A Murder of Mages (30 page)

Hilsom stomped along with them, not letting it go. “It’s not a matter of justification. It’s a matter of results.”

“Indeed,” Welling said. “Though as you have said to me a number of times, there is knowing and there is proving.”

“If you can’t prove it, it doesn’t matter.” Hilsom raised
an eyebrow. “Do you know something, Jinx? Something at all useful?”

Welling stopped, and Satrine could see his eyes darting back and forth, like the gears were spinning in his head. “I know several things which are relevant pieces of data to solve this case. That said, they are not substantiated enough to warrant discussion with you.”

“Oh, no?”

“They’re theories, Protector,” Satrine interjected. “Sharing them prematurely could bias you, and thus poison your own attempts to successfully prosecute this case.”

Hilsom threw his hands up. “Is there anything you can give me, Inspectors? Something I can use in the inevitable moment when the Circle counsel has a suit filed against me. And the two of you as well, I am certain.”

“We know that there existed enmity between the Firewings and the Circle of Light and Stone,” Welling said. “A point they tried to conceal from us. I haven’t intertwined all the connections yet, but I am certain that enmity plays a key role in the murder of both Hessen and Jaelia Tomar.”

“You didn’t need a writ to learn that,” Kellman said from his desk. He crossed over. “Blazes, they almost burst out in a magic fight in the middle of the street outside the Stone house.”

“Light and Stone,” Satrine said.

“Sure, sure,” Kellman said. Mirrell had quietly come over, and Captain Cinellan was watching the whole exchange from his office door. “Two Circles fighting. Plus Jinx in the middle of it.”

Hilsom spun on his heel and glared at Welling. “You engaged them? Magically?”

“Not directly, no,” Welling said. His eyes went down to the ground. “I did forcefully subdue one of the Light and Stone members, but entirely with standard Constabulary procedure.”

“Would that be Wells Harleydale?”

“I believe that was his name, yes.”

Hilsom opened up his leather satchel and thumbed
through his papers, muttering the whole while. “You believe that was his name. Rich, Jinx, very rich.”

Welling’s nostrils flared. “Inspector Mirrell, in your observation, did I use undue force or unorthodox methods in subduing Mister Harleydale when he took aggressive posture?”

Satrine looked over to Mirrell. He looked like he’d rather eat a live cat than answer, but he shook his head. “Not at all. I would have done the same.”

Hilsom grunted. “Light and Stone has already sent word that grievances will be filed against you, and me, and the whole Constabulary for his treatment, both at their chapterhouse and anything that happens in his questioning. This is going to be a big problem, Jinx.”

“Let them have a problem,” Kellman said. “They had a dead girl on their front steps.”

“Circle Law protection or not,” Mirrell added, “they can’t let that slide in the river.”

“So charge the man then,” Hilsom said. “Don’t just let him sit in the cell!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Welling asked. For once, Satrine thought, her partner looked utterly confused.

Hilsom rolled his eyes. “I’m saying bringing Harleydale in for questioning isn’t going to do us much good unless I can level some kind of arrest charge on him. When you subdued him, did he—”

Welling didn’t wait for the question. “Protector Hilsom, what are you blathering about?”

Hilsom buried his face in his hand for a moment. “All right, Welling. Is Harleydale who you like for the Tomar murders? Are you hoping to get him to crack in Interrogation?”

Satrine couldn’t take this man any more either. She put him in his place in the most effective way she easily could. “Zebram, why are you being so obtuse? We haven’t brought in Harleydale.”

Hilsom stammered, clearly put out of sorts by her casual use of his first name. “Of course you have. It’s one of the Circle’s key complaints.”

Welling opened his mouth, then stopped and walked
away. He took five steps and turned back, looking at Kellman and Mirrell. “Inspectors, did you bring him in?”

“Not our case,” Kellman said. “You two dragged us into it enough.”

“Nor did we,” Welling said, looking to Satrine for confirmation.

“First I’ve heard of it.” She turned to Hilsom. “Who says we brought him in?”

“His own Circle!”

“And . . . is he here?” Satrine glanced about until her eyes found Miss Pyle. “Is Wells Harleydale in the building?”

“I’ll find out,” Miss Pyle said, and in a moment she was off the floor.

“Do not play stupid with me, Inspector Rainey.” He pulled a sheet out from his satchel. “They’ve already sent unofficial complaints to the Protector’s Office of how a patrolman came and collected Mister Harleydale for questioning under the authority of the two of you. I’m sure Olivant is talking to my superior right now writing up the formal papers!”

“We sent no patrolman,” Satrine said. “We didn’t have him brought in.”

Hilsom looked at his paper, then back at Satrine and Welling. He shoved it back into his bag and got uncomfortably close to Satrine. “You better be straight with me here, Inspector Rainey.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Why else?” Hilsom glanced over to Welling with an open sneer. “Protect your partner.”

He stalked off. Captain Cinellan stayed in his doorframe, unlit pipe clenched in his teeth. “So what the blazes are you two going to do now?”

“Go over our evidence again,” Welling said quietly. “There’s some pattern we’re missing.”

Cinellan crossed over. “Listen, Welling. I know when the Protector’s Office is only stoking the furnace, and this doesn’t sound like it. Have you taken too big a bite on this thing?”

Satrine saw doubt on her partner’s face. She didn’t
need that. She couldn’t afford that, not yet. “We’ve got it, Captain,” she said. “Might take another day or two, but we’ve got it.”

Cinellan gave the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah, you’ve got until the end of the week, Rainey.” He glanced over at Welling again. “Where’s your weapon?”

“Lost in the scuffle, sir,” Welling said. He didn’t look at the captain or anyone else, his eyes focused on some empty spot of air in the middle of the floor.

“Damn careless, Welling,” Cinellan said. “Have a page bring another one up from the armory for you, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Welling said. Without any sign from the captain, Welling spun around and went back behind the slateboards.

“You both look like you’ve had a hell of a knocking, Rainey,” Cinellan said.

“It’s been an eventful morning, sir,” she said. He grunted and went back to his office. She felt she couldn’t leave it at that. “We will close this one, sir.”

He shrugged and shut the door.

Satrine went to her desk to find Welling erasing things from the slateboard.

“Trying to get a fresh look at it?”

He shook his head, “I’m a detriment to this case, Inspector Rainey.”

“I don’t see how.” She sat down on the edge of the desk. “You wouldn’t see the likes of Kellman or Mirrell putting in this kind of dedication.”

“Dedication or obsession?”

“Does it matter?” She took the rag out of Welling’s hand. He stared at the board, not looking at her.

“Makes no difference to Jaelia Tomar,” he said. “My devotion to the case made no difference to her.”

“Perhaps,” Satrine said. “But we might make a difference for whoever the next victim might be. And I think we’re both agreed there will be a next victim.”

“Certainly,” Welling said. “It’ll be Wells Harleydale of the Circle of Light and Stone.”

Satrine nodded. “Because the killer has already
grabbed him, under the pretense of being a patrolman collecting him for questioning.”

“My thoughts exactly. It’s impossible for me to be certain, but I am reasonably confident.”

Satrine nodded. She had to admit it made a degree of sense. “So then, what’s the goal? Is this some sort of new Circle Feud? Is he trying to incite one?”

“The murder of Jaelia Tomar may have set that in motion, but I do not believe that is the explicit goal.”

“Because Hessen Tomar’s murder doesn’t serve that end.” Satrine needed more tea to think through this. “I could see it if this were just about the Tomars, but then how might Harleydale fit in? Is the killer part of one of these two Circles? A third Circle? Or not even—”

“Is
Uncircled
the word you want, Inspector Rainey?”

Silence hung uncomfortably for a moment. “Is that why you think you’re a detriment?”

“My presence has done little but hinder our investigation. It’s caused active hostility among our witnesses. And victims.”

“No, Welling.” Satrine got between him and the board, forcing him to look her in the eye. “We can’t let that be a factor. Your mage status is not relevant to the case. It’s not the problem.”

“Don’t tell me it hasn’t caused trouble.”

“We’re both trouble,” Satrine said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell me we aren’t the best chance for justice on this case. Don’t tell me that the likes of Kellman and Mirrell would give a blaze over two dead mages like you would.”

“Or would be as hungry to solve it as you?” Welling returned, giving her the barest of smiles.

“We’re both hungry here, Welling. You know I’m right.”

Welling nodded, and then picked up his chalk. “Location has to be important to the killer. The question is why.”

Satrine got out of his way so he could start writing on the boards.

“Excuse me, Inspector Rainey?” Phillen had come behind the slateboards. She was about to snap when she got a look at his face. In addition to the yellowing bruises on his face from his beating earlier, the young man looked like he had just eaten a live snake.

“You all right, Phillen?” she asked. “Have you slept at all?”

“I, uh, had a nap in the page bunks,” he said. “I had left word with one of the other pages, but the message didn’t reach you, I think.”

“What message?”

“You had put a hold on Ret Hoffer, that his mother couldn’t spring him until you talked to her.”

“I had?” The events of the early morning seemed like a lifetime ago. “I only said—”

“That you wanted her called in and to keep her until you talked to her.”

“Blazes.”

“Who is this?” Welling asked.

“The mother of the rat I dragged in this morning. She . . .”

“Is the same mother of our eyewitness from yesterday. The one with whom you have a past history you said would not interfere with your duties.” This was said in his usual dry, flat tone, though there was the barest hint of humor in his voice.

“That’s the one,” Satrine said. “Is she here now?”

“She’s been here for two hours, actually. She’s down in the holding area screaming a fit.”

That amused Satrine. “Good.”

“The lieutenant down there is getting blazed up, though,” Phillen said. “He doesn’t want to deal with her, but he can’t do anything until you go down and sign off on her leaving. Unless a captain or protector gets involved.”

That wouldn’t do. Protector Hilsom already seemed to have it in for her. And as Welling had already said, it wouldn’t take much for her probationary status to be wrecked.

“I’ll be right back, Welling.”

“I’ll be here,” he said. He was fully focused on his slateboards. That was a good sign he had moved past his crisis and was back on task.

The holding area was on the ground floor, a series of small cells—some of them occupied—surrounding a central waiting room, where a red-faced Idre Hoffer was screaming at two desk officers.

“Are there any blazing charges? If he isn’t being charged then you let us both go or I will knock you so blazing hard—”

“I didn’t file charges yet, Missus Hoffer,” Satrine said. “Though I certainly could.”

“For what?” Idre spat out, turning on Satrine with beady, squinting eyes. The desk officers both released noticeable sighs of relief.

“Assault on a Constabulary page, for one. Assault on a Constabulary officer, namely myself, for another.”

“You’re the skirt inspector who hassled me yesterday,” Idre said. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Satrine asked. In the back of her brain, Satrine suddenly felt like a twelve-year-old girl again, cornered in an abandoned flat, about to get her face beat in again. Like a mouse, she was ready to run for the door.

“I ain’t done anything to you, skirt. Why are you hassling me and mine?”

Satrine bit her lip to not laugh in Idre’s face. “Ain’t done anything” indeed. If this woman only knew.

“I didn’t know I was hassling yours, Missus Hoffer. Your son there was leading a gang of boys beating on a page, which I broke up.”

“She means she shot me!” the boy yelled from inside his cell. His wound had been patched up, and he was flailing both arms around with enough energy that he didn’t seem seriously impaired.

“You’re fine,” Satrine said. “You’re lucky I’m a good shot.”

“Fine, then,” Idre said. “Charge the little rat. Let me get home.” She made for the door.

“Missus Hoffer!” Satrine said. “If I charge your son,
he’s sure to be convicted and send to Quarrygate for . . . how long?” She addressed the question to the two desk officers.