” And again and again and again.
“Illustrissima. Illustrissima. Illustrissima.” I slam my hand down on my desk. She
must be mistaken.

Bluebell Kildare: May 29, 2022, Red Ages

Gambino pulls to the curb on Agnes’ street in his marked car,
and Varg and I hop out of mine. Gambino gives Varg a look and raises his
eyebrows at me. I nod back at Gambino to confirm that he’s with me. Gambino tilts
an amused smile that miffs me more than just a little. Varg deserves
considerable respect in my humble opinion, and Gambino is not, as of yet,
giving it to him. Humph! Gambino will learn soon enough.

Agnes lives in a blue, one-story cottage trimmed with white
shutters and yellow daylilies. It’s humble but pleasant and well-cared-for. Gambino
rings the bell, and we wait anxiously to see who appears.

Agnes opens the house door but leaves the screen door conspicuously
intact. She looks to be in her fifties with light brown, wispy hair flying
about her shoulders. As soon as she sees Gambino, she frowns. “I thought I
answered all your questions already.”

Gambino smiles amicably, gesturing toward me. “This is Inspector
Kildare with the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. I’m sorry to bother you
again, but we have a few more questions.”

Agnes squints her eyes and crosses her arms under her ample
bosom, nodding reluctantly. “Okay, I guess, but you can’t come in right now. My
house is a mess. What do you want to know, anyway?”

Gambino smoothes his suit lapel as he asks, “Is your brother
Paul home?”

Agnes looks disgusted. “No. He’s probably at the damn pub,
getting sloshed again.” She tilts her head as though thinking, and then asks
curiously, “Why? Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

Gambino’s brow furrows and he glances down at his shoes. “We
can’t really answer that question. Right now we’re just gathering information.
The pub you mentioned, is that the Cock and Bull Tap?”

Agnes shifts on her feet and answers with a mixture of shame
and resignation. “Yes. That’s where he always is.”

Gambino asks the crucial question. “Do you know where Paul
was on May 26?”

“No,” she says with a huff. “Remember I was visiting my parents
in Hickory Creek? I’ve not got him in my pocket, have I? He was probably doing
what he always does: hanging out at that pub or sleeping it off.”

Gambino seems to think he’s gotten all he can and moves to
leave with a “Thanks, Ms. Zadwadski.”

I quickly step up to the screen door to ask a few questions
in my own way. ”Is that your pretty blue Sunray in the driveway?”

Agnes pushes through the screen door to look where I’m
pointing. The sun shines down lighting up the brightly patterned apron tied
about her waist. She gives her car a loving glance and answers with pride, “Yes,
it is.”

I walk to the driveway and circle the car as I admire it. “It
is a beautiful car.” I trail my fingers down the hood. “I’ve heard it’s very
comfortable and that it’s great with the top down.”

Agnes steps out further toward the car and smiles at that.
“I always wanted a convertible. I saved up for years to buy it.”

“Well,” I say, “I think it was worth the wait.”

She nods at this, and her lips soften a little out of their
pinched grimness. Seeing this, I ask, “Where’s the Shockwave? I drive past this
way to work, and usually see it in the mornings. It’s hard to miss a classic
like that.”

Agnes frowns, “That was my father’s car. It’s a beauty,
alright, but not my style. Paul had a fender bender and is having it repaired
right now.”

I stand back to admire the car in full. “So Paul usually
drives the Shockwave?”

“Yes. It’s too awkward for me with that big front seat. And
besides, it’s that awful green color.” She wrinkles her nose at that.

I laugh, thinking back to my conversation with Rubalia. “I
can understand that. Well, thank you so much for your time. I’m sorry we had to
bother you again.”

Agnes’ thin smile stretches across her face. “I’m sorry I
couldn’t be of more help.” Then a sad and worried look passes over her face. “I
sure hope Paul wasn’t involved in anything bad.” Then she walks quietly back in
the house.

Gambino looks at me curiously. “You have some skills, Inspector.”

“I have some special talents that help me out.” I look
Gambino in the eyes with what I hope is an earnest expression. “I believe her
that Paul isn’t here. I can tell when someone lies, but if you need me to, I
can circle the house looking for another soul.”

Gambino gives a little shake of his head. “That won’t be
necessary.”

“What’s interesting is that she’s apparently completely
unaware that her brother has a DUI. She answered that question so easily and
with no fear at all. I take it that when you questioned her, you didn’t give
her any details. She feels honest about everything she said. She truly doesn’t
view her brother as a bad man, just a pathetic one. She’s ashamed of his
behavior, but she loves him and feels sorry for him.”

Gambino looks to the side with faraway eyes. “Most of us
have someone like that in the family.”

I wonder what his family is like. I’ve never asked him, and
suddenly I feel quite self-centered. For now, though, I let that comment slide,
as there is business to get to.

“Back to the Cock and Bull Tap then?”

Gambino nods firmly. “Yes. I’ll meet you there.”

A few minutes later, when I arrive at the Cock and Bull Tap,
I look at my watch and see that it is approximately 11:06 a.m. Ha! “Approximately!”
I chuckle thinking back to Officer Warren.

Gambino and I push through the heavy doors of the Cock and
Bull Tap at the same time, and they swing closed heavily behind us. Light streams
through the leaded windows, creating a soft glow on the warm wood furniture
filling the room. The lunch crowd has yet to arrive, so the place stands
practically empty. We scope out the occupants and see a uniformed man sitting
by himself at one of the long trestle tables. Two more men sit apart from each
other at the bar with their backs to us. One seems further in his cup than the
other if the way he uses the bar to prop himself up is any indication. A soft
blues melody plays over the speakers, filling the air with soulful emotion.

The bartender sees Gambino and I and lifts up his hand in greeting.
One of the men on the bar stools notices and spares us a glance. His eyes widen
into twin round, bloodshot globes when he sees us. With a yelp and a spryness I
wouldn’t have credited him with, he jumps off his stool and runs out the side
exit.

The bartender yells after him, “Hey! Your bill!” At the same
time, Gambino and I take off after him with our guns pulled. Damn it! I should
have known better than to leave that exit uncovered.

We exit the building and spot him across the street. I start
to run after him, but Gambino jerks me back, and I skid to a halt, watching as the
first of several cars whizzes past me just inches away. How stupid could I be?
Varg comes bounding around the corner of the bar, apparently having heard our
exit and wanting to join in on the fun. When the cars finally pass, we hightail
it across the street, eager to catch our suspect.

Paul had entered the alley across the street, but now he’s nowhere
to be seen. Blast it! We keep pounding down the gravel alleyway as fast as we
can, hoping for a glimpse of him hiding on either side. Even so, it only takes a
second for Varg to race ahead of us at top speed. We look left and right, but
the buildings are packed as tight as sardines, leaving no place to veer off. Still,
we see no sign of him. I am more than fed up with disappearing men!

Gambino pulls ahead of me with his longer legs, but when I
make it about halfway down the alley, I come up to Varg, who is issuing a low
and dangerous growl toward the base of a dumpster. I open up my sixth sense and
confirm there is a soul inside. Gambino pauses when he realizes he’s running
alone and starts retracing his steps toward us. I catch his gaze and nod at Varg
and the dumpster. Gambino nods back in understanding.

I point my gun toward the lid of the dumpster, and Gambino kicks
it, yelling, “This is the Crimson Hollow Police! Put your hands in the air and
come out slowly.”

We stand there patiently for a moment and nothing happens. I
nod again to assure Gambino. He gives it another try, this time allowing more
force and rage in his voice. “We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands
up. Now!”

Finally, two shaky hands poke out and begin to raise the dumpster’s
lid. Gambino flips the lid back, exposing Paul’s ruddy head. Slowly he stands,
and his stained, t-shirt-clad chest comes into view above the dumpster rim.

Gambino asks, “Paul, now why did you run?”

Paul speaks in a piteously slurred and whiny voice that
makes me wince. “I was scared.”

You don’t need a gift to see this is true with all the
shaking he’s doing. On second thought, a good part of that could be the alcoholism
talking.

Gambino trains his gun on Paul and orders firmly, “Climb on
out of there. Don’t make any fast moves.”

Paul grabs the side of the dumpster and tries to stand on a
stack of garbage bags to get leverage, but he slips back, falling on his rump
in the gross muck.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Gambino swears. Thrusting his gun
in his holster, he leans over to grab Paul’s arms, pulling him out effortlessly.

Paul swings his legs over the edge, and instead of catching
himself, he slops to the ground like a sack of pudding. I can see and smell
that he’s wet himself. Yep, a good portion of that shaking is real fear, not
just alcoholism.

Gambino shakes his head at the pathetic ruin of a man. He
pulls his gun again and says, “Lie flat on the ground, Paul, face down, and put
your arms behind your back.”

Paul is blubbering now and still trembling, but he lies down
and obediently puts his hands behind his back. I honestly don’t think he has
any gumption left in him. The fact that he even ran in the first place is
surprising. Gambino quickly slaps some cuffs on him and reads him his rights.

As we walk a very stinky Paul back to Gambino’s squad car,
Gambino asks “Paul, where is your Shockwave?”

Paul slurs, “M’fred Robby’s houz.”

Gambino gathers the rest of the details as best he can and
calls on his radio to have the car impounded for evidence.

When Gambino finally closes the car door on Paul, he turns
to me. “Well, I’m glad we were able to wrap this up, and your wolf sure came in
handy.” I puff a little at his praise of Varg, but I see that Gambino’s feeling
some premature success.

“Gambino, Paul isn’t the man who grabbed me behind my
apartment. He isn’t tall enough. He couldn’t have aimed as well as the man who
shot at me behind the Cock and Bull Tap. Look at his hands shake! Nor does he
have the skills to break into your evidence locker. He’s not Gifted.”

Gambino scowls as he recognizes the truth.

I continue, “I think he’s only a part of the picture. I have
a little leg work to do while you process him and he sobers up. How about I
stop by the precinct later on to see how questioning is going?”

Gambino looks a good deal less happy than he did a minute
ago, but his shoulders are still strong, and he looks determined to soldier on.
“Sure thing.”

I head back to the Cock and Bull Tap and approach my friend
Steve Jamison again. I extend my hand for a shake, and Steve accepts it warmly.
With a nod toward the door he inquires, “You got him?”

“Yeah, we got him.”

Steve pulls his hand back and whistles softly while his eyes
rest lightly on me. “That sure was hot to watch.”

His honest appreciation for my physique is clear in his eyes
but has no effect on me. I brush it off and lean against the bar. “So, was that
the same man who wore the red cloak on the day I came in here?”

The bartender says, “No, Ma’am! That’s Paul. He’s one of our
usual barflies. He’s here all the time. The guy in the red cloak had never been
here before and hasn’t showed up since.”

I look at him closely, squinting my eyes, giving him warning
to be square with me. “Are you sure?”

Steve purses his lips. “I am abso-fucking-lutely sure.”

I sigh. “That’s what I thought. Thanks, Steve.”

I head out, but as I approach the door, I throw over my
shoulder, “Keep remembering his face. I might be back!”