Winter Wolf (6 page)

“Please forgive my partner,” she said in a rueful tone. “It’s been an unpleasant evening for all of us.”

I couldn’t argue with her there, so I didn’t. Saying nothing at all seemed like the wisest choice. If that bothered the other woman, she showed no signs of it.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to finish your questioning as soon as possible.”

“Before Hardass comes back?” I muttered, though loud enough others could hear me. It was rude, but I wasn’t feeling very charitable. I wanted to go home, and I was thoroughly sick of being questioned.

Shocked silence answered me. It didn’t stay quiet long. A woman’s voice chirped out from the hallway, “Clever girl.”

It made it hard to dislike police officers when they had such good tastes in movies.

“Something like that,” Faraday agreed in an amicable tone. With the way our lights were positioned, it was hard to make out her expression in the shadows, and I suspected the same applied to me as well.

It put us on even ground. But maybe it showed she didn’t think I was a threat, supporting what Harding had said. I wasn’t a suspect. I was a witness who might hold the key to the truth of Scott’s death.

Then again, I knew better. Nothing
natural
killed Scott. I wondered if the Inquisition had its claws in the police department, for them to take such a slaying in stride.

“What do you want to know?” There was strength to my voice that surprised me.

“Do you think you can bear to tell me what happened all the way from the beginning?”

“Without throwing up this time?” I asked in a wry tone.

“That would help,” Faraday admitted. “If you must, there is a trash can next to you. I’d rather not have to try to salvage the files on my desk.”

“Your desk?”

Her laughter was sweet. “Mine. Hardass, as you say, likes his games almost as much as he likes his shoes.”

Oops.

Avoiding my responsibility wasn’t an option, not anymore. I lifted my chin and met Faraday’s eyes. This time, I told the story from the moment I left my apartment, leaving nothing out—except my wizardry.

Some things no one needed to know about. I wasn’t suicidal, not yet at least.

Through my long, rambling account of my night, Faraday sat still and quiet. It was well enough that she left me to my own devices, leaving me to fill in all of the blanks I could without interruption. If she had broken my almost tranquil state, where I was disconnected from the reality of what had happened, I doubted I’d be able to finish.

I somehow managed, and I even kept my stomach firmly under my control.

“I have questions,” Faraday said after I fell silent.

“Ask.”

“This Laura woman, you weren’t very clear on her description. Can you remember any details about her at all?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. Nothing more than what I’ve already told you.”

“And to confirm, this was the first time you’ve ever met Scott?”

“Correct,” I replied.

Faraday retrieved her flashlight, opened a file, and pointed the beam at the photograph of Scott with his friends. She pointed at the young man I had identified earlier. “Do you think this young man had any enemies?”

“Him? I can’t imagine it. From what I remember, he was a quiet person. A hard worker. He did what he was told and didn’t cause any trouble for anyone.” I bit my lip. That was rare enough in the movie industry that it was hard to forget when someone didn’t draw excess attention to themselves.

I noticed things like that, even if it made me a little weird compared to the other actors and actresses loitering in L.A. I suspected that those who were like me, who didn’t want to draw extra attention, noticed me noticing.

“He was murdered tonight,” Faraday announced. She moved her finger over the image to one of the young men I didn’t know. “As was this young man. I was hoping you might know why.”

“I don’t know why. I didn’t really know either one of them.”

Faraday’s sigh was long and heavy. “I didn’t expect you did, but I had to try.”

Courage is a fickle thing. Sometimes it came to me easily, allowing me to stand up to people like Dominic. Other times, it abandoned me, throwing me to the wolves and forcing me to face the fears I didn’t want to acknowledge. I don’t know why my one little question was so difficult to ask, but I struggled with it.

I ended up blurting two, “When? How?”

Faraday leaned back in her chair, toying with her flashlight. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

Then she stared at the open door in silent demand. Taking her hint, I reached back and closed it.

The silence was as smothering as my anxiety and fear.

“Scott, Adrien, and Mitchell all died at the mall tonight,” the woman began, her voice whisper soft and trembling. “They died within minutes of each other, killed in the same horrible way.”

My eyes widened so much I was surprised they didn’t pop out of my head. “Impossible.”

The sound Faraday made wasn’t a laugh. It was far too pained. “If only that were true, Miss Thomas. You’re the only one who was close to one of the victims. The other two boys… they were alone when they died. Other witnesses heard them screaming, but by the time they were found, the killer was gone. Just like that. Gone. Vanished.”

My mouth hung open, and I was powerless to close it.

“Please, Miss Thomas. You’re our best hope. Can you remember anything at all that might help us find out who did this?”

Settling my trembling hands on my lap didn’t still them. Bowing my head didn’t stop the burn of tears in my eyes. I drew deep breaths until I could speak without falling apart.

Then I revisited Scott’s death once again and spoke until my voice abandoned me altogether.

~~*~~

When the lights came back on and Harding returned, I was chewing on cough drops in the hopes of restoring my voice. It worked a little, since I managed to croak answers to Faraday’s questions, not that it helped either one of us figure out anything new about Scott’s death.

I was unsurprised when Harding declared that I had outlived my usefulness. He did, however, earn a few points when he offered to drive me back to the mall so I could fetch my car. Nodding my acceptance of his offer, I gathered my things and followed him out of the police station.

He even held the doors open for me. There were a hundred and one jokes I could have cracked about chivalry, but I was too tired for any of them. At least there was a perk to being exhausted: My powers were as dormant as they got, granting me rare peace from its incessant reminders of its existence.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Harding said as he started the car. The cruiser rumbled to life, and the surge of electricity revitalized me a little.

I clamped down on the desire to steal a little bit of energy to keep myself awake. There’d be time for that later—in my own car, when I knew how to handle a stall in case I burned the battery out and the alternator couldn’t keep up with my greedy ways.

I doubted Harding’s little police cruiser could handle me in my current state. My beat up car would survive the drive back to my apartment. Maybe.

And if it didn’t, that’s what tow trucks and cabs were for.

When I realized he was waiting for me to answer him, I laughed a little at my foolishness. “You’re welcome.”

“Will you be okay to drive?”

“I don’t have far to go. I’ll be careful. I’m tired, but not
that
tired.” In truth, I would have done almost anything, even endure an entire day of Harding’s questions, if it meant I could take a bath and get clean. My sweater was a goner, and I’d dispose of it as soon as I was in my apartment.

There were
some
perks to being a wizard, after all.

“As long as you’re certain,” Harding replied with doubt in his voice.

I spent the rest of the ride reassuring him by making good use of my acting skills. At least my car didn’t give me bad looks when I was tired. It just coughed up its battery life and let me do what I wanted. I wished people were as easy to understand as electronics. Simplicity was something I could use in my life. “I’m certain.”

Police swarmed over the mall, with police blockades preventing anyone from getting too close to the place. Harding was waved through without question. “Where did you park?” he asked.

“Front lot near the doors.”

Few cars remained. Mine was parked where I left it, though it was all by itself. At least the cops had kept their promise and hadn’t towed it. Fishing my keys out, I escaped the confines of the cruiser.

I stumbled to a halt, squinting at the windows of my car. That is, I squinted at where the windows should have been. All that remained were a few shards of glass. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Harding got out of his car as though my words had been gunshots. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t bring myself to spew the curses rattling about in my skull. Pointing with a hand that trembled with rage, I considered turning my car into a pile of ash and molten metal. It took me to the count of fifty, each number interspersed with curses, to contain my temper. “I promise you, my windows were not smashed when I parked my car tonight.”

“I'm going to guess you do not typically drive around with your seats slashed either,” Harding said, peering through the remains of my car's windows. “I'm going to call this in. Don't touch anything.”

“Okay,” I replied, staring at the carnage within. Keeping valuables in a car was asking for trouble in L.A., so I hadn't kept anything in it. The sole exception, the car's operating manual, hadn't fared so well. Some of the pages were intact, albeit scattered over the seats and floorboard. It looked like a war had broken out inside my car and the violent battle had left no prisoners. What had my dinky little car done to anyone?

While I stared, Harding stalked back to his cruiser, reached inside, and toggled a dial. In a clear voice devoid of emotion, he requested an investigator. Once finished, he returned to me. “I'm going to spare you a trip back to the police station if I can, if you don't mind answering some questions and filling out a form.”

“Won't hear me complaining.” Glaring at my car didn't reverse the damage done or offer me any answers. What had I done to anger Murphy, so that he would incessantly inflict his law on me? Maybe being a wizard was enough of a reason for the worst sort of karma to haunt me.

I sighed and tried not to think about how much it would cost to repair the damage--or replace the car. While theft was covered by my insurance, I wasn't sure if they'd count a complete dismantling of the interior as legitimate vandalism.

“Do you have any idea why someone would target your car, Miss Thomas?”

“Absolutely no idea. I don't exactly go out of my way to make enemies," I replied, allowing myself one long, gusty sigh. "I'm not exactly prime time. I try to avoid drawing too much attention, you know? It’s a waste of time and effort. When on set, I have a job to do, so I do it. That’s all.”

“Did you have anything of value in the car? Identification? Cash? Electronics?”

I pointed at the shredded operating manual. “That's it. I keep my registration on me.”

“Why?”

“I may not be rich, and I may not be famous, but I don't like strangers poking about my private life. Why keep identification in a car that could be broken into at any time?” There was more to it than that, but I wasn't about to sob out my entire life's story to Harding. If the part about wizards didn't get me committed, I'm certain he'd lock me away for lying to him if I let slip I had once been a singer.

If only being a wizard gave me the power to fix my voice. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried, either. I had, in a constant stream of failures. Longing kept me quiet. Over the years, I had asked myself so many ‘what if?’ questions to last me a lifetime.

All I wanted was to go back to the life I had left behind out of shame and fear.

“I can't say I blame you for that. Look, Miss Thomas, maybe it would be best if you enrolled in California's Witness Protection Program. I do not—”

"No, but thank you.” I wrinkled my nose, unable to hide my disgust. The last thing I needed was to be even under more scrutiny or have to gain yet another identity to hide who I was. Becoming Nicole Thomas had been bad enough. “It’s just a coincidence. A very unfortunate one.” Muttering curses, I dug out my phone, unlocked it, and started to snap pictures of the devastation. To my surprise, the screen lit up with an incoming call. I didn't recognize the name, which caller ID displayed as A.M.; whoever it was, they weren’t local.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just a wrong number, I suspect,” I replied. Wrong number or not, I memorized it. Wrong numbers were a rare thing to my cell, and with my sort of bad luck, it’d get erased from the phone’s memory. My mouth twisted into a rueful grin. If I remembered the number, I could find out who was calling—and maybe why.

“You suspect?”

“My number is private, and I don't know the caller. I don’t answer when I don’t know who is calling me.”

“Maybe there’s more to than coincidence. Answer it, and put it on speaker phone.”