Page 23 of Saint of the Shadows

Surrounded by piles of file folders, Tobias bent over a computer keyboard, stabbing away at the keys.

Marisol greeted, “Hey Tobias!”

He startled and turned his head toward the door. “Kid.”

She walked to his desk and watched a few detectives straighten and spring to life with smiles and a few snickers. Did women visit Tobias often at the precinct? She studied his desk for an answer, but he didn’t have any photos. Not like the other desks.

With zero views into his personal life, she scanned over Tobias’s work. There wasn’t much to see. What appeared to be crime-scene photos, important documents, and file folders were mashed into uneven stacks.

Marisol propped her hip against the cluttered desk. “I didn’t think you’d be working today of all days.”

“Putting in overtime. I must say, this is a pleasant surprise.” Tobias leaned back in his chair, extending his legs and crossing his arms behind his head.

“I had to file a report. Someone um…” Marisol hesitated. First, because over her lifetime, she had developed a survivor’s instinct for under-embellishing the truth. The tactic prevented people’s polite intrigue from becoming pity. Last because she liked how he smirked as she struggled to cook up a half-truth. She pulled her stocking cap firmly in place and said, “Someone pickpocketed my phone.”

Tobias maintained his relaxed posture when he cracked, “That sucks.”

Marisol rubbed the inside of her wrist and wanted to say everything. “He’s you. Just admit it!” But if her instinct pointed her in the wrong direction—that the Patron Saint wasn’t Tobias? She’d be a girlish fool. Now, if her instinct pointed in the right direction...? Without the dress, she felt a babbling rush of nervous energy. “What are you working overtime on?”

“Cross-checking some of Narcotic’s work with mine in hopes of getting a conspiracy charge thrown in Izzy’s way.”

“Cross-checking? You don’t look like a pencil pusher.” As a heavyweight, he looked more like the guy who swung the ax that felled the tree that became the pushed pencils.

“Welcome to actual police work.”

She nodded to the piles. “All this thanks to my tip?”

“Sure.” Tobias sat forward and ran his hands over his face. “I’m gonna sound like a jerk, kid, but getting Izzy? It wasn’t because of your tip.”

The news hit like a gut punch. “Oh.”

Tobias hunched over in his chair, resting his elbows against his knees. “I’ve been getting outside help, but the work never ends. I mean, Izzy’ll make bail tomorrow. And when he’s on trial, he’ll be a first-time offender sentenced to piddle and squat. He’ll be out on parole in no time. And this wholemess?” Tobias gestured to the piles on his desk. “It’s like there are chess boards within chess boards. We thought we had ourselves a king, but he’s someone else’s pawn.” Tobias grabbed a baggy containing a burnt shard of Varian pharmaceuticals packaging from his desk. He smacked it against his palm before flicking it back on the messy pile.

“Who do you think Izzy’s working for?” Marisol asked.

“I’m thinking this city’s gangs are all working together, at least, to sneak a pretty sizable and quality drug supply under our noses. You gotta admire it. A United Nations of heroin. Just don’t tell Narc I did their jobs for them. They hate it when I do that. My only joy is the big pain in my lieutenant’s ass I’ll become Monday.”

The belligerent patient from a few days ago and his ominous warning echoed through her head. That “the Bloodsucker” controlled everything in the city. “It wouldn’t be this Bloodsucker guy I’ve heard about?”

The color drained from Tobias’s face. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. Only what that patient said.” She shuddered. Izzy, the man she believed orchestrated the pain and frustration of the Westside, took orders from someone far more powerful? It would be best to not think about it. She crossed the room toward a whiteboard full of names to distract herself. Most of the names were written in red. Theones named John Doe and Jane Doe stood out the most to her. “Lots of names,” Marisol said.

“Those are our cases,” Tobias said.

How many names had Caz put up there? “Lots of red.”

Tobias walked to the board and tapped against the names. “Those are the ones we haven’t solved yet. Once they’re solved, we put them here in black. They stay there until the end of the quarter.”

Marisol tensed, feeling how close he stood to her. “Does the black ever outnumber the red?”

“Someday it will, but there always seems to be more. That’s how it is in Shadowhaven. It’s hopeless, really. Best I can hope for is a decent clearance rate and one less body buried in the mass grave south of town.”

She couldn’t believe him. Not after the last two days. Not after a wipe of a tear. Not after a kiss on the wrist. The Patron Saint’s actions vowed to make her world a better place. She turned and faced him. “If Izzy messed up that easily, he’ll do it again. And out on parole? He’ll get more time, and you’ll never have to worry about him again.” Marisol smiled. A tiny spark in his eyes lifted the gloom off his expression. Now would be the time to say it—she knew who he was. She parted her lips and breathed in.

Her phone rang. Work. They’d ask her to cover someone else’s shift. She’d say no—she was so close to her Patron Saint… but emptied savings and couch cushions. Defeated, Marisol resigned to picking up her phone and another shift. “When do you need me?”

“In half an hour,” the scheduling nurse squawked on the other line.

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