Known Devil (25 page)

“And at the same time,” Karl said, “it’s a big fat ‘Fuck you’ to the cops who make use of guys like Roger for information.”

“It might also fit in with something else that happened tonight,” McGuire said.

We both looked at him, but instead of explaining, he nodded toward the squad room behind us. “Pearce and McLane caught it. You can get the details from them. Once you’ve heard what they have to say, let me know what you think.”

We went over to where McLane and Pearce were sitting, each one busy on his computer. Like Karl’s and mine, their desks were pushed together, facing each other.

I said to them, “The boss says you guys have a case that might fit in with something we’re working on. Mind telling us about it?”

“Sure, why not?” McLane said, and I noticed his partner nodding. “Gotta be more fun than filling out these goddamn forms.”

Karl and I got our own chairs and rolled them over close to Pearce and McLane’s desks. Once we were seated, I said, “Lot of weird shit going on lately, even by the standards of the Spook Squad.”

“Tell me about it,” Pearce said. He’s a big guy who used to box in the Golden Gloves. If his build didn’t give that away, his nose would – it’s been broken more times than a hooker’s promise.

“You’re talking about the gnome, right?” McLane asked. An awful case of acne as a teenager had left his face severely pockmarked. In another age, you’d figure him for a smallpox survivor. When he said “gnome”, I felt my pulse go into overdrive. I glanced toward Karl before telling McLane, “I don’t know – the boss didn’t tell us. He just said your case would interest us. And if it’s about a gnome, I’d say he was right.”

“Well, that’s what the vic was, no doubt about it,” Pearce said. “Four feet tall, more or less, white beard, big nose – he fits the profile to a T.”

“Then there was the name on his driver’s license,” McLane said. “Pedric Bonbink.”

“Yeah, that’s a gnome’s handle, alright,” I said.

“So what happened?” Karl asked.

“He lived in the basement unit of this building over on Adams Avenue, the Cody Apartments,” Pearce said. “Know it?”

Karl looked at me. “Didn’t we question a guy who lived there, couple of years ago?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “We thought he might be involved in a fairy dust smuggling ring that was operating in town, but nothing came of it.”

“Well, something sure as hell went down there, this time,” McLane said. “The super gets a call from one of the other tenants, who says there’s a really nasty odor coming from the basement. So he goes down there and sure enough, it smells like a boat full of mackerel that’s been left out in the sun all day. The gnome’s the only one living in the basement. The super bangs on the guy’s door. Gets no answer. So he uses his master key, lets himself in, and almost pukes because the smell is so overpowering. Then he gets a look at what’s causing it, runs outta there, and calls 666.”

“So the call gets routed to McGuire, and he sends us over there,” Pearce said. “The super was right about the stench – I’ve smelled some pretty nasty shit on this job, and I damn near heaved my guts out once we got inside that apartment. And that’s
before
we got a look at the gnome’s body.”

“Yeah, dead gnomes rot a lot faster than humans, or any other supe species I know of,” I said. “And they tend to smell a
hell
of a lot worse.”

“The corpse didn’t look so bad, actually,” McLane said. “We’ve seen a hell of a lot worse. The gnome was on the floor, with a bullet hole in his forehead, right between the eyes. Looks neat as you please – until you take a gander at the exit wound, which took out most of the back of his skull.”

“You get a look at the round that killed him?” Karl asked.

“There was a bullet hole in the wall, behind where the gnome had been standing,” Pearce said. “We knew the guys from Forensics would throw a fit if we dug it out ourselves, so we waited for them to do it. They took the slug with them to the lab for ballistics, but let us have a look at it first.”

“Nine millimeter,” McLane said. “Cold iron.”

“No surprise there,” I said. Gnomes are one of the many species of faerie, and all of them are vulnerable to cold iron. That’s why there’s a fey wing of the county jail where each cell’s bars are made of iron, not the steel that’s used elsewhere.

“No, but here’s something that is kinda surprising,” McLane said. “We waited around while Forensics tossed the place, looking for evidence. And guess what they found in Pedric Bonbink’s closet?” He waited, as if he really wanted us to take a stab at it.

“If you’re gonna make me guess,” I said, just to get it over with, “I’ll say a blue pinstripe suit from Brooks Brothers, size Extra-Extra-Small.”

That got a laugh from the other three, but not much of one.

“Not bad, but you’re wrong,” McLane said. “What they turned up was a red conical hat – the one you always see in cartoon drawings of gnomes. You know – the kind that
real
gnomes hate with a fucking passion.”

Karl and I looked at each other. “Well, now,” I said.

“We thought you’d find that interesting,” Pearce said. “We did the interviews with those vamp goombahs who were outside Ricardo’s when the bomb went off – the only living witnesses, if you can call them living.” He glanced at my partner. “No offense, Karl.”

Karl just nodded, his face impassive.

“We interviewed them separately,” McLane said. “And each one said more or less the same thing. That the driver of the bomb car, who jumped out and got into another vehicle that drove off just before the explosion, was a gnome – complete with that red fucking hat. Now, what does that sound like to you?”

“A little too good to be true,” Karl said.

“More than that,” I said. “It sounds like somebody’s cleaning house.”

We spent the next couple of hours in the squad room, catching up on paperwork while we waited to be sent out on a call. But when McGuire called us into his office, it wasn’t to give us an assignment – he gave us a big chunk of bad news instead.

Inside the office, we didn’t even have a chance to sit down before McGuire said, “I just heard from Slattery’s campaign manager. In order to show his respect for the forces of law and order who keep our city safe” – McGuire kept most of the sarcasm out of his voice – “Mister Slattery has agreed to come to police headquarters, accompanied by his attorney, of course, to answer questions pertaining to our investigation.”

McGuire took a second to look at Karl and me before he went on. “I’ve been told that because of his busy campaign schedule, the time of his appearance is not negotiable. Slattery will be here three days from now –
at 11am
.”

 

“Well, shit,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it,” McGuire said bleakly. “Pretty much puts the kibosh on our little plan to get Slattery and Karl in a room together, doesn’t it?”

“Where does this asshole get off telling the police what time we’re going to talk to him?” I said.

“There’s no arrest warrant out for him,” McGuire said with a shrug. “He’s not under indictment for anything, either.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, “but we still get to bring people in for questioning – on
our
terms. The law says so.”

McGuire nodded. “Sure it does. And if we exercise our power under the law with Slattery, what do you figure is gonna happen?” Before I had a chance to say anything, McGuire answered his own question. “It’ll go down like this,” he said. “Slattery calls a press conference to tell the world how even though he offered to cooperate with the ongoing criminal investigation, the city government is using its police power to harass its political opponents in an effort to stifle the democratic process and blah, blah, blah. Shit, it might even win him some votes.”

“You’re probably right, boss,” I said, “but I still think that you–”

“
Maybe we can do it anyway
.”

As soon as Karl said that, McGuire and I turned our heads to stare at him.

“I read an article, couple months ago, about a vampire who was able to stay awake during the daytime,” Karl said, “instead of turning into a corpse at sunrise, the way we all do.”

“How’d he manage that?” I said. “Or she.”

“Magic,” Karl said. “Dude had a witch cast a spell that let him keep functioning during the daytime. He still had to stay out of the sun, though – that didn’t change.”

“What kind of magic are we talking about here?” McGuire said. “White or black?”

“White, definitely,” Karl said. “All legal and aboveboard. I doubt they’d be writing about it in
Supe
magazine otherwise. It’s illegal to advocate the practice of black magic, boss – you know that, same as I do.”

“So this vampire that got the spell cast on him – he doesn’t have to rest during the day anymore?” I said.

“Nah, the spell’s not
that
good,” Karl said. “It only worked for one day, and the witch who did it had to spend a lot of time in preparation. I guess she did it as kind of an experiment in thaumaturgy. It’s not a consumer magic item yet – not by a long shot. Maybe it never will be.”

“But it worked at least once,” I said. “That’s what’s important.”

McGuire asked Karl, “Far as you know, did the vampire who did this suffer any ill effects?”

“The article didn’t mention any,” Karl said. “Except that the guy was really wiped out by the end of the next night, same as you might be after pulling an all-nighter.” He gave us a pointy grin. “Guess you could say he was dead tired.”

I sat there rubbing the bridge of my nose for a little while, then said, “I figure there’s a couple of things we need to do pronto.”

“I assume one of them involves getting a copy of that article Karl’s been talking about,” McGuire said.

“You assume right.” I turned to Karl. “Have you still got your copy of the magazine at home?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “I don’t usually keep stuff like that around once I’ve read it. But
Supe
’s got an online edition that I can access cause I’m a subscriber. They should have all the back issues in there.”

“Good,” I said. “How about you track down the article and print off three copies – one for me to read and one for the boss.”

“What’re you gonna do with the third one?” he asked me.

“Take it with me when I go downstairs to see Rachel.”

 

Rachel Proctor leaned back in her creaky desk chair and shook her lead slowly. “I’ve never heard of anything like that being done before, Stan,” she said. “I’m not even sure it
can
be done.”

“Then take a look at this,” I said, and handed her the article that Karl had downloaded from
Supe
magazine. She put on her glasses and read it slowly, her concentration so intense that I could almost feel it. I sat there in front of her desk, tried not to fidget, and kept my mouth shut. That’s something I should try more often – keeping my mouth shut, I mean.

Finally Rachel looked up and tossed the article onto her desk.

“Sounds interesting in principle,” she said, “but it’s kind of short on specifics.
Supe
is usually a decent enough source for news, but it’s no academic journal. It’s hard to know how much of this story is accurate.”

“There’s academic journals for magic?” I said. I’d never thought about it, but I guess it made sense. They’ve got professional publications for every other field. Christine had once showed me an article that had appeared in the online edition of something called
Vampirology
. The title was “Free Choice vs Influence: Ethical Issues in Recreational Exsanguination.” Or something like that.

“Sure,” Rachel said. “The
Quarterly Journal of Thaumaturgy
is one of the big ones. Then there’s
Critical Studies in
Sorcery
, the
Annals of the American Academy of Witchcraft
, and a whole bunch of others.”

“OK,” I said. “I guess I can see how an issue of
Supe
doesn’t belong in with that crowd.”

“On the other hand,” Rachel said, “it so happens I’ve heard of the witch who carried out this experiment. Annabelle Araguin has made quite a name for herself in thaumaturgical research circles over the last few years. So it’s possible that this article is actually on the level.”

“How fast can you find out? Like I said, we haven’t got a lot of time.”

Rachel shrugged. “I can send her an email right away. But how fast she responds is up to her.”

“You know this Annabelle …?”

“Araguin. Yes, slightly. We’ve met at conventions a few times.”

I used to smile at the idea of witches attending conventions, until Rachel set me straight. All fields have their own professional meetings, she’d explained, and witches were nothing if not professional. I knew
that
much – you’ve got to be licensed to practice magic, and that license is a lot harder to get than the kind that lets you drive a car.

“Have you got her email address?” I asked.

“No, but I should be able to find it online easily enough. I’m sure she’s got a website. Most practicing witches have one.”

“Of course they do,” I said. “How soon can you track her down?”

“As soon as you get out of here and let me start looking.”

I stood up. “I’m practically gone already,” I said, and headed for the door.

Our shift ended about ninety minutes later, and I checked in with Rachel before leaving.

“No joy yet,” she told me. “I got Annabelle’s email address without too much trouble, and sent her a message. She hasn’t replied, but it is pretty damn late for people who don’t keep the kind of hours that you and I do.”

“How about a phone call?” I asked.

“I’m working that angle, too. Her number’s unlisted, which isn’t surprising. But I’ve sent out some more emails to people who might know her, asking for the phone number. No responses yet, but, again…”