Blood of the Pride (4 page)

A stiff breeze shot up the street, carrying the sweet smell of dishes originating in a thousand countries being placed on a plethora of plates for people to eat, talk over or just savor.

Mike Winters opened the door. He stood about six feet tall, with dark hair and a set of bright blue eyes that could talk you into anything, except now they were bloodshot with deep, dark bags giving his face a skeletal look. He gestured me in without talking, closing the door with a strange gentleness.

“Fiona. Michael. Upstairs.” The quiet command had the two teenagers racing up the stairs, but not before a scowl attack from the pouting girl. Michael gave me a glance over the screen of the PSP in his hands as he disappeared from sight.

Mike led me to the living room, sitting down on the faded red leather couch as I took the matching chair to his right. The table held a variety of papers, all open to the obituaries with a few clippings of Janey’s death lying near a pair of scissors.

A coffee mug on the table didn’t contain coffee. I could smell the whiskey without having to concentrate too much. Mike gave a half-hearted sad smile with no hint of an apology.

“It’s been a rough couple of days.” He picked up the mug. His fingers gripped the ceramic so tightly I was afraid it would shatter. “We’re just… It’s been a shock.”

“I’m sure.” I pulled my notebook out of my right pocket and flipped it open. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were trite, but true. I glanced at the photos spread across the walls between flower arrangements. Kids on horses, kids on hay wagons, kids at amusement parks with silly grins on their faces. One wedding picture with an ungodly number of people in the background, probably family and friends on both sides. “How are they holding up?”

“Mad. Sad. Angry.” He glanced at the level of whiskey in his mug and frowned. “I’m thinking of sending them up to the farm for a few days and letting them run free, work it out of their system. After the funeral, of course.”

I nodded. “Might be for the best.” A pair of wild cats dashing out and about on the estate wouldn’t be noticed and Ruth would probably welcome the chance to mother them to death. “Kids are pretty resilient. You’d be surprised what they can work out when they’re on their own.” A stray lock of blond hair flipped across my face as I spoke, forcing me to tuck it back behind one ear.

“I guess.” He finished his drink and put the empty mug down on the table beside the cut pieces of paper. “Guess this is a little morbid, eh?” The man waved a hand over the clipped newspapers with a nervous chuckle.

“Not really. Give the kids something to remember her by.” I picked up one of the obits. “You had her cremated.”

“As per the rules.” He let out a low squeaky sigh, startling me. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but…”

I nodded my agreement with the statement.

“Tell me about that night, if you don’t mind.” I dropped my voice to what I hoped was a low, comforting tone. “I know you’ve told the police, but…”

“But you’re kin.” A weak smile settled on his face. “She was working late that night, said something about making sure the school projects were graded before she came home. It was a bit of a mess at the school. Some jokers had scribbled crap on the walls the day before and everyone was out of sorts.” He glanced at the black-and-white photograph at the top of the obituary. A contented light-haired woman beamed back. “Kids.”

I nodded, encouraging him with my silence.

“She called me at about five, said she was leaving the school. Turns out her car wouldn’t start. We’d been having problems with the Toyota for weeks, nothing new there. She would have walked to the nearest streetcar stop.”

“On Queen.” I filled in the gaps. “That would have been the quickest way home.”

He nodded, staring at the tabletop. “Except she didn’t make it for dinner. Then I waited and waited.” A deep sigh echoed around the two of us. “By nine I knew something was wrong. Then the police showed up at the door.” Mike let out another pained sigh, huffing in stages. “I could smell their fear about giving me the news, can you believe it?” His eyes darted up to meet mine, suddenly feral. “Cops, afraid of me. Like I’m a bad guy. Hell, the worst thing I’ve done is keep stale bread on the shelves a day too long.”

“It’s a tough thing to do.” I felt strange standing up for the police. “Delivering bad news, it’s hard to predict how people will react. Some cry, some lash out at the messengers.” I extended a finger to tap her picture with my nail. “She’d probably have ripped them to shreds if it had been the other way around.”

A choked laugh came out. “Oh, for sure. Janey, she never liked to let go but when she did…” He reached over to scratch the back of his shoulder. “I’ve still got scars from when we were dating.” The sheepish grin disappeared in a second as his focus returned down to the papers. “And now the cops are saying nothing and it’s all going to go away without anyone paying.”

“Someone’s going to pay.” I stood up and put the notebook in my leather jacket’s right pocket. “That’s why they sent me.” I hated to make promises, but this was something that needed to be taken care of. Anyone who could slip behind a woman like that and kill her couldn’t be left on the streets whether he was a Felis or not.

“He broke her neck, you know.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m not stupid. That takes a lot of strength to do, to do that.” The weary man shot me a sideways glance. “I think it was another one like us.” He wouldn’t even say the name aloud. Another point for the family’s secrecy.

I nodded. “Board thinks that too.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t understand. We don’t…” His hands shook from side to side. Couldn’t blame him.

“I’ll find out the truth. Promise.” I didn’t know what else to say, as if anything I could offer would blunt the shock and the pain. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything out.”

“Thank you.” He got to his feet and looked at me, biting his lower lip. “I just don’t understand. Who would do something like that, send a photograph like that to the news? What sort of monster is out there?”

I didn’t even try to answer.

Loud music played upstairs as Mike escorted me back to the front door. Some sort of rap-pop slop stuff. Mike shrugged with a lopsided smile. “I can’t stand that crap.”

“Kids.” We exchanged one of those knowing aren’t-we-wise-for-our-age glances. “I realize this is a pretty silly question, but did Janey have any enemies you know of?”

“She was a teacher.” Mike opened the door. The dying sunlight was bright and intrusive as it split up between the houses, sliding between the buildings and cutting through the shadows. He put his hand over his eyes and squinted as I stepped out onto the porch. “Probably every kid she failed and every parent she pissed off by failing their kids. Standard.”

“Well, that narrows it down.” We shared another set of awkward glances.

Now for the toughest question. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. “There wasn’t any…” I waved my hand in the air in some vague shape. “Problems in your marriage, was there?”

He stared at me for a minute before responding. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” A scowl appeared. “What, you think she was having an affair?” His hands began to shake, his entire body following as he gritted his teeth and continued to speak. “You think Janey was…”

His eyes began to narrow, the backs of his hands beginning to fur up slowly. His lips started retracting from his teeth as he let his breath out slowly.

“Stop.” I put my hands up and advanced, moving to let my jacket fall open as wide as possible, highlighting my weakness by showing my belly. “I didn’t say that. I was just pursuing a possible angle.”

His breathing became more labored as he stared right through me, his fingers flexing back and forth. His face began to change, the faint orange fur shifting to cover his cheeks and his forehead, the nose beginning to retract just a bit.

I sighed once and then moved into Mike’s personal space, face to face. “Mike Winters.” I dropped my voice down as low as I could and snarled his name again. I flipped my jacket down my arms and off, showing my white blouse. I’d done this before, calmed angry males by moving into a submissive mode. It didn’t have to extend to rolling on my back to offer my bare stomach. The slightest aspect of appearing vulnerable would do. The leather jacket landed behind me as I lifted myself up on my toes and roared into his face, hoping the juxtaposition would be enough to jar him out of his emotional state.

“Mike! Snap out of it!”

His eyes caught mine and locked, the irises already spinning into feline mode.

“Do not do this. In public? You remember the rules.” I glanced around. The street was empty but that could change at any minute. “Would Janey want you to get into a fight with me? With kin? Would Janey want you to help me find her killer or not?”

Evoking her name stopped him. Suddenly he blinked once, twice, the pupils returning to normal. I remained in his face as the light hairs retracted and he drew deep, gasping breaths as a full human again. He stepped away from me, surrendering the space, letting me win.

“I’m sorry.” He sagged against the front door and for a second I thought he would faint. I grabbed his arm and pushed him upright.

“Don’t worry. Perfectly understandable.” I forced a smile, hoping to reassure him. “I was out of line. I apologize.”

“No, no.” He waved me off. “You have to ask these types of questions, I know. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.” Taking deep breaths, he stared at his hands. “Close one there.”

“You have no idea.” I rubbed his back in small circles, feeling the muscles relax. “I hated asking that, you know.” Clearing my throat I turned the conversation back to more important topics. “I’ll be in touch if I find out anything. Just don’t leave the country, ’kay?” I smiled, encouraging him to return it with a chuckle. “Hey, it’s a classic line. Can’t blame me for using it.”

Mike stared down at his shoes for a second, shuffling the pristine sneakers back and forth on the thick woven floor mat. “You think you can find out who did this?”

“I’ll try my best.” That much wasn’t a lie. “We take care of our own.”

While I walked back to the car I rubbed my stomach, trying to quell the nausea threatening to burst out and have me recycle the coffee and donuts. Even if it had been a random killing, which I didn’t believe, it definitely stuck a giant pin in the bubble of security the Pride had built around themselves. Ourselves. We had been told from birth that we were special, a whole world apart from the rest of society. That we had to stay separate and secret in small packs around the world. Now in a single swoop, that secrecy had been stripped away. Either we had become so weak a regular criminal could stalk, trap and kill us or there was a killer inside the family. Either was unacceptable.

I would probably end up screwed no matter what happened. If Mike had attacked me I’d have been down in a second under those claws and teeth. He had forgotten but I hadn’t. I couldn’t.

As I unlocked my front door my nose started to twitch at the blood scent, still strong even though I had double and triple-bagged the damned foot. I slammed the door behind me, picked up the stack of mail from the floor and headed upstairs into my living space, flipping through the envelopes. An offer for a magazine subscription, an offer for a book club and an offer for cheap cell phone service. But no offers to take this mess off my hands or hand me the answer in three easy payments.

My computer was an old beast, so while it went through the ancient ceremony of booting up I wandered back downstairs.

I picked up the television remote, flipping around the dial while mentally cataloguing the contents of my pantry. The channel stopped on the Food Network. Bad idea. My stomach let out a growl at seeing a display of obscenely large hamburgers.

“Yep, Ramen noodles it is.” The cupboards offered up a package of instant noodles caught between a few cans of vegetable soup and three cans of tuna. Within a minute I had the water waiting to boil in the small pot and had turned my attention back to the television set.

The local all-news channel had moved on from Janey’s death, giving it a quick sound bite about the investigation continuing, which was a nice buzzword for saying they had stalled. Not that I was complaining. Having the cops around wasn’t going to help.

Finally settling on Animal Planet I dumped the contents of the packet into the boiling water and ran back up to the computer.

I had two targets to hunt down. The photographer and the killer. I figured the easiest spot to start with would be the scum who took the picture and sold it to the tabloid. With any luck one would lead me to the other. At the least I’d be able to give the name of the photographer to the Pride and let them decide what to do with him or her.

There was also a chance the photographer was the killer. It’d make things easier to a degree but I couldn’t assume anything at this point.

The front page of the
Inquisitor
website had the current issue displayed with poor Janey Winters taking up a small square at the bottom with a thumbnail photograph and the tag “Cat Woman found dead!” It wasn’t a good shot, intentionally blurred to avoid anyone identifying the face. Some of the fuzz had been added electronically but it was still disturbing as all hell. I skipped over the article excerpt and headed for the information page. Sure enough, Brandon Hanover’s picture was there with a link to his email address.

Of course I wasn’t going to just email him. I didn’t like doing business without seeing or hearing a person. It was much easier catching a lie when you could see a person’s sweat or hear the tension in his voice.

After a few minutes of internet searching I had his cell number. I dialed it while slurping up noodles and nibbling on slices of old, old cheddar retrieved from the back of my refrigerator. The cheese helped cover up the smell of the blood but the aroma still danced in my nostrils, sending me back to early morning hunts and urging me to get a nice rare slab of meat for a snack later.

“Hey.” The tone was jovial and mellow.

“Hey, Hanover.”

“Who’s this?” The voice dropped from friendly and cheerful to less than welcoming. “Who’s this?”

“I’m looking into the death of Janey Winters. You know, the dead woman you got pictures of?”

“Oh, right. The cat woman. What’s it to you?”

“Like I said, I’m looking into the case. Can I meet you and discuss it over a beer?” If I knew something about reporters, I knew they would never pass up a free drink.

“You got it. Handy Andy’s on Queen in about an hour. I’ll be the hot stud hanging out at the bar.” The line went dead.

“Modest, ain’t ya?” I set the plate down on the kitchen table.

Jazz slithered onto my couch and rolled onto her back. I sat down beside her and began to stroke the thin hair.

“You’re on guard duty. Don’t give away the place.”

With her answering trill in my ears I snagged my jacket and headed out to the main street. There was no way I was going to try to find a parking place downtown then deal with having a drink or three, depending on how the meeting went.

I knew Handy Andy’s from years ago when it had tried to establish a niche for itself as a Goth bar, failing miserably because the owner figured Goths couldn’t count and wouldn’t know when they were being ripped off for drinks. It had passed through a variety of owners since then, finally settling on a nice dark place serving beer, good pub food and a set of pool tables in the back beside the oldest pinball machines I had ever seen.

The bar was still half-empty when I arrived, tripping over the clearly marked step despite the yellow fluorescent tape. A series of giggles and guffaws welcomed me into the pub. There was a single empty table, set up against the plate glass window looking back out onto Queen Street. I sat down at the circular wooden platform and waited.

The waitress was the first to arrive, an older woman with more wrinkles on her face than a grumpy Shar Pei. She put a photocopied sheet of paper in front of me and smiled, almost a sisterly grin.

“What can I get you?”

“Molson’s Dry.” I wasn’t even going to try to guess what they had on tap. The woman nodded and then disappeared into the small crowd standing around the bar.

The customers were the usual afternoon fare. Businessmen trying to avoid going home to their wives and children, and businesswomen looking for businessmen. Or businesswomen. The meat market may have shifted and evolved, but the game never changed. I flipped the menu, drawing my finger down the coffee-stained type.

The waitress returned with a bottle and a glass. “What can I get you to eat?” Her tight white blouse had a blotch of ketchup on one sleeve.

“Asian steamed dumplings, please.” I handed her the glass. “I’m not that much of a lady.” We exchanged saucy winks and then she walked away.

I spotted a few fellows giving me the once-over before continuing their search. A place like this threatened to overwhelm my senses—the rush of different scents, images and noises almost deafening me on all fronts. My nose couldn’t stop twitching, hardly making me look approachable and certainly not all that sexy. Which, again, was fine with me.

Turning my attention back toward the window and the street, I took a swig of beer while watching the sun dance away between the office towers and small shops dotting the skyline.

The dumplings showed up, little packets of pork happiness with a small dish of soy sauce on the side and, God bless them, a dash of wasabi paste. I dipped the tines of my fork into the green stickiness and mixed it into the soy sauce before spearing one of the dumplings and letting it swim in the sauce. I began alternating sips of beer and spicy bites, my mouth exploding with a delicious heat.

Pub fare had changed from when I was growing up. Back then if you got a decent hamburger you were lucky. Not to mention luckier if you didn’t get E. coli.

The waitress put a fresh bottle of beer on my table as I finished off another dumpling.

“Thanks for the refill.” I reached into my pocket and pulled off a twenty from the small wad I put aside for expenses. “I’m waiting for Brandon Hanover. Can you let me know when he gets here?”

She paused. “I can do that.”

“Great.” I added a second twenty. “And if you can make sure we’re not bothered by anyone, that’d be great.”

The waitress grinned as she pocketed the extra cash. “Sure. I’ll send him your way.” She paused after picking up the twenty. “I’ll bring your change back from your meal and drinks.”

I waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t a generous tip—I didn’t want to get pegged as a rich woman—but it never hurt to help those who were in the know. She smiled and bounced away into the crowd.

While I finished off another dumpling a man in a long black leather duster strode up, taking his place at my table without pause. He stood a few inches over my petite five foot four. His flaming red hair was short, almost too short. He wore a baby blue long-sleeved shirt tucked into his jeans and just a hint of aftershave. My nose twitched at the smell. He reminded me of a purebred cat running wild in the street.

“Bran Hanover.” He extended a hand, shaking mine with a good firm grip. “Rebecca.” He lifted his other hand in the air, waving at the overworked waitress.

“Reb. And how did you know my name?”

“Caller ID.” He spread his hands with a friendly grin. “Don’t leave home without it.” As a Heineken appeared on the table, the reporter nodded his approval. “Thanks, Eddie.”

When she vanished into the crowd he turned his attention back to me. “Actually, I’m not blind. As soon as I knew it was you I called up some contacts and got a description along with some references.”

“Ah.” I sloshed the last of the first beer around in the dark bottle. “And you still came?”

“Never on a first date.” He winked, trying to spark some sort of reaction. He was kidding and he knew I was kidding and we both knew that was about as much foreplay as he was going to get away with. Bran took a deep mouthful of beer before continuing. “So you’re working on the cat woman case.”

“Her name was Janey Winters. She was married and had two kids.” I impaled the last dumpling on my fork. “She was a school teacher and didn’t deserve to die in a Parkdale alley.”

“There’s not many people in this world who deserve to die.” His eyes were on the doughy bundle swimming in the wasabi-boosted soy sauce. “However, it always makes news.”

“I want to know who gave you those pictures.” I waved the empty fork at him.

Sitting back as much as he could without tipping the chair, Bran smiled. “That’s business. Photos sell the story and without a good picture there’s nothing to sell. My job is to sell papers.” The single chair leg squeaked in annoyance. “And I’m not giving up my source just to make you happy.” Another ear-splitting twitch of the leg. “And what’s up with the hair, anyway?”

“Janey Winters had a medical disorder. She didn’t deserve to be immortalized in a trashy rag like the
Inquisitor
as the ‘cat woman.’ Your mother must be so proud.” Finally satisfied that the dumpling had fully drowned, I retrieved it from the pool and popped it into my mouth.

The redhead nodded in silence, watching me chew. A single bead of sweat rested on his forehead. I had hit a nerve. Dang. And on my first try.

“Now, you know the cops aren’t going to be happy about someone trashing the crime scene before they got there.” I cleaned my mouth out with another swig of beer. “So, tell me who started this and I’ll turn him over to my contacts, they’ll put the fear of God into him and we’ll all go home happy.” I didn’t make mention of the fact there was still a killer out there.

“Problem is, sweetheart,” one eyebrow waggled at me in a seagull’s wave, “I don’t know. Envelope was slipped under my door while I was at work. When I saw the picture, well…” He shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for doing his job.”

“Sure I can.” I leaned forward and plucked his bottle away. “You don’t know who it was?”

“I get lots of anonymous submissions.” The way his lips curled around the glass sent a hot rush through my veins. “Some people like to shine flashlights into the shadows, see what jumps out.” He tilted his head to one side and smiled. “Some of us like to play in the dark and take our chances on what we’ll find.”

Damn. Smart, sarcastic and sexy as hell. In another time, another place I’d be buying him drinks and making sure I had enough cab fare to get home early the next morning.

Instead I kept to business. The personal angle would have to wait for later. “And he didn’t leave his contact information, want any money for it.”

A smile curled around the bottle edges. “Believe it or not, there’s plenty of people who believe in freedom of speech and all that.”

I swallowed, feeling the first bit of a beer burp threatening to break free. “It was taken before the cops arrived and secured the scene.”

“That it was, sweetie.” Bran leaned forward. “But I’m not sure why you want the photographer.”

“Because if he was there at the right time he could have seen the killer. Or maybe he is the killer. The photo could be a souvenir of his hunt.” I ground the fork tines across the plate, creating a high-pitched squeal.

“Whoa.” Bran looked at me. “Don’t take it out on the fine china.”

“Sorry,” I grumbled.

He waved Eddie over and gestured at the plate. “I’ll have what she’s having. And another round of beers.”

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at me, trying to figure out if I was in trouble or just playing with fire. “Sure. No prob at all. Back in a flash.”

Bran reached over and touched me, a light brush across the back of my hand. “Didn’t know it’s more than a professional job. Sorry.” He leaned back from the table. “But that’s how I got the pic.”

My skin tingled, as if I’d been rolling in fresh-cut grass. I tried to shake it off as just a reaction to his aftershave.

I’d gotten used to lying to myself a lot over the years.

“So, what’s so special about this?” Bran shifted into reporter mode. I could almost see the pencil poised to scribble across the empty page in his inner eye. “I mean, it’s horrible and all, but what’s the real story here?”

“Her family is upset about a photograph being smeared across the cheapest rag in the city, including toilet paper.” An order of dumplings appeared in front of him, Eddie supplying another set of napkins. “I’d have thought that much was obvious.”

“To a degree.” He picked up one dumpling with a fork and dabbed the end into the wasabi, smearing the hot green paste all over the tasty bundle. “But there’s more to this than just finding who took the photograph. You’re going after the killer while the cops do their own investigation. And don’t even try to tell me you’re not. I can’t see you quitting after grabbing the photobug.” He popped the dumpling into his mouth without flinching, chewing it slowly. “That puts a whole different spin on things, now.”

I watched as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling down the sides of his face while he continued to eat the doughy bites without a single sip of beer. “Now, I’m pretty sure the police are going to write this one off. Not fair, not nice but that’s the way it is. They’re overworked and underpaid and all that. So, this is how it goes.” He waved the empty fork at me. “You allow me to follow the Cat woman Killer story with you and I cut you in for part of the credit when you catch the killer and I write the sequel.”