The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) (13 page)

Maxim shook his head in agreement.

The thin woman leaned in so her face was right in front of Maxim's. Her perfume intoxicated him. "I hope you don't hold it against me," she said, "but I will continue to do my best to retain some amount of mystery."

The detective almost melted as he felt his face flush and burn. Nithya was beautiful. He normally felt uncomfortable when he tried to speak to women like her, but their professional relationship made it easy. He found himself wondering what was next.

Nithya reluctantly pulled away and glanced at the time on her cell phone. "It's getting late. Buy me lunch?"

The woman wore a grin paired with heavily flirtatious eyes. She could be hard to read at times, but her intentions were deviously clear at this moment. It was still early in the day—without the test results, it was easy to submit to his desires.

"Sure," he answered. "I know a place in Sanctuary. Then you can drop me off at the marshal's office."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Your car's not in Flagstaff?"

"Don't ask."

 

Maxim found himself hurrying across the town square just as the air was getting crisp. The breeze had a habit of coming when it was least expected, quickly transitioning from a respite from the heat to more uninviting weather. Maxim's suit jacket would suffice for now, however. It wasn't late enough in the day or the season to concern him much.

The facade of the Sanctuary Marshal's Office looked majestic as he approached. It was an old building of brick that cast the plaza in darkening shadow. The fading light made the windows of the station glow with an eerie invitation that could only exist at dusk. To Maxim, there was something magic about moments like these; they never lasted, and perhaps that was why.

The detective peered up and his brows pressed ominously over his eyes at the sight of the shattered clinic window. The glass had been cleaned out, but they were still waiting to refit it with a new pane and steel security bars. For now, it was hastily boarded up and remained an ugly scar on the departmental building.

Barney Hitchens walked from the car lot to the front double doors, watching Maxim and shaking his head in displeasure. There was always something for the sergeant to disapprove of, and the detective was likely to hear about it presently. Hitchens gazed past him to the white SUV that had dropped him off and the woman inside. Maxim knew it was already too late to prevent the gossip.

Nithya pulled away and the sergeant walked into the station. That left only Gutierrez, the rookie, briskly walking towards him.

"My man!" he exclaimed, holding a fist in the air. "Now I see why you weren't answering your phone."

Maxim ignored the offer and pressed ahead, giving the rookie his trademark stare. "Gutierrez, for once, can you please not act like you're still in high school?"

"Not this time."

"Well, you might still technically be in high school since you never graduated," Maxim joked, "but it's time to move on."

The officer's grin disappeared. "Don't do me like that, bro. You know I've been taking business classes on the side." He hurried forward to match Maxim's pace. "I provide a valuable service to the citizens of this town."

"Whoa," said Maxim, putting his hands up. "What you do with your body on your own time is not my business."

Gutierrez forced out a mocking laugh. "We'll see who's telling jokes when you have to start taking your own phone messages and getting your own coffee. I got your back, bro. Respect that."

Maxim charged ahead. "Why were you trying to get in touch with me?"

"Oh that," said Gutierrez, stepping up to the porch and opening the door for Maxim. "Some guy from the county morgue called you. Brony or something."

Maxim stopped. "Brony? You mean Brody, the Coconino medical examiner? As opposed to a male My Little Pony fan?"

The rookie was caught off guard. "Brony, Brody—whatever, man—some white boy shit. He said he needed to talk to you."

It was about time. Nithya had gotten advance notice hours ago.

As they walked into the office, they were greeted with a flurry of activity and a full staff. Ever since Diego's discovery, Boyd had approved overtime for the department. It wasn't that there was a whole lot for them to do, but the marshal liked to keep up appearances during the media frenzy. He was talking to Cole and some others now.

Unfortunately, Hitchens wasn't yet occupied. He found his opening.

"You know," he said, sauntering up to the two with deliberate flair, "for a detective, you sometimes strike me as awfully unaware."

The heavyset man stood blocking Maxim's desk. The detective sighed and looked to Gutierrez. "Okay, thanks, brony." The officer just shrugged and rolled his eyes. "And don't act like you don't know what My Little Pony is."

"Nah man, I'm Mexican. We don't mess with any of that stuff." Gutierrez turned and started walking back to his desk, wanting no part of the scolding on the sergeant's lips.

"What's the matter?" Maxim called back. "They don't sell those toys in the dollar store?"

The rookie just walked away, holding his middle finger up.

Hitchens looked at the two, dumbfounded. "You're in a mood today," he said. "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing. Gutierrez just watches cartoons. But you wanted to take a shot at me too?"

The old man chuckled and sat back against Maxim's desk. "Do you really think what you're doing is wise?"

Maxim didn't know if he had time for this right now. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

"The hell I am." The sergeant cocked his head, wondering if Maxim was serious. "First you were up the MC's ass. Now who knows just how far you've crawled up with the CDC."

"Wasn't it you who told me to take a shot at her?"

"Son, that was before I knew who she worked for!" Hitchens had raised his voice but quickly glanced around the room and tried to control himself. "All I'm trying to say is that both of them are dangerous and not easily kept under the protection of this office."

Maxim hissed. "Maybe that's the real problem. No one is answering for anything anymore, whether in service of PR or to avoid being singled out. It's bullshit. Those bodies have something to tell us, and I have the feeling that neither the Seventh Sons nor the CDC want us investigating."

"Whoa, whoa," appealed the sergeant. "I didn't know the MC was involved here. I just do what I'm told and keep my head down."

Maxim saw the other officers break, and the marshal headed over to them. No doubt their conversation had caught his attention. "How are the feds involved?" he asked as abruptly as he'd arrived.

Maxim sighed. "In truth, sir, I don't know. But they've been the main obstacle in dealing directly with the club."

Hitchens spoke up. "Well don't you think they have official business here?"

"That's just it," countered Maxim as he addressed the sergeant. "I called around. Nithya definitely is who she says she is." Marshal Boyd shook his head and puffed his chest out. "Sir, the kill orders for Makarova and Doka were legit—but they were still pending. Nithya moved ahead with the raid unsanctioned."

Boyd looked concerned. "You're saying that there's a paper trail of illicit enforcement?"

"Not any more," conceded the detective. "She jumped the gun but the orders went through. Still, doesn't that arouse suspicion?"

The marshal pressed his lips together. "We can only control our own policies, Detective." Boyd's blue eyes cut into Maxim with familiarity. "Can you honestly say that you haven't skirted procedure lately?"

"Besides," said Hitchens, "she did get the results everybody wanted. She did this office a favor, in that case."

"I'm not so sure," said Maxim. He recalled the doubts Diego conveyed to him in Sycamore Lodge. "It just feels like she wanted it handled discreetly, off the books, outside of normal CDC channels."

The sergeant let out a loud hoot. "Wouldn't that be something?" He moved his hands to his hips as he considered the implications, but the question wasn't meant to be answered.

The marshal's phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. "It's not our place to second-guess the feds, Detective." The short man took a step away from the two and paused to make a point. "These bodies are your find, and a good win for the department. That's why I'm allowing you to follow up with the case. Do not, however, go impeding the CDC or County in this matter. Do you hear me?"

Boyd didn't even wait for an answer. He flipped around and disappeared into his office, slamming the door shut.

Maxim exchanged a look with the sergeant. Hitchens just raised his hands in surrender. The heavy man pushed himself up off the desk and said, "At this point, I'm not gonna bother asking you to fall in line anymore. We both know you've gone too far for that."

Maxim looked around the office, eyeing all the personnel and wondering if he was the only one in the whole building who dared go against the establishment. Hitchens, at least, he trusted, but the man was too careful.

"Just watch your back, son," he continued, "or you might find yourself in a place without any friends. If that happens, I can't do anything for you." The man's brown eyes conveyed a dire warning. "It doesn't help to go pissing everybody off." Barney Hitchens turned to exit the office.

The detective stared grimly at the phone sitting on his desk. "I know what I'm doing."

 

As he eased into his seat, Maxim pulled a report out of his desk drawer. He read over it again to make sure he was familiar with the medical terminology. He was holding the test results for the three suicides he had exhumed. Originally, all screens had come back negative—nothing unusual with the bodies. However, after Diego had found the dump site by following a trucker through Sycamore Lodge, the detective had an idea to follow up on, an idea that had finally implicated the Seventh Sons.

Maxim grabbed the telephone receiver on his desk and mindlessly punched in numbers. He had done it enough over the past few days that it was already muscle memory. He nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder and kicked his feet up and waited for Brody to pick up the phone.

"Coconino M.E." he answered. The man had a scratchy voice, likely the result of too much tobacco and pot, but usually preferred to remain quiet. This gave Brody the ability to blend into the background and be unassuming even when he stuck out. He was an ideal friend to have in situations like this.

"I hear you've got news for me."

"Hey, it's good that you caught me. I was just leaving. I've been trying to reach you on your cell for hours."

Maybe Maxim had lost track of time a little. "I've been getting that. Tell me you have something."

"Okay, officially, everything came back from the lab negative. They've been really dragging their heels, though, so I suspected something was up, especially after hearing your suicides were positive."

Maxim nodded as he listened. He had given Brody a copy of the report in his hand yesterday.

"So," he continued, "since I owe you, I dug a little deeper. I have an old colleague inside." The medical examiner sounded a bit hesitant. "He made me promise not to put it in writing anywhere, but it's like you said."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Maxim, drawing the attention of other officers. He waved them off.

Brody was so excited about delivering the news that his voice cracked. "It's amazing! Every single one of the seventeen victims tested positive for rabies. On this scale, that's unprecedented! We would have never noticed unless you specifically requested the screen. This type of thing is not routinely checked without red flags."

"Is the disease what killed them?"

"Negative. Strangulation in every case. But assuming these victims were homeless and lacked access to medical care, they wouldn't have gotten a vaccination treatment. They would have been sure to die anyway."

Maxim considered the ramifications. "Maybe not..."

"Most definitely," said Brody. "Except for recent isolated cases of forced coma, the fatality rate of untreated rabies is absolute."

Maxim didn't want to press the issue. He had nearly forgotten that others were not privy to the existence of werewolves, even those in the medical community. For all he knew, Flagstaff didn't even have an epidemic.

"Listen," said Brody in a hushed voice, "I tried to keep the testing under the table." He hesitated again. "It's just hard on this type of scale. The case is too high-profile. There was nothing I could do."

Maxim's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"Well, the Centers for Disease Control happened. An agent did the rounds today. A tall woman with a British accent."

"Ms. Rao," said Maxim.

"That's her. Real pretty. She wanted to make sure the traces of the disease were scrubbed."

This was the part that Maxim wasn't happy to hear. "Scrubbed?"

"What I'm saying is, there is no documented evidence of the rabies outbreak and there isn't going to be." The man stuttered for a second and stopped himself and sighed. "You can't use it because it's not on record."

Maxim inhaled slowly. He was still in shock about Nithya's actions. "It's okay, Brody. I've been learning that things get done much more efficiently through unofficial channels anyway. Thanks." The detective hung up the phone.

Rabies. All twenty bodies. Not only did this undeniably link the suicides with the Paradise Tank victims, but it was as damning to the Seventh Sons as he could have hoped for.

Maxim's theory was proving true. The abductions had started in Sanctuary. The victims had been infected and killed and, after being missing for several weeks, were found at the bottom of the falls. They were probably thrown from the top while they were still alive. Their condition wouldn't have ever been noticed or tested for.