Stone Chameleon (Ironhill Jinn #1) (12 page)

I
made an encompassing gesture around the room as I paced between the table and the place on the white linoleum floor where I’d laid out my own shots.

“What am I missing, Harper? I can’t find a shred of a pattern in any of this.” Most of the actual crime scene photos were just masses of black blood—indicating the victims were all starving at the time of their deaths—thinned by the water surrounding the bodies, which obscured everything that may have lain beneath.

“Isaac must have a lot of enemies,” I said. “Perhaps someone is trying to take Ironhill from his hold?” I didn’t know how to feel about that. Although he was a pain in the rear, I’d rather deal with the grouchy devil I knew than the one I didn’t.

Harper sat cross-legged on the floor, holding two of my shots in her hands. She’d emptied her snack supply an hour ago, and her drooping posture suggested she needed more soon. Gerry had gone out to grab lunch, because his stomach wouldn’t stop growling, and I was taking far too long, according to his grumbling.

“I don’t know, Lou. I don’t see a blasted thing that isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Her lashes drooped over her eyes. “I can’t believe that dead arsehole still thinks you had something to do with this after all you’ve done for him and the hive over the last decade.”

“I’m sure there’s pressure on him from the vampire council to solve this, and I seem to be the only commonality between the victims and locations.” I halted and stared beyond the white wall, lost in my own thoughts, my muscles hardening at the dark path those thoughts took.  “Maybe I’ve been thinking about this entirely wrong. First instincts are usually right.”

Harper leapt to her feet in a graceful manner, like a cat springing from a nap. “You can let me in on it anytime.”

“Sorry, just thinking it through. I had a thought in the sewer the other day, when circumstances forced me on alone, because you were injured and Dom had to get you to safety. What if this isn’t an attack on the hive at all, but an attempt to discredit me?”

Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a single person or group who might have had an issue that severe with me. I went to painstaking efforts to be politically correct. “Though it doesn’t explain why the perpetrator is targeting only vampires, nor why they’re starved before being killed.”

“Shiz, Lou. If that’s true, maybe someone’s starving them to piss of Fangface, so he’ll snap and kill you.”

“Thankfully, Isaac seems to have more control than that.” With renewed energy, I took up the square of floor Harper had vacated and stared at the river picture again. Instead of viewing it horizontally I turned it sideways, a trick I’d learned to give me a new perspective on something.

A tiny line in the cement caught my eye, one I’d first taken as a natural crack, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized how perfectly straight it was.

Without taking my eyes from the photo I said, “Harper, go and ask one of the officers if there’s a magnifying glass around.”

“Yep.” The door clicked shut behind her. Normally, she’d have grumbled when I sent her on an errand, but any excuse to flirt with the men in blue would suit her just fine. Not to mention they’d prefer to deal with a pretty elf than the monster whisperer.

To my extreme annoyance, she returned ten minutes later wearing a wide smile and cherry-red cheeks.

“What on earth were you doing out there?” I took the glass from her.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets, rocking forward and back in her knee-high black lace-up boots. Her tongue swept white powder from her lips. I was glad proximity to sugar didn’t affect me like ingesting it did. Otherwise, Harper would have been my kryptonite of sorts.

“Not much. Just making a date with the tasty Mike Copeland.”

I expelled a disgruntled breath and returned my attention to the photo through the magnifying lens. “Something isn’t right here.” My stomach twisted with hope. “Check the others to see if there’s a groove like this around where the bodies were found.”

On hands and knees, Harper inspected one of the pictures. She shook her head, but stopped. “No, wait.” She pointed to a spot on the image. “There is. Right there.”

I confirmed the small, straight groove in the pavement by the café, another in the packed dirt in the soy field—that one I found in the original photo of Gerry’s—and an identical one carved into the hardwood floor of the house, none much wider than the width of a fingernail and approximately four inches long.

“What do you suppose made them?” Harper asked, her narrow face scrunched up in concentration.

I considered options before speaking. “It looks like someone was testing the depth of a cutting instrument, a circular saw perhaps. But the blade had to be paper thin—not conducive to cutting through a vampire’s hardened bones with the speed they’d have to have done it in while I listened in the sewer. Not to mention I heard nothing other than his screaming. It couldn’t have been a saw, even a manual one, or I’d have known by the sound.”

My initial excitement at the find waned as Gerry returned, hauling a cavernous paper bag of food that wafted mouthwatering scents into the room. If Isaac wouldn’t consent to the autopsy, we might never know what made the marks, and my find would be meaningless.

Gerry halted, the bags swinging from his beefy fists. “Lordy. You’ve found something.”

“Jeez, Ger,” Harper said with mock exasperation, “don’t sound so surprised. This is Lou we’re talking about, not some rookie from Hanover.”

Grinning, he opened the door and motioned us out. “Yeah, I guess her spidey sense shouldn’t shock me anymore. Keep showing me up like this, and you’re gonna get my fat ass fired.” His tone suggested he might welcome that scenario, to set him free from where he’d come to rest beneath Isaac’s thumb. “Bring your pictures, and we’ll talk and eat next door. All we need is ketchup all over Isaac’s evidence.”

Around bites of my toasted western sandwich, I pointed out the slices of pavement, dirt, and hardwood to Gerry, who squinted at the finds.

“What do you suppose that is?” he asked through a mouthful of cheeseburger.

I reiterated my hypothesis of a saw blade, while grimacing at Harper’s so-called lunch Gerry had retrieved from the Seven-Eleven on the corner. Two slabs of maple fudge squished together with strawberry jam, like a sandwich. How did she eat that and not buzz around like a psychotic hummingbird?

I edged away from her, fighting my gag reflex, and focused on Gerry. “Do you know of any sort of power tool, human or otherwise, that could do that without making a sound? I’m betting the same tool was used on the one in the sewer, and I heard nothing but water moving.”

“You’re the expert on the other races, but every power tool I’ve ever seen makes a whole lot of noise, so if that’s what did this, then it has to be something magic. Fae, maybe, or one of the water races like the selkies or kelpies —maybe there’s one of them with a special ability to turn into a water monster we don’t know about?”

“I don’t know about the fae, but according to Dr. Courian, there is no water race that fits.” I sighed and finished chewing my bite of sandwich. “Do you see, now, why it’s so important for Isaac to let us examine at least one of the bodies?”

Having finished her monstrosity of a lunch, Harper moaned in pleasure and licked her lips. “My girl here knows what she’s talking about.”

Gerry let the last bit of his burger fall into the wrapper. “So you’re saying I won’t get any sleep tonight either, is that what I’m hearing?”

I gave his hand a sympathetic pat. “Tell him he either consents, or this investigation has nowhere to go. There are no witnesses to question, no physical evidence other than the water and the bodies. He’s angry enough about losing so many it may be enough to push him to acquiesce.”

“Acquiesce. Nice word.” He stood and collected his trash. “You make it sound like I’m off to ask him to join me for a round of golf.”

The image of Isaac swinging a golf club in his kilt induced a few chuckles that spread to the other two, who must have followed my line of thinking. Harper and I cleaned up after ourselves and followed Gerry into the hall.

“So you’ll talk to him tonight?” I stared down the squirming detective. “The longer we wait, the more the body will decay and the less we’ll discover. Tell him we can wait for the next victim if he hesitates.”

A humorless laugh burst out of Gerry. “Yeah, that’d go over well. I’ve grown rather fond of living, thanks.”

With the small lead to go on, my mind returned to other matters. “Have either of you spoken to him about me by chance?”

“Oh, spare me.” Harper leaned against the wall, her cheeks bright and rosy with her five thousand calorie snack. “Like I’d talk to Mr. Grouchy Britches. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

The creases in Gerry’s brow deepened. “He’s always ranting about you, even before this whole mess started. I’m not sure I told him anything bad, if that’s what you mean, but I might have said some stuff.” As he mumbled the last, his face tilted toward his loafers.

I considered telling them about the hive lord’s visit to my home, but thought better of it. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Call me the instant he complies, no matter the time. I want to be there during the autopsy.” At Gerry’s groan I added, “If he agrees, of course.”

* * *

A short drive took us to Harper’s tiny brown bungalow on the north side of the city. She reached down to pull her pant leg out of her boot. When she sat up, she gripped a small gray handgun I’d never seen it before.

“Bloody hell, Harper!” I stared at the roof until I was certain the rant in my mouth wouldn’t come out.

“Take it.” She offered it handle first. “It’s ceramic not metal, and it’s loaded with fae silver. Won’t kill him, but it’ll give you time to get away, if it comes to that, and you can take it into the precinct without those metal detectors going off. I bought it for you, and today was my test to make sure it would work.”

For a moment, I eyed the weapon with confusion, and then studied her deadly expression of narrowed eyes and pursed lips she usually reserved for a certain Scotsman. “Despite all of his posturing of late, Isaac won’t hurt me. I’m touched you were thinking of me, but it wasn’t necessary. Now, take that back to the store, and next time I tell you to leave your guns at home, you’ll do it. Understood?”

Grumbling low words, she elbowed the car door open and got out. “One of these days, you’ll be thankful I brought a gun to a no-weapon party. Watch your back, Lou.” She slammed the door and stomped up the front walk to her house, her fiery ponytail swinging with her steps.

Most would have seen anger in her reaction, but I recognized fear. She rarely showed her emotions in logical ways. So much for all her talk about having faith that I’d clear my name. I wasn’t sure how to ease her worry, other than to find a professional killer who may or may not have a grudge against me, and left no traces other than grooves in the ground.

I drove home, so deep in thought I scarcely remembered the journey. At the antique shop, I hopped out of the Focus and stopped at the door that led to my apartment above. Although the sky remained a cloudless expanse of blue, a puddle of water sat on the step, fueled by a trickle from underneath the door. If the sun overhead hadn’t evaporated it, then it had to be recent.

A thorough visual search of the plaza turned up nothing out of the ordinary. From the glove box in the car, I retrieved a spare set of daggers, strapping one under each arm and one to my ankle. It appeared strange while wearing a skirt, but at the moment fashion wasn’t my primary concern.

Once back at the entrance, I stopped and slipped my shoes off. Listening for sounds of an imminent attack, I whispered greetings to the earth beneath my feet, awakening both its own magic and that left behind from all those lost in the demise of Philadelphia. The stone within answered with a shudder. A trickle of power shimmered across the pavement. I closed my eyes and allowed my feet to blend with the natural elements, using my extra senses to search along the surface for anything that might be lurking beyond the closed door.

Nothing moved, nor made a sound. Not even a heartbeat or whisper of breath.

Careful to avoid the water, I lowered to a crouch, opened the door, and stepped inside, extracting one of the daggers from its wrist-sheath. “Is someone here?” I felt silly, considering nothing obscured the view to my door at the top of the stairs, but as I’d learned over the years, I couldn’t see everything. At least, not if it didn’t want to be seen.