Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

"Aw, crap," Malcolm muttered.

Diaz had apparently waited for me, leaning against the building and holding a coffee cup identical to my own. I wondered how long he'd been here and if he'd watched what I'd done at the memorial. On the plus side, I saw no sign of Ferguson. Small favors.

"Walk back to your car with you?" Diaz asked gruffly.

"I'm actually sticking around here for a while," I said. "What's on your mind, Detective?"

Instead of answering, he gestured with his cup at my engagement ring. "I noticed that earlier. I suppose congratulations are in order. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Sean Maclin."

"Right, the alpha werewolf. I met him once, back when your car turned up stolen and burned." Diaz sipped his coffee. "Best of luck to you both."

"Thanks." I drained the last of my own coffee and tossed the cup in a recycling bin. "But I doubt you tracked me down to ask me about my engagement."

"Yeah." He stared straight ahead at the sandwich shop across the street. "Don't know if you're aware, but that poor girl was just about in pieces. That shouldn't happen to anybody, except maybe the person who did it."

"I can't argue with you on that point. But it's really important to know for sure exactly who that person is."

Diaz glanced at me. "Hensley's got you believing his bullshit amnesia story?"

Was he deliberately trying to rile me up, or fishing to see if I'd discovered anything? Maybe both.

"I don't believe anything yet," I countered. "I plan to keep an open mind until I have enough evidence to convince myself one way or another. As I think all investigators should do."

"You've heard that old saying that if you hear hoofbeats behind you, think horses, not zebras, right?" he asked, his tone sardonic.

"That's true, unless you happen to be in a safari park." I gestured around us. "We're surrounded by magic and supernatural beings and paranormal phenomena. You know those are as much of our environment as anything else. You're talking to a mage, and there's a ghost next to you."

Diaz glared in Malcolm's general direction. Malcolm grinned and waved though Diaz couldn't see him.

"If you dismiss even the possibility of something unknown to you being responsible for Madison Fernell's death, or any of the other attacks that have taken place recently, you're not pursuing justice. I'm not saying that's what's going on here," I added when Diaz scowled. "But I do think it's a prospect worth considering."

He shook his head. "In my line of work, the simplest explanation is usually the right one."

Yeah, but if he really, really believed there was nothing to Oliver's claims, would he be here talking to me? I didn't think so.

I shrugged. "Also true in my line of work. I just maybe have a wider field of vision."

"Make sure your ‘field of vision' doesn't blind you to the probability that Hensley' s a killer."

"Fair enough, as long as you don't ignore the chance he isn't."

"Do you have anything that suggests otherwise?" Though clearly skeptical, he sounded curious. Maybe he did remember I had a habit of being right.

The strange black magic might support Oliver's story, but I could think of a dozen other reasons for its presence. I'd hold my cards close to the vest until I had something substantial to report.

"Nothing tangible yet, but I've got something to dig into," I said. "And for the record, I have no interest in helping anyone get away with murder. I told Philippa Grayson the same thing. My morals and ethics don't change based on who writes me a check. I'm only after the truth—whatever it may be."

"I'm glad to hear it. I suppose I'll leave you to do whatever you need to do then." Diaz started toward a nondescript black sedan parked at the curb, then turned back to ask, "You ever think about coming to work on my side of the badge?"

Of all the things I thought he might say to me, that wasn't one of them. "Not really," I said. "Too many people need me on this side of it."

Strangely, he nodded like I'd said the right thing, gave me a little salute, and went around to the driver's side door. I watched him pull away from the curb and accelerate down the street.

"I think he's got a little professional crush on you," Malcolm said.

No one was within earshot, so I replied aloud. "As opposed to an amateur crush?"

"No- ooo ." He made an exasperated sound. "Like, from one pro to another. He just basically asked if you'd like to join up and be his partner."

I scoffed. "Can't imagine why."

"Obviously he likes how your mind works."

"Well, his usual tag-along is Ferguson, so I feel like that sets a low bar."

"I'm sure Ferg has his good points, even if we've never seen them." He sighed. "Learn how to take a compliment, Alice. "

"I don't have much experience getting compliments from the fuzz. They mostly just ignore me—or try to arrest me."

"So maybe it just takes the smarter ones a little while to figure out what's up. The dumb ones will never get it. Their loss. Come on." Malcolm nudged me with a ghostly elbow. "If you want to do some canvassing looking for cameras, we gotta get moving. Daylight's burning, and you've got that thing tonight."

My dinner with Moses. Ugh. "Don't remind me."

Looking for video would be complicated. I didn't know exactly what route Oliver had taken from the garage to the alley. On top of that, we had two missing hours to account for. All I knew at the moment was Oliver had been in the garage a little after six and then turned up in the alley just before eight, standing over Madison's body with a knife in his hand.

Speaking of the knife, I'd give about anything to check it for magic trace, but I'd have more luck persuading Ferguson to give me a foot massage than getting my hands on a murder weapon.

Gotta start somewhere. I crossed the street toward a sandwich shop. Like many of the eateries downtown, it was about to close for the day now that the lunch rush was over, and only about a half-dozen customers sat at tables with their late midday meals.

I grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler and approached the counter. "Anything else?" the young female employee asked as I handed over some cash.

"As a matter of fact, is your manager around?"

"I'll see. Hang on." She disappeared through the swinging door that led to the shop's kitchen.

"You should get a sandwich," Malcolm scolded. "You skipped lunch."

"I had breakfast," I muttered. "And look—I'm drinking water."

He sighed.

A short man in khakis and a polo shirt emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. I smiled, ready to launch into my usual explanation of who I was and request to see the footage from the camera out front.

"Yeah?" he asked, his tone and expression decidedly unfriendly.

I held up my PI license. "I'm a private investigator, and I wondered if I could take a look at your street-side camera footage from the day before yesterday."

"Nope."

I'd had people refuse to share footage with me for a wide range of reasons, but he'd already seemed angry before I'd made my request. "Can I just—" I began.

"I said no." The manager pointed a stubby finger straight at my nose. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to get that animal off for murder when they caught him in the act. Get the hell out of my shop."

The room went silent. Hostility crackled in the air.

"Okay." I picked up my water, raised my hands, and backed away from the counter. "Have a good day." I felt the manager's eyes burning twin holes in my back until I was out of the shop with the door shut behind me.

"What the ever-loving hell was that?" Malcolm flitted around me on the sidewalk in a whirlwind of ghostly rage. "How did he know who you were and what you wanted before you even walked in the door?"

I sighed. "How do you think?"

"Somebody warned him." He stopped mid-flit, his expression a mix of fury and realization. "Ferguson. Oh, shit, Alice. Did he call the business owners in the area and tell them not to give you access to video because you're working for Oliver?"

"That's my guess." I took a long drink from my bottle of water. "That's a first for me. Achievement unlocked, I suppose."

While Malcolm called Ferguson every bad name he could think of, I considered my options, which were limited. The police could subpoena footage. Private investigators could only ask to see video. If the owner refused, I really had no recourse .

"Ferguson couldn't have called everyone," I said as Malcolm's tirade wound down. "But the whisper network among business and property owners around here is probably in action too. We'll have an uphill battle to get any footage, more so than usual."

"Are we hosed, then?" He put his hands on his hips. "What about you-know-who?"

You-know-who referred to black hat hacker Cyanide Rose, a.k.a. Cyro, whose identity and interactions with us were so secret we never said her name aloud outside our home—even Malcolm. The feds had hunted her for years with no success, for reasons we'd never asked about and I could only imagine. She'd figured out my real identity years ago and been an ally since, even going so far as to meet me in person once in the Bahamas to pass along a warning about my grandfather. Unfortunately, I no longer had that memory, along with several others, because of a sorcerer's black magic.

"She's pricey," I said with a sigh. "But we might not have much choice thanks to Ferguson's interference." I hummed under my breath and pretended to check my phone until a group of pedestrians walked past. When they were out of earshot, I added, "And also in the category of legally spicy, since we wouldn't be able to use anything we got that way in court—or show it to Philippa Grayson."

"Legally spicy. Love it." He snorted. "People who insist on doing things super legally are such buzzkills."

I couldn't argue with that.

Just in case, I stopped at a couple other businesses on our way back to the parking garage, only to confirm that Ferguson had been a busy bee. I was right about the whisper network too. The final straw was when I walked into a shoe store just as the person behind the counter hung up her phone. She looked at me, shook her head, and pointed to the door.

"Well, it's official: we're pariahs," Malcolm sighed as we walked back to the parking garage. "If I were less secure about my own awesomeness, this would really hurt my feelings. I haven't felt this rejected since junior high. You okay? "

"No, I'm not okay. I'm annoyed." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "But not at the store owners—at Ferguson. They're all reacting to one side of the story. I can only imagine what picture he painted of me. If I were in their shoes, I'd probably do the same. Now we need a Plan B."

He patted my shoulder in ghostly comfort. Not that I could feel him touching me, but I appreciated the gesture.

By the time we made it back to the fifth level of the garage, I'd managed to get from frustrated to focused. Ferguson might be determined to throw obstacles at me, but I'd faced much worse than him, from Titans made of vipers in the Underworld to Dark Fae and even Vlad ?epe? himself. Compared to those foes, petty, closed-minded Ferguson wasn't much more than a pebble in my shoe.

But having said that…

"If I asked you to, would you go haunt Ferguson's house?" I asked as we got into my SUV. "You know, slam some doors, move stuff around, maybe touch the back of his neck a couple of times?"

"It would be my pleasure," my ghost said, rubbing his hands together. "You remember that nightmare form I used when I first showed up in your office? I've been looking for an opportunity to use it again."

I sighed. "Okay, well, it's a good option to have."

"Option?" He went from gleeful to crestfallen in a heartbeat. "Aw, come on, Alice. If anyone deserves to get scared shitless, it's the guy who just undeservedly made you Public Enemy Number One. Well, Public Enemy Number Two, behind your client. Can't I at least slam some doors and draw some wacky made-up symbols in the shower steam on his bathroom mirror to freak him out?"

"Drawing wacky made-up symbols on a mirror is how you accidentally summon a demon, or something way worse. We don't mess around with mirrors." I dug around in the bottom of the SUV's console and retrieved my latest pay-as-you-go phone. As it powered on, I grudgingly said, "Fine, yes, you can go slam some doors and maybe tickle the back of his neck. "

He put his hands on his hips. "Don't call it tickling. Don't make it weird."

When the phone turned on, I found a number listed in my contacts as Breanna-Massage Therapist .

I could use a massage therapist , I grumbled inwardly. I unscrambled the numbers, typed the decoded number into the phone manually, and let it ring twice before disconnecting.

The phone rang less than a minute later. I answered the call. "This is Alice."

"Hello, Alice." Cyro's electronically modulated voice was male, which was another method she used to throw the feds or anyone else who might be listening off her track. "Congratulations on your engagement."

I blinked. "Thanks. How?—?"

"Sean mentioned it the last time we spoke. What can I do for you?"

I explained my situation, including Ferguson's fairly successful campaign to hamstring my investigation.

"Once again, I congratulate you on bringing me a truly interesting project," Cyro said when I finished. "So if I'm understanding you correctly, you know Oliver Hensley was in the parking garage around six in the evening and then turned up in that alley just before eight, but you're not sure what route he took or where he was for those two hours? Or where exactly he crossed paths with the victim?"

"That about sums it up, yeah." I sighed. "How many arms and legs is this going to cost me? And how soon can you get to it?"

"Let me crack into it and see what I can find quickly. If I can get into the parking garage footage easily and track him leaving, I should be able to follow his path and get you some answers. If I run into roadblocks that will up the price, I'll let you know. Otherwise, same rate as the Olson job."

"Fingers crossed it's that easy," I said in relief. Malcolm held up two sets of crossed fingers to show his support. This would cut deeply into my retainer, but I could cover the cost. And more to the point, I didn't have much choice.

"Do you think Hensley's telling the truth?" Cyro asked.

"That's the million-dollar question." I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I went into this thinking no way in hell. But now…my gut's telling me yes."

"And he's the fourth person to make this claim in two weeks. What the hell have you got running around out there?"

"Something from the bowels of the earth," I said, echoing Malcolm's description of the trace we'd found at the murder scene. "And if that's the case, we've got two big problems."

Malcolm frowned, clearly puzzled.

"What do you mean?" Cyro asked.

I'd been mulling the situation over since we'd left the alley. The more I thought about the evidence we had so far, the more certain I was that I was going to need some help from Carly very soon.

"If this is an old malevolent spirit possessing people to commit crimes, it's not hopping from person to person," I said. "If it was, we'd have a string of murders or attacks all in the same area, and we don't. Instead, we have three assaults and one murder in less than two weeks. So it's strategic. Maybe it's targeting specific people or specific situations. It's deliberate and patient. And old malevolent spirits are none of those things. Not unless someone very powerful is controlling them."

"Oh, shit," Malcolm breathed, his eyes wide as he realized what I meant. "Alice…"

"Controlling it how?" Cyro demanded. "Like some kind of puppet master? Who can do that? Spell it out for those of us who don't have magic and don't know that world."

"Necromancer," I said.

For the first time since we'd begun working together, Cyro went quiet.

"So if you do get video, don't just look for Hensley," I said. "Keep an eye out for anyone lurking in the background or going near his car before six o'clock. If the spirit is on a leash, the necromancer has to be nearby."

"Search for a lurking necromancer ." Even her computerized voice sounded wry. "There's a new one. I'm starting to think I shouldn't congratulate you on your unique projects."

"Yeah, I got there a long time ago," Malcolm muttered.

Unfortunately, this wouldn't be my first interaction with a necromancer, but it would be my first in a long time. And if I managed to capture them and their pet spirit, it would be my first win against one. The last time I'd crossed paths with one, I'd come within a hair's breadth of ending up not only dead, but on their leash.

Rather than dwell on those memories, I cleared my throat and said, "I have to get going. I have a family dinner tonight that I need to get ready for." I put emphasis on the words so she'd know what I meant.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Take care."

"You too."

We ended the call. As I tossed the phone back into the console, Malcolm cleared his throat. "So. A necromancer."

"That's my guess." I pulled out of my parking spot and headed for the ramp. "If I'm right, that means we're going to have to take some extra steps to protect you."

"And protect you too," he countered. "I'm assuming you're going to call Carly?"

"As soon as I get a chance." I steered carefully through the garage's crowded lower levels. "I think we're going to need witchy help."

"I'm glad we have witchy help to call on." He flitted in place. "We're gonna need a big can of Ded-B-Gon. Necromancers are so creepy. They make my skin crawl, and I don't even have skin anymore."

"I guess that's our early warning system, then," I said as I stuck my credit card in the machine to pay for our parking. "We'll know who the necromancer is by the way your skin crawls when we meet them."

"Don't forget they reek of black magic and grave dirt and other nasty stuff. Between your nose and my skin and Carly's woo-woo powers, we'll find this creep and their pet spirit."

"We've got to find them fast," I said, my voice grim. "Before someone else turns up dead and another innocent pawn like Oliver ends up in jail. If I know anything about necromancers and serial killers, once they get the taste for blood, they'll keep killing until someone stops them."

"And as usual," Malcolm said dryly, "that someone is going to have to be us."