The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (21 page)

here’s something else in that room.”

Olivia’s back was to the mirror, her gaze trained on Chris at his desk, but it had been a long time since she’d reacted to or acknowledged his presence. When he turned the page and looked up to see if she’d noticed, he wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t. She was completely lost in her own head.

“The key isn’t enough for you?” Officer Dawson’s voice asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“The key is nothing! All it tells us is that a killer went into a room and left a key. There’s something else to this; it’s under my skin!”

“Faraday, I trust your gut. But you and my boys took that whole room apart—multiple times—and found nothing.”

“I know,” Olivia growled. “But there is something. There has to be. Nothing else makes
sense
. Whoever killed Viktor val Daren went to that room before doing anything else, still dripping blood and in such a hurry she didn’t take time to fix a hell of a mistake.”

They were both quiet for a time. Chris remembered to actually read his paper, but immediately recalled why he’d stopped in the first place. It was an article about the incident at White Clover, and while she wasn’t mentioned by name, Rosemary was all over it. By tomorrow, someone would have sniffed out their trail. By Deorday, the flood would be rising over their heads. He wanted to go home to her so badly.

“You’re missing a piece, Faraday,” Maris said finally. “There isn’t anything concrete to any of the ‘evidence’ you’ve brought forward so far. There must be something, one major, glaring thing that is completely escaping you.”

Olivia made a disgusted sound. “I
know
, Maris.”

“Who killed Duke val Daren?”

“Duchess val Daren,” Olivia replied immediately.

“Why?”

“Because…” Olivia threw her hands into the air and turned away from the mirror again, slumping back against the table before it. The chimes jingled. “Because she’s hiding something. The entire time we talked today, she was going to lengths to not tell me something. I could
feel
it way down deep in my bones. It was…” She shook her head. “You know how it is, Maris. When you can smell it.”

“They don’t let us make arrests on intuition, Faraday.” It was obviously meant as a rebuke, but Officer Dawson’s voice was full of sympathy. “Not even us truthsniffers.”

“I don’t understand why not,” Olivia retorted.

“Because you don’t know Evelyn val Daren killed her husband. All you know is she’s hiding something from you. And if you can’t prove she’s guilty, that means nothing. Maybe she was just eating a double layer chocolate cheesecake when her husband was killed. People hide things. It’s what we do. And Faraday—you’ve been doing this for long enough that I don’t have to explain this. Again.”

“It isn’t as if―”

“Trail’s getting cold, Faraday,” Officer Dawson said, and all the tired empathy in her voice was gone. “It’s been four full days since the Duke was killed, and you have nothing but a bunch of little pieces that don’t fit. Make them fit.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Olivia said sourly, not exactly in agreement.

“I’ll meet you at your office tomorrow morning for our little appointment with Miss Caldwell. Let’s make it quick; I have other things to do. And please tell Constance to have a spot of tea ready for me. I refuse to drink that vile, black stuff you keep trying to force on me. Good night.”

Chris expected her attention to turn to him when the mirror darkened, but, instead, she deflated. All the life went out of Olivia Faraday, and the complete lack of any soul in her unsettled him more than he could say.

“…M-miss Faraday?”

Her eyes shot to where he sat in his desk. He shrank back. She studied him with the intensity of a hunting snake, and he was as trapped and helpless as a small creature caught in her gaze. “You’re still here,” she said, with very little expression.

“You said to wait and see if you’d need m―”

“I know what I said.” She straightened and shook herself, squared her shoulders, and then looked him in the eye. “Who killed the Duke?” she asked.

He blinked. “Uh.”

“You have to tell Maris who to arrest. Right now. Who do you point her towards?”

“I don’t know!” Chris responded defensively, but Olivia continued to wait. He met her eyes in stubborn defiance…and then he gave up. She’d have her way in the end.

He took a moment to actually consider it. In his mind, he compiled a list of everyone he believed might have been responsible. The names all swam about and he couldn’t make sense of any of it. “I…” He chuckled uncomfortably, “…don’t know,” he said again, sincerely this time.

“Try.”

“I am trying. I just—no one had a reason to kill him now. Not the Duchess, not Analaea, not Miss Caldwell. It doesn’t suit any of them. The only thing I can think of is―” He cut himself off suddenly, realizing Olivia still didn’t know of his best suspicion.

She didn’t miss the implication of his sudden silence. “
Is
?” she pressed. Her fist came down on the edge of his desk and she gave him a meaningful look. “What do you know, Christopher Buckley?”

He shrugged. “What if they had debts?”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. “What would give you that idea? The Duchess hasn’t said anything about―”

“But she wouldn’t, would she? I’d suspect you could go so far as to look at her books, and everything would seem in order. She’s obsessed with the family reputation—we established that an hour in.” He shook his head. The intensity of Olivia watching was making him very uncomfortable. “It’s just something I heard,” he finished lamely. “Old Debts.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s a rumour, that’s all. I don’t know if it’s true.” He sighed. “The Old Blood are all slaves to their creditors. The sumfinders hold their leashes, letting them off just long enough to reel them back in. Lending and then claiming, generosity and then repossession. They make millions in interest that way. Or…” Chris cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Olivia’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “And just where would you have heard this?”

With the way she was looking at him, it seemed like the most aggressive sort of stupidity to admit he’d overheard a conversation between two anonymous sumfinders at a zoo. He fell back on a half-truth―or quarter-truth. “My father’s financial adviser took care of my sister and me after the Floating Castle. He mentioned it when I was explaining the case to him. Er―I didn’t tell him anything confidential. No names, or―”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

He shrugged. “He’s getting me a list of names. He might be able to actually find the name of the val Darens’ creditor for us. I thought if I had something of actual substance…”

“Mn,” Olivia hummed noncommittally. Her attention seemed to slip off of him and he could have sighed in relief as she turned and ghosted away; he didn’t, sure it would only draw her attention again. “He’s getting those names for you now?”

“I think so.”

She dropped into one of the well-upholstered chairs, leaning back and closing her eyes. Her long fingers formed claws as she gripped the ends of the arms, the tension there a stark contrast to the way the rest of her relaxed at once.

“A creditor…” she mused. “He misses a payment for the last time, after numerous warnings. His daughter and wife are out of the house for their little gallery. The staff are sparse, discreet, and easy to pay off. The creditor has someone come in under the cover of darkness and show all his other clients what happens when Old Debts go unpaid.” She nodded once, to herself. “It doesn’t
not
fit. Explains the mutilation. The shock―he thought he was safe. Maybe even the disgust, depending on what the hitman said. And something else, too, something about the way he was laid out, something familiar. It’s been bothering me since I first saw him. Maybe…” And then she frowned, her face scrunching up and becoming fearsome in the flickering candlelight. “But not the todger peeping out of his pants. Unless he
was
wanking. The staff didn’t feel like they were lying, either. They weren’t paid off. I don’t think so. And the parlour. The parlour…”

She lapsed into silence, and if not for the death grip her hands held on the arms of the chair, Chris might have thought she’d simply fallen asleep. He folded his newspaper, dropped it into the rubbish bin, and waited for her to speak again.

She did. “And there’s still the Duchess. What is she hiding?”

Abruptly, Chris remembered the letter he’d found. “Actually…” he said.

Olivia opened her eyes and sat up.

Chris flipped open his notebook and thumbed through, searching for the copy he’d made. He passed pages and pages of disjointed descriptions and transcriptions until he saw the words, weaved in almost the exact same handwriting as the original. “Here.” He slipped out from behind his desk, crossed the room, and handed the notebook to his employer.

She scanned it. “
Evie
,” Olivia mused. “Evelyn?”

“That would seem logical.”

She nodded, half to herself. “…and who is
HC
?”

“I don’t know,” Chris replied. He seemed to be saying that an awful lot lately. “And I’m not sure what it’s talking about, or why I—why I thought it would be worth your time, but…I don’t know. It’s something.”

“It is that.” Olivia looked up at him and the tiniest little spark of her dark fire was back in her eyes. “I’m surprised, Mister Buckley,” she continued archly. “You didn’t manage to cock up at all today.” Before he could so much as flush, she was waving him off. “Go home, then. Tomorrow, hopefully we’ll find this one missing piece Maris has so graciously pointed out we’re missing.” She turned her face away from him, closing her eyes. But a contented little cat’s smile was on her lips as she did so, and she hummed quietly to herself as he prepared to leave for the night—finally.

He stopped with one hand on the latch, turning back to where Olivia still rested in the chair. Her fingers drummed out a beat she could only hear along the arms, and while he couldn’t pick up any words, he could see her lips moving. Suddenly and inexplicably, he felt not entirely right about leaving her. Would she simply stay all night? Did she usually? It occurred to him he knew very little about Olivia Faraday the woman, who she was aside from her eccentricities and her profession. Where did she live? Who was waiting for her there? Was she married? Did she have children?

“…will you be all right when I go?”

Olivia opened her eyes and swivelled her head to him, and looked surprised before bursting into giggles. “Aren’t you sweet!” she exclaimed. “
Yes
, Mister Buckley. I’ll be just fine. I appreciate the sentiment, really, but I
only
said you didn’t cock up!”

His cheeks burned. “I―”

“Though I did call you pretty, today. Is that what did it?” She
tsk
ed. “Am I giving you ideas, Mister Buckley? Should I be―”

“Good
night
, Miss Faraday,” Chris interrupted gruffly, and stepped out into the darkness.

He shivered and pulled up the collar of his overcoat to shield his face from the wind. It was too late for a taxi; he’d have to make his way home on foot. The rain had stopped hours ago and stars were sparkling overhead, but he went up to his ankle in more than one puddle. The flicking alp-light from the streetlamps sent the shadows dancing and changing. His steps echoed. The darkness and the solitude and the dark thoughts of murder swirling through his head played havoc with his nerves, and at one point, he swore he heard someone else’s steps dogging his own.

He knew it was his imagination, but the mere idea turned him irrational. Every reflection in every puddle made him look about fearfully for the source of movement, and every night bird chirping made him jump near out of his skin. He sped up his pace until he was jogging, and he didn’t stop until he passed the soundshield of the Buckley estate.