Bronze Gods (15 page)

“I have the address he gave me when I retained his services.” Delving in her bag, she withdrew a card and passed it across the table.

It was good quality, cottony paper, printed with plain black ink, and it suggested a man of superior taste and a no-nonsense nature.
OLIVER DINWIDDIE, PRIVATE SECURITY.
One final question, then, before she let Valerie Aevar go.

“Do hyacinth and acanthus mean anything to you?”

The woman raised an elegantly shaped brow. “Should they? They’re plants, I think, but otherwise . . .”

“Thank you for your time,” Mikani murmured.

Ritsuko realized she hadn’t touched her coffee, as they stood. On the way to the cruiser, she said, “What did you get from her?”

He waited until they were both in the vehicle to answer. “She’s holding herself together with a thread, guilt’s eating her up. She thinks if she hadn’t kept Cira’s secret, the girl would still be alive. And for all I know, that’s true.”

“Harsh.” But it brought home how one choice could change everything. With a faint sigh, she passed him the card so he could visualize the address. “Are you well?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It wasn’t pleasant, but it was far better than some crime scenes.”

“Your head—”

“I said I’m fine.”
Leave it,
his tone demanded.

“Then let’s go talk to Oliver Dinwiddie.”

Twenty minutes later, they were banging on his flat door. No answer. Mikani wore a queer, frozen look. Though she had no Ferisher blood, Ritsuko could sense something in the air as well, not quite a smell, but almost. Her skin crawled. She didn’t want to, but she tried the handle. The door was locked.

“Use the jimmy,” Mikani said. “We have reason to believe civilian life is at risk.”

She’d only deployed the thing one other time—to save an elderly woman who couldn’t get to the door. What awaited them inside here might be much worse. Ritsuko got the device out of her bag and set it between the door and the frame. It popped the door like the lid off a tin of beans, and the coppery tang of blood wafted toward them.

Footsteps sounded then, a silvery shatter of glass. “Mikani, there’s a runner.”

“I’m on it,” he called, already pounding down the steps toward the back alley.

A low gurgle from within the flat made her quicken her step. Using protocols that had become second nature, she secured the scene and found Dinwiddie on the floor beside his bed. Blood pooled dark beneath his body. She knelt, knowing it was too late for a med-wagon to save him. To her surprise, his eyelids fluttered open. Impending death dulled his sight, leaving the irises filmy. He clutched her forearm.

“It was him,” he rasped. “The man from the theater . . .”

“Toombs?”

“Too—” With a shudder, Dinwiddie died.

She searched the flat before Mikani strode in, more disheveled than usual. “Did you get him?”

“I saw him from the back,” he answered. “But no. The bastard ran down an alley, went over a fence, and by the time I hit the other side, he was long gone.”

“Could it have been Toombs?”

Mikani gave an angry shrug. “General height is right, I think, but it’s tough to be certain when someone’s running. He did have dark hair.”

“So does Toombs. Dinwiddie said, ‘It was him, the man from the theater,’ just before he died.”

“Sounds like confirmation to me,” Mikani said.

She fought down dread and nausea. “Between this and the model we found at his parents’ apartment, maybe Gunwood won’t kill us when we get back to HQ.”

Her partner seemed none too sure. “We were
this
close . . . and he got away. Somehow, I don’t think the commander will be too pleased with us.”

CHAPTER 14

A
S IT TURNED OUT,
M
IKANI WAS RIGHT.
I
WISH
I
WASN’T, THOUGH
.
His ears were still ringing from the peal the old man read over them once they reported in. Ritsuko looked as if she had been repeatedly kicked in the stomach—and he
hated
that expression on her. It made his fists curl though there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“You two are done, do you hear me?” Gunwood snarled.

Before the old man could continue the tirade, Shelton stuck his head in the office. “I hate to interrupt when Mikani’s getting what he deserves, but there’s an urgent message from Dispatch.”

Never thought I’d be glad to see
you
, bastard.
He glared at the weasel who had said such filthy things about Ritsuko until the thin man took a step back. At the moment, he wanted to pound Shelton all over again. His partner, Cutler, was nowhere to be found; he tended not to face Mikani if he could help it.

That suspension was entirely worth it.

“Let’s hear it,” Gunwood demanded.

“There’s been suspicious activity down in Landing Point. Some nosy neighbor, complaining about the construction noise, thinks we should check it out.” Then Shelton asked the commander, “Why don’t you let Cutler and me handle this? Isn’t it time to turn this case over to some real inspectors? This office is taking a real trouncing in public opinion because of the general incompetence of the fieldwork so far.” Shelton’s gaze flicked over Ritsuko, silently indicting her for the failure.

Mikani lazily popped the knuckles on his right hand. The other man shut up.

He could tell that Gunwood didn’t like Shelton any more than he did, but the old man was also pretty furious; he rapped the desk, contemplating. “Ritsuko, Mikani. You may as well go out there, get a preliminary picture of what we’re dealing with. But I’m
not
finished with the two of you.”

Excellent. Something to look forward to.
He had the self-control not to say it aloud. So Gunwood sent them back out, his scowl promising dire things on their return. Half an hour driving delivered them to the bay.
It doesn’t always reek like this, surely.
He stole a furtive glance at his partner, interviewing residents some distance away. Then he turned back to the street, frowning.

Around them, ancient buildings dominated the skyline. Four to six stories high, the blocky structures were dwarfed by an abandoned House enclave. Far beyond them, the jagged skyline of the city center glittered. Behind them, Landing Point docks stretched deep into the bay, masts and smokestacks swaying like a floating, man-made forest on the slow currents. The creak of timber and groans of metal carried far over the water. Mikani grimaced as a warm breath of wind eddied the effluvium of the place.

There’s fear here. And distrust. And they’re not used to it; this is the smell of sheep that know a wolf is near. And the whole damned thing is giving me a headache.

Down the block, men slouched against a wall, taking turns glancing their way. No one seemed happy, and the young men with Ritsuko were no exception. They wore sullen defiance in the same way as territorial colors, but he sensed something more, a seething rage. The muffled sounds of broadcasts rippled through the area—warnings of some kind.
That doesn’t bode well.
With a quiet sigh, Mikani turned back to the structure; a makeshift mezzanine joined the two buildings, erected in relatively recent times.

A uniformed officer strode up to them. “Inspectors, I think we may have a problem brewing. When we first found the body, a junior agent mentioned—”

“This will have to wait. Ready, Ritsuko?” Without turning around, Mikani cast the question over his shoulder. Something about the structure made him even more nauseous than the rich currents of rice, fish, and sweat all around him.

With a nod, Ritsuko detached herself from the group of youths who spoke little or no English. Her facility for languages was one of the reasons she’d been assigned to him initially; he had a hard time remembering things. It was the CID’s policy to pair agents who complemented each other, at least on paper.

“It’s showtime. Got your magic kit?”

“Minus the garlic necklaces. Stuff gives me stomach cramps . . . think I might be allergic.” Mikani led the way down toward the water. Along the shore, the darkness was as absolute as the stench. A far more real and cloying aroma, drifting from somewhere ahead, subdued the smell of fear.

For the first time in three years, Mikani drew his sidearm, seeking comfort in its weight. With his other hand, he raised his lantern, sending the light swaying. There were recent drag marks across the soft ground: scrapes, divots of churned earth where someone had dragged and pushed something big along the riverbank.

Despite the mild temperature, Ritsuko shivered beside him, her own weapon in hand. The silence bore the heaviness of graves, row upon row of stone, rooted in the ground beyond wind or time. His soft-soled shoes scraped as he followed the stopgap corridor; he passed through the maw into open air yet oddly, the atmosphere grew only more viscous. Decaying wood floors; green shoots that had pushed their way to the surface and from the dry summer and salt water lay in desiccated yellow tentacles. The sweetness of the air, more sickly than any flower, stung his senses.

They made their way on the creaking, protesting timbers to the farthest end of the building, though that word only loosely applied to such a structure; the stilts on which it teetered were half-rotten. With narrowed eyes, he skimmed the perimeter, turning slowly. Various primitive insignia marked the place as ritual ground, and at the far side, some sort of carpentry project seemed to be taking place.
Bricks, neatly stacked . . . and mortared? Scaffolding . . .
With a growing frown, he moved closer. At ten paces, he stopped dead, utterly motionless for a moment. Ritsuko’s face glowed pale in the lantern he swung her way, though she seemed otherwise in check.

“Think you better step this way, partner. We have a customer.”

“What did you—” She didn’t need to finish the question, once the light touched the scaffolding.

It was an open webwork of wood and steel in the vague outline of an inverted pyramid. Suspended in the center was a tall, copper cylinder. Mikani could guess what the shape was, but he knew he’d have to get closer. As he spoke, he moved. “Call the constable on duty. Have him call for a team and seal the place off.”

He would lay money on the table that Ritsuko was already taking care of it, but the words helped him focus as he approached. Mikani wished, idly, for a cigarillo to help with the smell. He did not grimace, though, as he reached the construct. The framework had been painstakingly crafted, each joint and beam buffed so that it shone in the green-tinged light.
The damned thing is familiar. Definitely the work of the same maniac.

Mikani turned his full attention to the reddish cylinder. Thick ropes wrapped around the tube and connected it to the heavy timber supports. A glass lens gleamed at the top.
Toombs must have ground the thing. There’s no store that carries giant lenses, as far as I know . . . although, if he had them made on order, we might have one hell of a break.
Mikani doubted the man had been that stupid, however, as he’d eluded capture for this long with the whole city searching for him.

He carefully clambered on the wooden supports and started to pry the lens loose, twisting and tugging it until it gave way. He slid the heavy glass lens away and down, letting it clatter with a loud and lingering ring on the wooden floor. He could see a figure inside the copper tube, filled to the brim with stagnant water.

She’d been bound at wrists and ankles to hooks bolted to the inner walls. The body was only slightly decomposed, her features still recognizable past the leather gag tightly bound to her face.
Bronze gods, Electra.

Mikani remembered the greetings they’d exchanged over the years, and this last time, she’d seemed truly troubled, offering to read his cards.
If I’d let her, would things be different?
He had been on his way to talk to Saskia, no time for an acquaintance. His whole body clenched in futile regret.
I’m so sorry, Summer Girl.
This time, using his gift felt both awful and inevitable, knowledge he had to have but didn’t want.

She was terrified when she died . . . that’s not just rigor mortis, and it was slow enough that she knew what was happening.
As Mikani ran the tips of his fingers along the slick metal, he heard the faint echo of her final moments.
Terror and anger; an echoing plea of Why?
With a muttered oath, he withdrew his hand and stepped away.

“Better get the boys in here.” His voice sounded strained.

There was no trace of the killer, again. As if whoever had done it was a clockwork man or so detached as to be inhuman. Sometimes he wondered if Ritsuko had some trace of a gift because, as the ache intensified, she crossed to his side and set a hand on his shoulder. The touch felt good, and Mikani fought the alien urge to turn into her arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked comfort of anyone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

He swallowed hard, and into the silence, he said, “I knew her.”

I failed her.

•   •   •

R
ITSUKO FROZE.
I
F
one of Mikani’s women is inside that tube . . .

She started establishing his alibi before she even realized what she was doing. “From where?”

Mikani slapped the side of the cylinder. “It’s Electra. From the café. I saw her . . . a week or so ago?” He stepped away, pacing a tight pattern. “She was trying to make her own way, proving a point to her father.”

She experienced a surge of relief. Someone he saw casually, bought coffee from, that would require a lot less explaining than someone he knew . . . intimately. It was bad enough he had any acquaintance with the victim at all. Gunwood, she imagined, would not be delighted with this development.

He faced her, drawing a deep breath. She hadn’t seen him this upset before; he seemed on the verge of racing off to hunt Toombs like a dog. The fury she saw in him alarmed her, as it might prove difficult to restrain. She ran her hand from his shoulder down his back.
Like I’m trying to tame him.
Then, consciously, because she remembered how it affected him at the bar, she smoothed her palm back up and cupped his nape.

“Anything I can do?”

He tensed against her fingers, trembling for a long moment as he seemed to slowly and painfully gather himself. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded almost normal. “Make sure I don’t kill him when we catch him.” He smiled wryly. “I’d rather that he suffers for a while, first.”

“I won’t let you throw your life away. Don’t think you’d fare well on the penal farms anyway. Too many familiar faces.” Before she could decide what to add, pounding footsteps made her turn.

Ritsuko dropped her hand from Mikani as the officer raced up to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Inspectors, but, well, that girl’s not going anywhere, and the docks are—”

A loud crash from the street beyond drowned out the rest of the constable’s sentence. Mikani glanced at Ritsuko before heading to the exit. The tumult of a growing mob grew louder as they raced back the way they’d come. Breaking glass was unmistakable, followed by the rush of running feet.

They arrived to a rolling roar and a sea of bodies packed in the narrow alleys. The crowd charged the thin line of uniformed men doing their best to hold them back; a few of the younger officers looked terrified. What made Ritsuko nervous, though, was the burgeoning anger in some of the veteran constables.

They’ll start pushing back soon, and it’ll spiral out of control.

Mikani followed her gaze and seemed to glean what she was thinking. He squeezed her arm. “See if you can get our people to cool off. I’ll try and defuse it from the other side.” He nodded toward a vocal knot of men near the center of the line. They were all garbed in the bright and eclectic style of the Summer Clan, the eldest among them an obvious leader. Maybe even a patriarch, to judge from the way his men held both constables and mob away from him. “Hope I don’t have to promise your hand in marriage to pacify them.” Before she could answer, he pushed his way toward the center of the crowd.

“What’s your name, Officer?” She used her most stentorian tone on the broad-shouldered man in his early forties. His cap was askew as he brandished his club at the crowd lunging toward the do-not-cross line.

“Clemmens, ma’am. I think we might need to contact the Council. I don’t know if we have the manpower to contain this.” His voice was barely audible between the smashing of windows and the mad growling of the mob.

“Have you sent someone to the nearest mirror station?”

“Not yet. There’s nobody in charge, no orders—”

“Free somebody up, send him to notify Dispatch that we need reinforcements as fast as they can send them, or we might lose this sector for days.”