FOURTEEN
Calum’s nerves thrummed with anticipation as he approached the station house the next morning.
This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, the chance to show Graham the importance of looking into the missing people.
He couldn’t claim they were irrelevant now, not when they were linked to the murder of a burgess.
He chapped at Graham’s door when he arrived, his legs jittering as he awaited acknowledgement.
“Enter.” Graham’s voice was smooth, almost bored.
Calum turned the iron doorknob and stepped inside.
The heavy woollen curtains on either side of the hearth had been thrown open, the tiny diamond panes of the windows letting in the weak winter light.
It was so dark and dreich today that candles still blazed in their sconces, filling the room with their sweet honey smell.
“I have an update on the Gibson case,” Calum said, seating himself across from Graham.
Graham laid his pen next to the inkwell. “I hope the update is going to be that you’ve arrested the killer and we can begin to put this sordid business behind us.”
“Not yet, but I have a new lead. It seems he was asking around about the disappearances of some people who were not members of guilds.”
Graham clasped his hands on his desk. “I see. How convenient. And where did you hear this?”
“From an informant.” The words sounded pitifully inadequate.
“Ah. An informant. And how well do you know this informant? Can we trust them?”
The truth was, he hardly knew her. He knew better than to trust her when it was clear she was keeping things from him, like why she’d come out of the salching market pale and trembling—or, indeed, how she was so familiar with salching in the first place.
She’d teased him about leaving him alone in a dodgy part of town, despite him being to all appearances far more intimidating to a potential attacker—unless of course people knew better than to get on her bad side.
It was obvious that she was much deeper in the crime guilds than she’d let on, and until he found out just how deep, he couldn’t trust her to be honest with him.
And yet he found himself already looking forward to seeing her again that evening.
He felt comfortable with her in a way he couldn’t explain, even when she teased him and joked about taking him to salching markets—maybe even especially then, when her eyes lit up with humour and he smiled in return.
Perhaps it was because he knew she understood, in some way, the things he kept locked away.
She knew what it was to be ostracised by your family and peers, to be clawing for survival in a world that didn’t care.
Calum swallowed, his throat dry. “I trust her.”
“Are you sure you’re not just seeing what you want to see?” Graham’s expression had softened, his head tilting as he looked at Calum with concern.
Calum’s shoulders tensed. “There’s a connection here, I’m certain of it.”
“How would a man like Gibson even know about a few missing people?” Graham’s tone was calm, reasoned, like he thought Calum was seeing too much in the facts. It made the heat rise to Calum’s cheeks.
“Perhaps his constituents wrote to him, begging him to do something about it because the police were doing nothing.”
Graham opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it, pressing his lips together for a moment before saying, “No. Think of what the chief constable will say if it looks like you’re using a burgess’s murder to look into your own preferred investigation.
” Calum began to protest, but Graham held up a hand and continued, “Now, have you spoken to all of his colleagues yet?”
Calum tightened his hands around the armrests of his chair. “All but one. She was off sick when I went to the council chambers yesterday.”
“Well, I suggest you go see if she’s feeling better, and enough with this nonsense about missing people.”
Calum’s teeth clenched together as he left Graham’s office.
There was a connection here, he knew it, and Graham refused to see it.
He didn’t notice Clare calling his name until he was halfway down the street.
He whirled round to see her hurrying towards him in her waistcoat, her sleeves billowing in the wind.
“Hey, are you okay?” Clare’s eyes were wide with concern as she stopped at Calum’s side.
Calum exhaled slowly, his breath pluming in the cold air. “Aye, I’m fine.”
“You were talking to Graham, weren’t you?” Clare elbowed him lightly, eliciting a faint chuckle from Calum. “What’s going on?” Clare’s hand closed over Calum’s forearm, giving a friendly squeeze.
Calum opened his mouth to make an excuse, then paused.
This was Clare, not Graham or Hugh or anyone else at Station House Eight.
She’d stood up for him his first day at the station house; she hadn’t even known him, but when Hugh had commented that he didn’t know rats could read, Clare had torn into him, telling him he should consider himself fortunate to be working under such a skilled DI. They’d been friends ever since.
“I’ve been looking into some missing people,” Calum said. “It turns out Gibson was, too, but Graham won’t let me pursue that line of inquiry because he’s convinced I’m just seeing things I want to see.”
“Well, Graham’s wrong.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but somehow I doubt it’ll change his mind.”
“Do you think the crime lords have something to do with these missing people?” Clare asked.
The hairs lifted on the backs of Calum’s arms. “What makes you say that?”
Clare dug a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her trousers. “I found this among Gibson’s papers.”
Calum took the paper. It was rough, catching on the calluses on his palms. The address was written in block capitals, the black ink already turning a greenish brown, the flap sealed only with a spot of tallow.
There was no return address and no stamp, suggesting it had been delivered either personally or by messenger.
He unfolded it, his pulse throbbing in his throat as he read the letter.
Burgess Gibson,
Stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, or your night-time excursions will become public knowledge. The business of crime lords is none of your affair.
Yours sincerely,
A friend.
Calum let out a snort. “A friend?” He waved the paper. “You said this was in Gibson’s papers?”
“From maybe a month or so ago? Tucked in between something about fishing rights and minutes from a meeting about the city’s Hogmanay celebrations.”
Calum handed the paper back to her. “See if any of the other burgesses have received anything similar. And we need to find out who wrote this.” Perhaps the author had escalated from exposing Gibson to murdering him.
The City Chambers was one of the most impressive buildings in the city. Marble columns stretched towards the ceiling, arching together far above Calum’s head. The plaster of the ceiling was painted a madder colour, white vines swirling in sharp relief, picked out by the light of the chandelier.
And it was loud. The thunder of footsteps on the chequerboard marble floor. The buzz of voices on the stair. Calum hunched his shoulders as though he could block out the noise that set his teeth on edge. He stopped at the desk where a security guard sat and flashed his warrant card.
“I’m looking for Burgess Edzan,” he said.
The last of Gibson’s colleagues was the burgess Lewis was working for; if she still wasn’t around today, he’d swallow his pride and see if Lewis knew anything, though he didn’t particularly want to speak to Lewis after his ex had thought his emotions so delicate he needed his sister’s intervention.
Lewis was likely to be in Edzan’s office today, but as he was undercover they would have to pretend to be strangers. That was just fine with Calum.
The security guard pointed up the stairs. “First floor, turn left, fourth door on your right.”
Calum thanked her and made his way in the direction she’d indicated.
He was grateful to leave the crowd of people on the stair and turn down a wide corridor lit by sconces on the walls.
A row of tall sash windows stood at the far end of the corridor, giving a view across the canal to the park on the far side, the spindly trees stretching their claw-like branches towards the sky.
Calum found the correct door and knocked on the dark-stained oak. The door swung open to reveal a familiar face framed by dark curls.
Lewis’s lips lifted at the corners for a moment before he smoothed his features. “I presume you’re here to speak to Burgess Edzan.”
“Tell whoever it is that I’m very busy and haven’t the time.” The posh voice floated over to them from deeper in the room.
“It’s the police,” Lewis called over his shoulder.
There was the sound of papers being shuffled, then Edzan spoke again, her words clipped with irritation. “Well, I suppose you’d better let them in.”
Lewis opened the door further for Calum to enter.
Calum’s footsteps were quiet on the honey-coloured hardwood floor as he gave Lewis a wide berth.
It wasn’t fair to be upset with him for writing to Sorcha, but Calum was, and he gave no sign of acknowledgement as he followed Edzan to the turquoise silk chairs that framed the marble fireplace.
He sat where directed, taking a moment to appreciate the way the warmth from the fire melted into his bones, before pulling out his notebook and a pencil.
“Lewis, fetch some tea, will you?” Edzan said, the buckles on her shoes flashing in the sunlight as she sat across from Calum.
“You’re here to talk to me about Craig’s murder, are you?” She shook her head, making a moue of distaste. “What a nasty business.”
“How well did you know Gibson?” Calum asked, flipping his notebook open.
“We worked together for five years,” Edzan said, tugging at her elegant lace cuffs. “I don’t mind telling you we often disagreed on matters, but we respected each other. He was a good burgess and he cared about this city.”
“Can you tell me more about the things you disagreed on?” Calum asked.
Edzan raised her pewter eyebrows. “I’m not sure how that’s relevant.”
Calum waved a hand. “Or things you agreed on. I’m just trying to get a sense of his positions and anything that might have upset people.”
Lewis returned with the tea, passing closely enough for his kilt to brush Calum’s sleeve as he set the tea tray on the table.
Edzan poured it into two delicate cups and handed one to Calum, then took a sip of her own tea before saying anything.
“Well, he was very active in the movement for Guild Reform. It started about a year or so ago; before then he never really cared much about class issues.” Perhaps that was when he’d started buying magic; his reliance on salching put him close to the most disadvantaged people in society, and it would explain why he advocated for poor folk while taking advantage of them.
“He argued the guilds have too much power and it leaves people who aren’t members of guilds at a disadvantage.
” She pursed her lips, setting her teacup on the saucer with a clink.
“It came to a head recently when he argued against a bill I put forward that would give more welfare responsibility to the guilds.” Her shoulders slouched.
“Believe me, I understand his complaints. At the moment, the city provides a basic allowance to anyone out of work, and those who are either members of guilds or have been employed by a single guild for a period of at least five years will have that money topped up by the guild. No one goes hungry, but the guilds cover a significant portion of the costs.”
Calum thought of Aly’s sharp cheekbones and her enthusiasm over something so basic as vegetables and found himself questioning the assertion that everyone got enough.
He’d seen her hesitation when he’d first bought her bridies, and her relief when he’d claimed they were expensed.
The way her eyes had lit up when he’d presented her with the food wasn’t the reaction of someone who had enough.
“But the cost to the city can still be substantial. And most adults in the city work for or are members of guilds, while people under twenty-five are the responsibility of their parents’ guilds.
” Again, he thought of Aly, and how she’d had no recourse to her mother’s guild because her mother was the reason for her poverty.
His heart constricted in sympathy. She’d been tossed out by the one person who should have cared for her—she’d made no mention of another parent—and the state that should have caught her had left her destitute.
He had a sudden, fae-touched urge to protect her.
“So, you introduced a bill that would reduce the burden on the city and increase the role of the guilds?” Calum said, his grip tightening around the pencil.
“You have to understand that the city’s been spending more than it can afford, and this would be an opportunity to help those who help themselves.”
“And those who are left behind can simply starve.” Calum clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Edzan spread her hands. “It would be—unfortunate, for some, but it would allow us to increase spending on healthcare that serves the needs of the entire community.” She pressed her lips together. “But it’s irrelevant, really. We voted on it last week and it was defeated nine to six.”
“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him?” Calum said.
Edzan dropped her gaze, her hands twisting in her lap. Then she lifted her head and looked Calum in the eye. “No one.”
She was lying.