Ghost Hunter (22 page)

“Was he high on drugs? It wouldn't be the first time in the history of the world that a vice cop got involved with the vice he was supposed to be investigating.”

“I don't know.” Doreen grimaced and then sucked in a painful breath. “I swear it was as if he'd had a personality transplant. He had always been so smooth, so cool. But yesterday he was a sex-crazed thug. When I fought back,
he started beating me. He's a lot bigger and stronger, and I'm sure he would have raped me, but for some reason, he suddenly seemed to get nervous. I got the impression he was scared of hanging around here, like something terrible would happen if he didn't leave right away.”

“What did he say?”

“Among other things, he told me that if I breathed a word about what had happened to anyone, let alone went to the police, he would come back and slit my throat.” Doreen shuddered. “I believed him.”

A sex-crazed thug. Elly thought about that.

The medics had said that Stuart Griggs had likely been dead for a couple of hours by the time she found him. If he had been murdered with blue dissonance energy, as Cooper believed, the killer might well have melted amber to accomplish his goal. That meant that shortly afterward he would have been consumed by a very intense case of lust.

A killer in the grip of a serious amber meltdown might attempt rape. But he would be operating within a very narrow window of opportunity. It was only a matter of time before he started to sink into a heavy sleep, and he would not want to do that while he was near his victim.

“Doreen, please think carefully. Exactly when did the bastard come here?”

Doreen's face puckered up in close contemplation. “Somewhere around three. Right after the mail was delivered. Why?”

“Stuart Griggs died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon. I found the body at about four.”

“The florist up the street?” Doreen frowned in surprise. “He's dead? I heard the sirens, but I was in such bad shape that I didn't even bother to look out the window.”

“Which explains why you weren't in the crowd of onlookers with the rest of us when they brought the body out.”

“I don't understand. What does Griggs's death have to do with what happened to me?”

“I'll tell you later. Did you see which way the bastard went when he left here?”

Doreen shook her head. “No. I really thought that he was going to kill me. I was amazed, frankly, when he didn't. If he hadn't gone into that panic mode, I think you'd have found my body today.”

He couldn't have gone far after the attack on Doreen, not if he was plunging into a post–amber meltdown burn, Elly thought. He would have needed at least a few hours of deep sleep. Odds were, he had gone to ground somewhere in the Old Quarter.

“You should have called me,” Elly said, opening another cupboard to look for the tea.

“I was too scared. All I could think of was that if I told anyone, he would find out somehow and come back to kill me. He's a cop, Elly. He could get away with it.”

“He's not going to get away with anything.”

Doreen wiped her eyes. “What do you mean?”

There was no canister of tea in the next cupboard either. Elly gave up in frustration. “Oh, the hell with making the tea. Let's go back to my apartment. I'll make some there. I need to call Cooper, anyway, and I'd rather do it on my own phone. Yours might be bugged or something.”

“Bugged?”

“You said he was a cop.”

“Yes, but why would he bug my phone?”

“How should I know? He's a cop. They do stuff like that.”

Elly started to close the cupboard door, but the sight of the bottle on the top shelf stopped her cold. She looked at it, unable to tear her eyes away from the label.

“Doreen?” she said very quietly.

“Yes?”

“Since when did you start drinking Founders Reserve scotch?”

“What? Oh, the scotch.” Doreen winced. “I don't drink it. Can't afford it, even if I did like the taste, which I don't. You know me, I'm a cheap wine spritzer kind of gal.”

Elly swallowed hard. “So who gave you the Founders Reserve?”

“He brought it here. Said he wanted to have it on hand whenever he came to see me. He was very particular about it. Why?”

“Dear heaven.”

Elly slammed the cupboard door and whirled around. “We've got to get out of here. Right now.”

“Are you kidding? I can't go outside looking like this. I'm not even dressed.”

“Put on an overcoat and a pair of shoes. You've got to hurry, Doreen.”

Doreen got slowly to her feet. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

Elly grabbed Rose and rushed into the hall. She opened the closet door and yanked a knee-length purple coat off a hanger. When she got back into the kitchen she saw that Doreen was starting to respond.

“Okay, I'm not arguing.” Doreen took the coat and followed Elly down the stairs. “Guess I'm still too scared to be logical.”

“Faster,” Elly said. She led the way across the shadowed shop, fighting back a tide of panic.

She yanked open the front door and paused a few precious seconds to check the street.

Nothing moved that she could see. She glanced at Rose, who appeared unalarmed.

Heartened, she led the way across the street, fishing for her key.

“Why the sudden panic?” Doreen asked, watching anxiously as Elly rezzed the lock on the door of her shop.

“I used to date a man who drank only Founders Reserve scotch,” Elly said. “He was very particular about it.”

“What was his name?”

“Palmer Frazier.”

“But the guy who did this to me was named Jake Monroe.”

“That's the name he gave you.” Elly shoved open the door, ushered Doreen inside, and whirled around to yank the shades down in the front windows. “No wonder he didn't want you to introduce him to me.”

It dawned on her that Doreen had gone absolutely silent behind her and that Rose was growling softly in her ear.

With a sickening sense of dread, she turned around.

A man loomed in the shadow-filled doorway of the back room. He had a pistol in his hand.

“Eldora St. Clair, you are under arrest for the possession and sale of illegal para-psychoactive substances,” Grayson De Witt said.

“STUART GRIGGS WAS A JORDAN'S JUNGLE FANATIC.”
Benjamin Bodkin peered at Cooper over the rims of a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses. “Did a bit of small-time business with him over the years, the occasional journal, that sort of thing. But he could never afford the expensive items. Not until fairly recently, that is.”

Bodkin's Rare Books was a dimly lit space saturated with the unmistakable aroma of old volumes. The shelves went from floor to ceiling on every wall. They were crammed with books of all sizes, shapes, and descriptions. Under other circumstances, Cooper thought, he could have spent hours here browsing the collection.

Bodkin, himself, went very well with his bookshop. He was comfortably plump and rumpled, with a shrewd, scholarly air.

“When did the situation change?” Cooper asked.

“A couple of months ago Griggs called and said he knew that there were three copies of Jordan's herbal in private
collections. He asked me to approach the three collectors and see if any of them would be willing to sell. One proved willing, and I handled the transaction.”

“How much did he pay for the herbal?” Cooper asked.

“Far too much.” Bodkin snorted, removed his glasses, and started to polish the lenses with his handkerchief. “What can I say? To most collectors the herbal is merely an expensive oddity, but to a true Jordan's Jungle buff, it is the Holy Grail of herbals and therefore no price is too high.”

“Where do you think he got the money this time?” Cooper asked.

Bodkin was clearly amused. “That, sir, is a question that I never ask my clients. All I can tell you is that sometime during the past few months, Stuart Griggs must have come into an inheritance.”

MORE LIKELY GRIGGS HAD TURNED TO DEALING DOPE TO
pay for his lifelong search for Jordan's Jungle, Cooper thought on the way back to where he had parked the Spectrum. But it was unlikely that the sophisticated business techniques required to run a successful drug ring were taught in horticulture school.

According to the research he had done, the history of chant on the streets of Cadence had altered significantly over time. It had been little more than a trickle in the Old Quarter for a couple of years, virtually ignored by the authorities, who had bigger problems on their hands. Then, sometime during the past few months, the drug had suddenly exploded into a headline-grabbing issue.

It seemed probable that the rumor Benny and Joe had heard was correct. Griggs had acquired a partner in recent months, an entrepreneur who had seen the full potential of the enchantment dust business and figured out how to take a small, one-man drug operation into the big time.

Cooper's phone rezzed just as he was getting into the Spectrum.

“This is Boone,” he said.

“Ormond Ripley, here. I've got some surveillance tapes that I think you might want to look at.”

“I'm on my way.”

ELLY RATTLED THE HANDCUFF THAT CHAINED HER RIGHT
wrist to the chair. “We want our lawyers.”

“Yeah, we know our rights,” Doreen said icily. Her wrist was fastened to the chair on the opposite side of the table.

Grayson DeWitt scowled at them. He had taken up a post at the kitchen window where he could keep watch on the alley. His elegant, silver-and-gray pin-striped jacket was draped neatly over the back of a chair. The sleeves of a white-on-white, hand-tailored shirt were rolled up high on his forearms, revealing an expensive looking wristwatch. The silvery metal grip of the gun tucked into the handmade shoulder holster matched the suit and looked like a custom design.

“You'll get your lawyers,” Grayson said. “Right after Cooper Boone shows up. If it's any comfort to you ladies, he's the one I'm after.”

Rose rumbled softly. Elly gripped her tightly with her free hand, trying to convey with voice and body language
the idea that taking a bite out of the detective was probably not a good idea.

Rose seemed to have gotten the message. She was obviously seriously annoyed, but she had settled down to a semifluffed state with only her daylight eyes showing.

“What makes you think Cooper will return here any time soon?” Elly asked.

“If he doesn't come back, I guess you'll have to take the fall for him.” Grayson's media-bright smile did not reach his eyes. “But I've got a hunch he'll show up. There's a fortune in chant down in the trunk of your car. Can't see him walking away from it.”

Doreen made a disgusted little sound. “This is all about you making yourself even more famous by bringing down a Guild boss, isn't it?”

“The chiefs of the Guilds have gotten away with murder, literally in some cases, ever since the organizations were founded,” Grayson said in righteous tones. “The bosses think they don't have to live by the same rules as everyone else. Slapping one in prison on dope charges will be a wake-up call to the others.”

“Doreen's right,” Elly said. “This isn't about bringing the Guild bosses in line. It's all about your image as a heroic crime-fighter. I don't think Cooper was your initial target. First you went after Ormond Ripley. Arresting him would have given you some real splashy press. But you screwed that up, big-time, didn't you? So now you're going to try to take down a visiting small-town Guild boss.”

“Not like he'd have the guts to go after the local Guild chief,” Doreen sneered. “He knew he couldn't touch Mercer Wyatt in his own town.”

“That's enough,” Grayson snapped. “Boone may not be the most powerful Guild boss in the City-State Federation, but he's a boss, nevertheless. When he goes down, people are going to notice.”

Elly changed position slightly in the chair, trying to ease the growing stiffness in her right shoulder. “Tell me, where does Palmer Frazier fit into this?”

To her surprise a faintly baffled frown crossed Grayson's square-jawed features. “Who in green hell is Palmer Frazier?”

“I'll give you a few clues,” Elly said, watching him closely. “He's tall, good-looking, sandy-haired, and dresses as well if not better than you do. When I knew him he always wore an amber-and-black-steel watch made by Luchane. And he drinks only Founders Reserve scotch.”

Doreen stiffened a little in her chair. Her eyes widened.

Grayson shook his head impatiently. “I don't know who you're talking about.”

He was telling the truth, Elly thought. What was going on here?

“I can't help but notice that you're doing a great job of watching the alley,” she said after a couple of minutes of silence. “Going to be a bit awkward if Cooper comes back in through the front door, isn't it?”

“I've got men on the rooftops on Ruin Lane and overlooking both ends of the alley,” Grayson said, sounding coolly satisfied. “No way Boone can return without being seen.”

So much for hoping that Grayson was working alone, Elly thought glumly.

Doreen studied Grayson. “How did you find out that Cooper Boone had stashed drugs here in Elly's car?”

Grayson shrugged. “The usual way. An informant tipped me off.”

“Would that be the same helpful, reliable informant who sent you into The Road to the Ruins to search for a drug stash?” Elly asked brightly.

Grayson's excellently hewn jaw clenched. “My informant has been one hundred percent accurate all along. Something went wrong the other night at The Road.”

“It sure did,” Elly said. “Just like it's going to go wrong again today.”

“I've been thinking about the raid,” Grayson continued softly. “It's not beyond the realm of possibility that Boone and Ripley are partners in the drug distribution ring. Maybe you'd know something about that, Miss St. Clair?”

Elly raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Get real, DeWitt. Your problem is your informant, whoever he is. He's manipulating you. Can't you see that?”

Grayson's expression solidified. “If you had any sense, you'd start spilling whatever you know about Boone. Sure, you're sleeping with the guy but, trust me, he won't repay you by protecting you. Drug dealers only care about their own hides.”

Elly opened her mouth to argue, but she closed it again very quickly when Doreen uttered an anguished groan and dropped her forehead down onto a bent arm.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Doreen said.

“My friend needs a doctor,” Elly said. “You can see she's been badly hurt.”

Grayson glanced absently at Doreen. “She'll live. Those bruises are a day old. If she wanted a doctor, she should have gone to the emergency room yesterday.”

“Thank you for your sympathy,” Doreen muttered without raising her head.

Grayson lounged against the window frame. “What happened to you, anyway? Looks like you got beat up by your boyfriend.”

Doreen did lift her head at that. She glared at him wordlessly.

“So that's it.” Grayson shook his head in disgust. “You two ladies run with some real bad company, don't you? One of you has a boyfriend who beats her, and the other,” he switched his gaze to Elly, “has a guy who gets her involved in a major drug peddling operation.”

“Cooper is not dealing drugs,” Elly said fiercely.

“The thing you should know is that drug dealers don't appreciate loyalty in a woman. Hell, they don't appreciate anything except the profits they make off the crap that they sell.” Grayson smiled a humorless smile. “Boone found a real winner in you, didn't he? I'll bet you're the one who cooked up the dope for him, aren't you? We knew there had to be an expert botanist or chemist involved in this thing. It isn't that easy to make chant out of the psi-bright herbs. Not the kind of thing you do on a kitchen stove, that's for sure.”

“If you found dope in my car it's because someone put it there to implicate Cooper and me,” she said icily.

Fury leaped in his eyes. “I don't plant fake evidence, Miss St. Clair.”

She shrugged. “Then it must have been your informant.”

He snorted. “Oddly enough, I hear lines like that a lot from people in your situation all the time. It's known as the SODDI defense.”

“What's the SODDI defense?”

“Stands for ‘some other dude did it,' ” Grayson said dryly.

“If you don't believe that your informant is manipulating you, how do you explain the screwup at The Road the other night?” Elly asked. “Think maybe you've got a leak in your elite little band of intrepid detectives?”

“It's a possibility,” he said. “When this is over, I'll find it.”

“Maybe it's your tailor.” Elly studied his elegantly draped trousers. “Next time you're in the dressing room getting fitted, you might want to watch what you say.”

Doreen gave a choked cough that turned into a hoarse groan. She put her head back down onto her arm.

Grayson looked at her, irritated. “Now what?”

“I've got a bad headache, and it's getting worse. I think maybe I'm going to throw up.”

Grayson's sculpted features tightened in an expression of deep unease. He was no doubt considering the potential damage to his beautifully shined shoes, Elly thought.

Doreen moaned.

Elly looked at Grayson. “I have some herbs downstairs that will ease her headache and calm her stomach.”

Grayson hesitated.

Doreen put her hand on her stomach. “Oh, geez, I feel so bad.”

“Please let me fix her a tisane,” Elly said to Grayson. “We're going to be sitting here a very long time. Cooper isn't due back for hours.”

“Yeah?” Grayson appeared interested. “Where did he go?”

“To talk to some people,” she said vaguely.

“Someone else involved in the drug dealing?”

“No,” she snapped. “I told you, he's got nothing to do with the drugs you claim you found in my car.”

Doreen sat up quickly and clutched her stomach. She swallowed visibly.

Grayson backed farther away from her. “Stop it. I'm warning you, if you get sick—”

Doreen wrapped one arm around her midsection and rocked back and forth in the chair, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Damn it.” With an air of sudden decision, Grayson yanked a key out of his pocket and de-rezzed the handcuff that chained Elly to her chair.

“We're going downstairs to get those herbs you said would help her,” he said roughly. “I swear, if you make any attempt to escape, you'll regret it.”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” Elly stood cautiously and put Rose on her shoulder.

The dust bunny watched Grayson very intently as they went down the staircase and into the front room of the shop.

“Does your dust bunny bite?” Grayson asked.

“No, of course not,” Elly said, opening an herb jar. “She's just a little thing, and she's very friendly. I'm not saying she wouldn't nip your finger if you provoked her, but she couldn't do much damage.”

“I can see why they call them dust bunnies. Looks like something that rolled out from under the bed.”

Elly ignored that and concentrated on measuring out the herbs.

When she had filled one packet, she sealed the jar, opened another one, and scooped some of the contents into a second packet.

“That's all I need for the tisane,” she announced, putting the lid back on the second jar.

“Let's go.”

Doreen raised her head when Elly, Grayson behind her, walked back into the room.

“Hurry,” Doreen said hoarsely. “I'm feeling worse by the minute.”

“I'll brew these up as fast as I can.” Elly set the herbs on the counter and reached for the kettle. “But first I have to make some rez-root tea.”

Grayson suddenly looked interested. “Got any coffee?”

“No.” She opened the canister of rez-root tea. “I don't drink coffee. I prefer this, instead. It has a similar effect, though. The herbs I'm preparing for Doreen work best when mixed with a stimulant-based beverage. It's an old trick with analgesics.” She reached for a teapot. “Mind if I make some extra tea for myself?”

“No.” He turned back to the window. “Make some for me, too, while you're at it. I'd rather have coffee, but I'll take what I can get. Looks like it's going to be a long wait.”

“Is there a rule somewhere that says innocent prisoners have to make tea for the guys who arrest them?”

“Just make the damn tea, okay?”

“Whatever you say.” She took three mugs down out of a cupboard and got busy spooning tea into the pot. “Although, I must say, if I were you, I'm not sure I'd want to drink any brew that had been made by a suspected drug dealer.”

Grayson chuckled. “As long as you're drinking the same tea, it should be safe.”

“I can't wait much longer,” Doreen whispered in a tortured voice.

“Just a few more minutes,” Elly promised, opening one of the packets.

The water came to a boil. She poured it quickly over the tea leaves, filling the glass pot.

While she waited for the tea to steep, she opened the cookie jar, took out one of Mrs. Kim's peanut butter and chocolate chip specials, and gave it to Rose.

“Are those chocolate chip?” Grayson asked, watching Rose nibble at the cookie.

“With peanut butter,” Elly said. “One of my neighbors made them. They're Rose's favorite.”

“Are they real cookies or some kind of special dust bunny food?”

“They're real cookies. Rose eats human food.” She took another cookie out of the jar and bit into it.

“Ugh.” Doreen turned her face away. “I can't watch.”

“Tea's ready,” Elly said brightly.

She poured the brew into two of the mugs, leaving the third mug empty.

She took a pinch of herbs out of one of the packets and dropped them into Doreen's mug. “I think I'll have some, too.” She sprinkled herbs into her own mug, “I can feel a headache coming on. Must be the stress.”

She carried the mugs to the table and set them down.

“Drink it slowly,” she warned. “It's very hot.”

“Thanks.” Doreen pulled the mug toward her and inhaled the aroma. “Wonderful. Just what I needed.”

To Elly's dismay, Grayson handcuffed her right wrist to the chair again.

Satisfied that she was secured, he crossed to the counter, picked up the teapot, and filled the third mug. Without asking permission, he helped himself to a cookie.

Rose muttered ominously.

“Take it easy, lint ball,” Grayson said. Mug in hand, he went back to the window. “Plenty left for you. I haven't had anything to eat since I got the call this morning. That would have been sometime around three A.M.”

“Would that have been the call from Palmer Frazier informing you that he had another hot tip regarding the location of some illicit drugs?” Elly asked politely.