14. Keelan

Chapter 14

Keelan

B y the time morning came, I had downed half a pot of tea, run three laps around the Guard Compound, and spent a half hour working on sword forms.

Waking up at four in the morning will do that to a person.

I cleaned up and changed into my uniform, then headed across the parade grounds to the headquarters. We only held roll call once every three days, which made the brass that much more intent on everyone’s prompt attendance and attention. A dozen Guardsmen offered waves, grunts, and other unintelligible morning greetings as I entered the room. Another two dozen followed, cramming into chairs and standing along walls. Before Lieutenant Grieve took the podium and uttered his first words, the place smelled of dusty road, sweat, and men who desperately needed to bathe.

“Everybody settle,” Grieve said, raising both hands to get our attention. “We only have a few items today, so this should be quick.”

He rattled through a list of announcements, posting changes, shift alignments, and other odds and ends that didn’t apply to most of us. The men in the back of the room were restless, and twice Grieve shot them a sharp glare to regain control.

“Merik, where do we stand on the kidnappings?” Grieve motioned to a stout man who stood no taller than my shoulder. His hair had thinned so badly that a few of our fellows teased him about “growing out of his hair.” Merik was a serious fellow and took the teasing about as well as marble absorbs liquid.

“Three missing. No new leads.”

Merik sat as quickly as he stood, leaving Grieve openmouthed.

“All right. Well . . . that was . . . succinct.” Grieve received a round of halfhearted guffaws. “Why don’t you walk us through what we know, see if the facts overlap with anyone else’s cases?”

Merik looked like he wanted to charge the stage and slug Grieve for making him stand again.

“Three missing, one man, two women. Ages thirty-one, thirty-three, and forty. Gifts unrelated. Only similarity I can see is they were all Merchants, business owners, but their shops were different, completely unrelated. None had ever worked with or for the others.”

Merik thought a moment before continuing. “Each lived in a different quarter. None knew each other, at least not that we have been able to establish. There were no weapons or disturbance at their homes or workplaces. Family members were no help, and each had an alibi for the day and time of each incident. In short, there’s no pattern, no connection, no nothing.”

Merik hesitated, watching for Grieve to speak, then sat as though reporting to the team had been a painful imposition.

“All right, since we have the brain trust assembled—” Another round of good-natured teasing rose from the Constables. One even tossed a wadded-up flyer into the back of another man’s head. “Spirits, are you men twelve? Settle down. Someone, what are we missing? Are these connected? Could they be connected to other incidents you’re working on? Talk to me, people.”

A low murmur passed through the Constables, no one wanting to speak up first. Finally, from the back, a mousy Guard with fiery red hair called out, “What about other affiliations? Other links?”

“Such as?” Grieve asked, taking a step toward the front row where most of the Guardsmen’s legs were stretched far in front of their chairs.

The redhead replied, “Physikers, business associates, social connections.”

Grieve nodded and turned toward Merik.

“We’ve looked into family connections, friendships, that sort of thing. Their homes and shops are in completely different quarters, so there wasn’t any overlap there. We haven’t had time to run down every other possibility.” Merik shifted in his chair. “We could use more eyes on this one.”

Grieve glared through Merik.

He never liked “we need more resources” from his Constables. Still, he kept the brainstorming going with more open-ended questions. I was nearly tuned out when a rookie who rarely spoke suggested a second look into the financials of each victim. When Grieve pressed him for specifics, he said, “What about bookkeepers, accountants, tax advisors, and the like? We always follow the money, but have we followed the people who handle the money?”

I bolted upright, drawing intrigued stares from the men around me.

Grieve glanced up. “I know that look, Rea. What have you got?”

“ Finances , of course! Puppy may be onto something.”

Laughter punctuated my statement as the others in the room hurled rookie-related nicknames at the poor kid, a few lobbing them my way, too, as I had only a few months’ more tenure.

Grieve grinned, enjoying the banter, before speaking above the din. “Go on. Pull that thread. Where are you going?”

I scratched my scruffy cheek. “Who was their bookkeeper? Merik said each was a Merchant. Were they wealthy enough to need an accountant?”

Merik’s eyes narrowed, as though I had offended him by asking further questions. Still, sitting before our Lieutenant, he flipped through his notes, then looked back toward me. “Looks like one used a guy down by the docks . . . some bookie named Albrecht.”

My Albrecht?

My victim.

My heart froze.

Everyone stared and waited.

Even Grieve seemed to hold his breath while my head spun.

I bolted out of my chair. Barely remembering the meeting I was abandoning, I glanced over my shoulder at Grieve and offered an apologetic nod. The rumble of three dozen men speculating at my sudden departure followed me all the way out the door.