Page 36 of Veiled Justice
He nuzzled me. ‘Pigdog,’ he murmured.
And this time I smiled.
Chapter 18
I’d just settled into bed for my much-needed power nap when my phone buzzed with a message from Thackeray requesting a rundown. In person. Now. No doubt Quintos was throwing his weight around.
With a groan, I threw back the covers and dressed once again in the standard Connection black suit and white shirt, with a pin of the three triangles of the Other on my lapel. I pulled on sensible black ankle boots and went to say goodbye to Loki, but he was snoozing on his perch so I tiptoed past him.
As I approached the door, my extending baton and my keys floated towards me. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled quietly to my ghost, put both items in my backpack and stumbled outside.
I walked briskly down Bridge Street, enjoying its black-and-white Victorian architecture. I marched past The Cross and down to Chester town hall police station. Its dark wooden doors had an old blue police lamp over them that always made me smile; I had a photo of my dad standing under that very lamp.
The station was winding down after its public opening hours, but Giles was still behind the reception desk packing up for the day. I nodded to him but didn’t speak; tiredness was pressingdown on me and I needed to save my limited remaining energy for Thackeray.
I entered the code to be buzzed through a high-security metal door. The day shift had gone and the night shift was settling in. I nodded to the officers that I knew and liked and ignored the arseholes. Some people shouldn’t have power; that was true everywhere, but it felt worse when a bad apple slipped through the police force’s recruitment process. Still, they were blessedly few and far between and most people just wanted to do good work.
I moved through the detectives’ area, went past my own office and headed to the stairs that would take me up to the level where the top brass hung out. The detectives in the Homicide and Major Crimes unit shared an open-plan office. That I had my own office was yet another reason why the rest of my Common police unit thought I was related to – or sleeping with – someone important. Still, we couldn’t have Other matters falling into Common hands, so our security dictated that I got my own space. We explained it away by lying that I was part of an elite task force that was need-to-know only.
As you’d expect, most of the Common police didn’t like that and none of them accepted that they weren’t on the ‘need-to-know’ list. Being the station commander – and a powerful wizard – DSU Thackeray needed to know everything.
The three admin assistants’ desks were empty so I sailed past them and knocked on his door. ‘Come in,’ a gruff voice called.
I opened the door. Thackeray looked as tired as I probably did. I had no idea how long he’d been working this shift and no doubthe’d dealt with many crimes today, of which my murder case was only one. He ran the whole station, not just the Other realm side of it.
His piercing blue eyes shone out of his craggy, lined face, but his usually clean-shaven chin bore a hint of a five o’clock shadow. His shock of white hair was carefully trimmed into a respectable crew cut but his uniform was distinctly rumpled.
‘Sir.’ I stood to attention in front of his desk.
‘Sit, Wise,’ he ordered, gesturing to a chair. I sat.
To the Common police force, I was a Detective Inspector – or a DI. To the Connection, I was simply an Inspector. To save faffing about with titles, DSU Thackeray tended to call me by my surname. Ordinarily, a DI would co-ordinate and run a whole team but the Other realm operatives were incredibly short staffed, so I currently oversaw Channing and that was it. The rest of the station thought that I worked for MI5, the British intelligence agency, in some mysterious capacity.
Thackeray oversaw my Other realm work but he wasn’t particularly hands-on; he signed off my reports but I rarely saw him. You were only called in to see the brass in their office if you’d done exceptionally well or exceptionally badly. I wasn’t quite sure which this visit was.
Thackeray turned from his computer to face me. ‘Give me the rundown.’
‘Helga Jónson, a female ogre, eighteen years of age, was found at Arley Hall by Mr Rupert Wise and Miss Ava Grey. A visual inspection showed numerous stab wounds. Mr Wise touched the deceased onthe neck to verify death. Finding no pulse, he contacted me. On my arrival I secured the scene. Edward Pembroke attended for SOCO and Dr Kate Potter was the ME. The deceased had a recently broken nose and there was fresh blood around her nostrils. Her left pinky finger had been removed peri-mortem.’
Thackeray let out a heavy breath. ‘Souvenirs are never a good sign.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Continue.’
‘The victim was transported to the mortuary where Dr Potter identified the weapon that had been used – military, single sharp blade, non-serrated. She suggested it was the work of a trained professional or a surgeon because although there were fifteen stab wounds, each one was aimed at a vital organ.’
‘No strikes wasted,’ he murmured.
‘Indeed. She was also found to have ingested Imbarum.’
Thackeray swore darkly. When he was done colouring the air black and blue, I went on. ‘Although she’d ingested the torture potion, the death itself was relatively swift.’
‘Time constraints at the party?’ he mused.
I nodded. ‘Those are my thoughts, too,’ I agreed. ‘She was killed during the fireworks’ display, which commenced at midnight and lasted between ten and fifteen minutes. Her body was found at 12.30am. All of the people in the immediate vicinity were held and questioned.’
‘I’ve heard about that,’ he said drily, drumming his fingers on his mahogany desk. ‘The movers and shakers did not appreciate being shaken down. There’s a lot of pressure on this case, Wise,’ he added pointedly.
