At the Behest of the Dead (5 page)

Of course
, they set this little forgetfulness aside when it comes to taxes.

“It started a week ago when we found the first body. This is pretty gruesome stuff – uh, are you okay around blood and stuff?”

“I think I can handle it.” And I thought I could. Then she pulled a brown envelope from an inner pocket and dumped a small stack of photos into her hand. Next she laid seven or eight pictures out on the counter.

The victims had died in pain and horror. They were not so much ripped open as shredded. One victim was a man around t
wenty-five. A big guy that looked liked he could have worked construction. One of his arms was missing and great gashes ran the length of his torso where his guts had been pulled out. Someone had tried to be polite and push the things back in. But ropy masses, like snakes crawling through blood, protruded from his stomach. His throat was missing and I suspected that was only to shut him up when his screams drove the attacker crazy.

The detective was right. These weren’t knife wounds.

The next victim was a woman in her sixties. Judging by the wounds on her back, someone or something had flipped her over and torn out her spine. There was a pool of blood around her form. The attacker had pulled her head back and slammed it into the ground. The attacker was very powerful judging by the protruding brain matter. I didn’t think someone dropped from a building would show that much damage.

The last photo was of a pair of kids
, and if they were teens I’d be surprised. A boy and a girl who were probably lovely except their faces were missing. I had seen enough.

“This wasn’t done by a person.”

“We know. It’s like a bear or a cougar attacked them.” She paused and took another sip, hand shaking as she set the glass down on the countertop. I couldn’t tell if it was from her addiction or from the pictures. Surely a hardened detective was used to stuff like this. Then again I never got used to it and I worked with the dead.

“That’s not a bear attack. I wish Doc w
asn’t working at the necropolis. I bet he’d know right off.”

“Sorry? A doctor?”

“Doc. He’s an old necromancer that works near the cusp. He’s just about the oldest warlock I know. Older even than my teacher Salazar. He’s been studying dead stuff longer than some civilizations have been around.”

“Think we could get him?”

“You have a better chance of getting a true reading out of that psychic you mentioned. Doc doesn’t do freelance.”

I had a
nother suspicion. If a demon were involved--and I certainly wouldn’t put that out of the realm of possibility considering the night I’d had--the wounds would have been much cleaner. When a demon, the real thing, struck, it was with lethal but exacting force. Sure they could be cruel and play with a victim like a cat with a plump mouse, but they were normally instructed to be about their task and then return to their realm.

Lucky for me the demon from last night was a push over. The kind of push over that almost killed
me. Heavy on the word ‘almost.’

“So you
don’t think it’s a human killer? It may be something from the,” she stifled a cough, “other side.”

“From the other side?” I raised my hand and gestured theatrically. “Could be
, but I hope, for our sake, it isn’t. Trust me, detective, you don’t want anything from beyond the cusp on this side.”

“That’s why we came to you
to find out, and to explain this stuff to us. We want to hire you in an unofficial capacity. Look over the crime scene, do your – well whatever you do--and then tell us what you find.” She talked as if I had already taken the job.

On one hand
, it would be great to get some press around the police station, to show that we warlocks weren’t something to scare the kiddies at night. It would be a real coup if I could solve the case and everyone went home happy. Problem was I didn’t trust the authorities one bit. I had no doubt they would use me and toss me aside once they brought the beast down.

If the attacker was what I thought it was, it had to be stopped anyway
, so it would be refreshing to do it under the guise of fighting crime.

“How much?” I asked while the wheels in my head spun.

“How much?”

“I don’t work for free.”

“Oh, sorry, of course. What do you normally charge?”

“Five hundred a day. You pay for
any glamours and ingredients if I need to make potions. I provide all my own spells and I work alone.” Wow, did that last bit ever sound cliché. The fact was I didn’t always work alone, but in this case having a cop around would be more of a danger to her. One misplaced toss of a potion, or a cowboy who thought he could take on a netherworld beastie, and it could be curtain calls.

“That much? There’s a psychic that works near the downtown branch. She said she would do it for a hundred a day.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maureen
Rielly. Why?”

“Because I never heard of her, that’s why. All you’ll be is out a couple of hundred bucks and in for a few bad leads.”

“Who’s to say you’re any different?” she asked me point blank. “I’ve seen magicians make rabbit’s disappear.”

“Like
I said, you want parlor tricks you came to the wrong place. I’m a certified warlock with a calling in necromancy. That kind of talent doesn’t come cheap, my dear. And I’m about as real as it gets.” I didn’t tell her that I’d probably have to cut my ‘agent’ Carlisle in on the money so I had padded the amount to cover him.

“Let me guess. Y
ou are the best, and we should pay your exorbitant fees in the hope you lead us to the killer.” She stuttered at the end of the sentence, probably unsure what to call my line of work.

“I am good at what I do. Some might call me the best.” Well some that actually liked me. The rest of the guild was more likely to spit at the sound of my name. They were an u
ptight bunch with long memories. I wasn’t the first to go into business for himself, but I was one of the highest profiled. My rates took into account a certain amount of danger. It meant I would more than likely have to launch a full investigation, which would involve a little necro-magic. Dark stuff, but calling up traces of the dead was my true specialty. Humans didn’t trust us. Other warlocks didn’t trust
necros
. It was lose-lose for me.

“Ok
ay, I’ll see if I can authorize it. When can you get started?”

“As soon as you get it authorized.”

“Right, of course. How do I get ahold of you?”

“You prick your left
index finger and splash the blood in the air and say my name three times, then once backwards. I will arrive within moments.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yes I am.”

She burst out laughing and her shoulders unclenched for the first time since she’d arrived. I wrote down my phone number and she slipped it into her pocket.

“Can I keep the pictures?”

“Mind if I ask what you want them for? Please don’t tell me it’s for some weird occult stuff.”

“It’s for some not so weird occult stuff.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh, I don’t know if you think this is a joke
, but people are dying out there.”

“I apologize, d
etective. I’ve been around death for most of my life and it’s given me a morbid sense of humor.”

She studied me for a moment so I studied her back. Jokes aside
, I wondered if it would be worth risking a potion on her. I tossed the thought away immediately. The only thing worse than a woman scorned is a woman fucked with.

“I need them back. T
hey aren’t exactly evidence but they belong in a file.” She sighed and handed them over. “These are copies, but don’t lose them or it’s my ass.”

“Now that would be a crime.”

She sniffed and looked away.

I carefully placed the photos back in the envelope and studied it for a moment. Murders like this weren’t good for tourism and it made sense that they would want to get to the bottom of them as soon as possible.

“Detective, can I ask you a quick question about a different case?”

“If I can talk about it. Sure.” She put her stony face on
, which was a real shame.

“I’m helping
Thora Whitfield. You may not know the case, but her husband was murdered at Alear Park in Auburn. I went out to find a trace last night but came up blank. Any chance you can do me a solid and tell me what happened? She’s an older lady and I think she might have been confused about some of the facts.”

Andrew
s produced an actual pad of paper with a tiny spiral ring at the top. She extracted a pencil stub and jotted down some words. I wondered why she didn’t use some kind of electronic device. Were the police more behind the times than me?

“Whitfield you said?”

“Right. Thora.”

“Strange. I didn’t hear about a case. I’ll check the computer for you if you give me a minute.”

“Sure. And I wouldn’t expect you to know every case in King County.”

“That’s just it. I work homicide so I would know about it. Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

It did for me, though. The wrong bell.

I showed the detective out. She didn’t even look annoyed at the fresh deluge that pelted the ground. I held my hand out to gather a handful of water in my left hand, leaned over and blew on it, muttered a few words
, then poured the water into my right hand. It was easy when I wasn’t running for my life and had energy to spare.

Andrews stopped and craned her neck upward and marveled as the rain fell in a circle but didn’t touch her. She shook her
head and got into her car. The rain haze followed and continued to form a perfectly dry halo. Was I showing off?

Maybe a little bit.

She sat for a few minutes, typing on a computer mounted to the dash.

The detective walked back to my door and shook her head. She left her jacket in the car this time.
Andrews tapped the pencil stub on her notebook but kept glancing up at the sky, which continued to rain all around her.

“Neat trick.”

“I have my moments.”

“I don’t know where you heard about a murder because nothing went down at the park.”

“That can’t be right.” I scratched my head.

“Trust me,
Phineas. There was no murder at the park.”

“But the woman was
so …” So what? so convincing?

“Sounds like someone got a hex placed on them. That’s what they’re called, right?”

“Funny, detective.”

She nodded
and handed me a card. It had her name, department, and phone number on the front. I flipped it over and saw an address near Pioneer Square in Seattle.

“I got your authorization for one day. When can you be there?”

“Call it five. You guys like the nightlife, right?”

“Yeah. We like to boogie
.”

“Hey
, detective. If I give you this woman’s name can you run her for me? You know, tell me if she has any priors.”

“I’m one of the best detectives in Seattle and my skills don’t come cheap, Phineas.” She grinned and turned away.

When she was halfway to her car I reversed the spell.

“Asshole!” She spun and y
elled before dashing for her vehicle, but it did turn her shirt into something form fitting. I settled for the cheap thrill.

**

I tried to wrap my head around the case. I knew it wasn’t a demon and I knew it wasn’t a man. Sure someone could construct some claws that would emulate what I suspected, some sick Freddy Krueger shit, but this was made by something less exact. These wounds were done in anger, not for need. Not as part of a hunt.

I flipped the pictures out and looked them over. I lined them up by date and then studied each one, looking for clues. There wasn’t much to go on so I probed deeper, tried to get a feel for the images on the paper. I sought out any hint of a soul, any last residue that might remain after death. It’s better to look at a body up close, to study the wounds and taste the essence of the person who passed on
, but sometimes I can fake it.

This was not one of those times. Any residue would need to be extracted at the source.

I gathered them up, put them back in the envelope, and went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later the dog started barking so I had to go rescue it from Bilbo.

**

I buzzed Carlisle before heading out.

“I got a job in Seattle.
”

“What
kinda job? I didn’t send no job.”

“I know. The cops came to me.”

“Cops! What the hell are you running, Cavanaugh?”

“Would you quit the
hardass act and listen to me for a second?”