Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Franklin
“What have we got, Johns?” I’d worked several cases with Officer Albert Johns. He was good at his job and most of all, he was succinct and efficient while still managing to be thorough.
Johns let loose a weighty sigh. He was currently crouched by the body, careful not to touch anything while we waited for the ME to get to the scene. Using a pen, Johns lifted the edge of the victim’s shirt. “As far as I can tell, one shot to the abdomen and two in the chest. The guy was probably dead before he hit the ground, but I’ll let the doc make that determination.” Standing, Johns arched his back and cracked his neck. “Damn, squatting down like that used to be easy.”
I patted him on the back. “We all reach that point.”
Johns’s deep brown eyes glared down on me. The man had a good three inches on me. I’d never known Johns to use his height in an intimidating way and now was no different. “Thanks, old man.”
I scoffed. “Not that old.” I was on the downward slide of my thirties, but I wasn’t ancient. Johns was a good ten years younger.
There was a small scuffle in the background and the sound of a woman crying. She was flailing her arms and pointing at the body lying at my feet. Her face was splotchy red from crying, but that wasn’t the discoloration that bothered me.
“I hate the domestic cases,” Johns said.
“Me too.” Homicide was always bad, but some were worse than others and most of the time, there were more victims than the one I was there to investigate. “Is that the wife?”
Johns nodded, his hands fisted on his hips. “Mrs. Cecilia DeVane.” Johns ran a hand over his shorn hair. The man barely had a covering of dark black/brown over his head. “According to Mrs. DeVane, she’s been married to her husband”—Johns pointed at the body on the ground—“for fourteen years. Thirteen too many by her account. Mrs. DeVane claims the murder was self-defense, and by the look of her face and neck, I have to say she might have a point. Mrs. DeVane claims her husband’s been abusing her for years and she finally had enough.” Johns blew out a breath. “I’m not the only officer who’s been called out to the house before. Mrs. DeVane’s made numerous 911 calls. Neighbors over the years have too. But the woman never followed through on pressing charges, and she never filed for divorce or left him.” Johns shook his head. “I know what the shrinks say, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand all the ins and outs of domestic violence.”
I patted the man on his shoulder. “Me either.” I hopefully understood well enough to do my job, but that’s where it ended. Besides, my experience wasn’t dealing with the abuse while it was happening. I was the clean-up crew. I was the guy that came in after things had truly gone to shit, when the violence escalated to the point of no return. That’s what had happened to Mr. DeVane.
This wasn’t a “whodunit” case. We knew the perpetrator and she wasn’t denying what she’d done. Mrs. DeVane fully admitted she killed her husband. The heart of the case was in the motive and if Mr. DeVane’s murder had truly been self-defense.
“We need medical to check out Mrs. DeVane. She needs a thorough checkup and photo documentation,” I said.
“Already on it. That’s what Smalls is trying to do right now. Unfortunately, Mrs. DeVane is reticent to go to the hospital.”
I raised an eyebrow while looking at Smalls. Smalls was actually Officer Leroy Smalls’s name, but it was an ironic one considering the man was a hulking giant. He was also a tenderfoot. I didn’t think Mrs. DeVane was too chuffed about his size. What I did think was that we needed a more feminine touch here.
“We need a female officer on the scene.”
“Becks is on her way,” Johns answered. “She was the only one available on short notice.” Ebony Becks’s skills on the computer made her a more valuable asset inside the precinct verses outside of it.
“Okay. We’ll see if she has any more luck with Mrs. DeVane.” I didn’t want to force her into the police car, but I would if need be. Right now, I was the senior officer on scene, and if things couldn’t be resolved in an amicable way, then I’d be the one to make the decision to move onto more forceful tactics.
A police vehicle rolled up and I breathed in a sigh of relief when I saw Becks get out. I gave her a brief nod of appreciation before she headed in the direction of the wailing Mrs. DeVane.
The ME wasn’t far behind. We had a new one, Dr. Evelyn Stowe. I’d worked with her on about a dozen cases by now and liked her. The woman was small but mighty and looked like a hobbit around the beefed-up officers she was often surrounded by. What Dr. Stowe lacked in height, she more than made up for in bravado. She was Dr. McCallister’s polar opposite in personality and often joked with the other officers. Everything was fair game, and her easy demeanor and genuine gratitude for all their assistance went a long way to endearing herself with the people she worked with.
“Good evening, Detective O’Hare,” Dr. Stowe greeted as she walked toward me. “And Johns, I thought you finally had a day off.” Dr. Stowe waggled her thick, dark brown eyebrows. “Last I heard, you had a hot date with that lovely wife of yours planned.”
Johns’s cheeks flushed, and he coughed into his hand. “Yeah, well… Sandy’s not feeling too good today. She’s home with some kind of cold. It’s not terrible, but she wasn’t feeling like going out, so when the call came in, she shooed me out of the house with orders to pick up her favorite takeout and bring it back tonight. Date night’s gonna be lukewarm Italian and Netflix.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Dr. Stowe sagely answered. “Now, what have you got for me?”
“I’ve got this, Johns. Why don’t you finish up and head out?”
“Thanks, O’Hare. I’ll take you up on that.” Tilting his head, Johns offered a quick “evenin’, ma’am,” toward Dr. Stowe. I’d learned quickly that using the terms “ma’am” and “sir” were ingrained in Southern society.
As Johns walked away, I filled Dr. Stowe in on what I knew. I stayed with her as she poked and prodded the body. Dr. Stowe hummed the entire time. She had a small recorder on her that she’d talk into at times. “Help me roll him over?” Dr. Stowe looked to me and, after gloving up, I did as asked. The blood beneath Mr. DeVane’s body was congealed and stuck to his clothing. The grass below was soaked through.
“Hmm…” Dr. Stowe did some more poking before she said, “I think that’s enough. Let’s get him loaded up and back to the morgue. I’ll get the autopsy findings to you soon, Detective, but I doubt they’ll be anything too surprising. You can smell the alcohol on him.” Dr. Stowe waved a hand in front of her nose. “I’ll do tox screening and check his blood alcohol levels to make sure it isn’t a ruse from the assailant. I’ve had that more than once during my career. The victim smells of alcohol but it was poured into their mouth postmortem. You’ve gotta dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.”
“That you do,” I easily agreed.
“And that’s why you’re an excellent detective, O’Hare.” Dr. Stowe gave me a wink before she spun on her heel and said, “Could a couple of you young, strapping gentlemen be dears and help me load Mr. DeVane’s body on the gurney?”
More than one offered aid. It was amazing how true the saying was regarding flies and honey. Dr. McCallister could have learned a thing or two from Dr. Stowe. Then again, Morgan McCallister had been a psychopathic serial killer. I doubt spending time with Dr. Evelyn Stowe would have impacted him much. Then again…
My thoughts drifted down odd, winding roads as we finished processing the crime scene. My phone buzzed with a text from Boone and I grinned like a fool when I read the simple message asking me when I expected to be home. Home . Boone and I hadn’t officially moved in together. I still had my place, but I was hardly ever there and more and more of my personal effects migrated to Boone’s house. Boone had gone so far as to purchase another dresser he designated as mine. There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom, two sets of shampoo and conditioner, one bar of soap, two phone chargers, my favorite breakfast food and brand of milk, and best of all, my own pillow.
I sent a quick text back saying I should be free within two hours. The heart emoji I got in return made me stupid happy.
“Mrs. DeVane has agreed to go to the hospital,” Becks said, interrupting my internal joy.
“Wonderful,” I answered while slipping my phone back into my pocket. My attention turned toward the area Mrs. DeVane had been standing earlier. She was now in the back of Beck’s police cruiser. “You’re taking her?” I asked.
“It seems like the best idea. She’s comfortable with me and I don’t want there to be any further hiccups.” Becks inhaled deeply, blowing that breath out by slow degrees. “I know I’m not a physician, but Mrs. DeVane looks pretty banged up.” Becks winced. “Assuming it was the husband that did the damage, I think this is going to be a simple case.”
Cases were rarely as simple as we wanted them to be. Still, that wasn’t my concern. My job was to gather the evidence. I’d let the lawyers, judge, and possible jury dole out the punishment. I’d need to do a lot of background checking. I’d need to get warrants for Mrs. DeVane’s medical records. Given the timeline for the alleged abuse, there was bound to be a medical trail somewhere. The trick was sometimes finding it as most domestic violence victims didn’t frequent the same medical facilities. I’d traveled this terrain more than I’d like and was, for better or worse, versed on the ins and outs.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” I assured Becks.
“I know you will. I’m always relieved when you’re on a case, O’Hare.” Becks offered me a reassuring grin before she turned and headed back to her car. I watched Becks climb into the driver’s seat before starting the car and heading out. I wouldn’t be far behind.
Fifteen minutes later, I made good on that thought and left the crime scene. All the evidence had been collected and the remaining officers were on clean-up duty—making certain the crime scene was secured. I wasn’t ready to release it yet, just in case things weren’t as simple as Becks thought they were.
I headed back to the office. Paperwork, or more correctly, computer work, took up a lot of my time. It was the way of things in the human world. I doubted fairies did a lot of paperwork. The law was very cut and dry for them. All black and white without a hint of gray. While that seemed nice on the surface, I’d been working homicide long enough to understand that the color gray was a lot more common than pristine white or glimmering black.
I was gaining on the two-hour mark I’d given Boone earlier. I hit save on my documents before sending my initial report to Captain Cicely. I had one last thing to do before I headed to Boone’s. Pulling up a file I’d created this past summer, I looked at the list of somewhat familiar names and hit the print button. The names were no longer part of an active case and Captain Cicely already told me she supported my efforts to help Boone and offered her assistance.
List of names in hand, I headed for the exit, happy to be done with the day.
B oone stared, his eyes wide as he took in the names printed before him. “I don’t understand, how—”
“They’re from the McCallister case.” It was also known as the shredded souls case. “When we were looking for regional necromancers. The Warlock Council was willing to release the names of recent human, necromancer mothers in the region. I know it’s not exactly what we want, but at least it’s a start.”
Boone’s breath caught before he lunged for me. The pieces of paper crinkled in his hands as he wrapped his arms around me and held on for dear life. “Gaia, I didn’t know you kept these. I assumed they’d been deleted, I didn’t even think… I never would have thought of this.”
I hugged him back, loving the feel of his body against mine. What I loved even more was Boone’s unyielding faith, his knowledge that I loved touching him and took every opportunity to do just that. He didn’t hesitate, there was no pause, no second-guessing that I wouldn’t want him in my arms.
“But you did think of it. You just thought the names were gone.” Boone released his octopi hold on me and leaned back, a huge-ass grin on his face.
“I should have known better.”
I shrugged. While Boone had been involved in a lot of homicide investigations, that didn’t equate to knowing police procedures. “I never delete or throw anything away. You just never know when it might be useful in the future.” Sometimes, things got thrown away or lost by mistake, but I wouldn’t knowingly do such a thing.
Easing away from me, Boone stared down at the names. There weren’t that many and they were only of human mothers in Mississippi and the surrounding states. They also went back further than Boone currently wanted and I said as much. “Some of the names on here are going to be human mothers from more than thirty years ago. I don’t really have a way of figuring that out simply by the list alone. I can start looking the names up and find their age and cross-reference that with birth certificates of the same last name.” It would be time consuming, but some of the legwork was already done. That’s how I’d found McCallister. I’d thankfully figured out his possible involvement early on and hadn’t needed to go through the entire list. It looked like I would now.
Boone nodded vigorously. “I know, and I know you’re busy with cases so I don’t expect miracles or anything like that. It’ll be a slow process unless…” Boone sucked on his bottom lip, chewing mercilessly at it.
Placing a finger on his lip, I gave a gentle tug. “Hey now, none of that. What’s worrying you?” It was one of Boone’s tells.
“I may have done something stupid,” Boone confessed. “I’m not sure yet. I gave it a lot of thought. Aurelia even told me I was becoming increasingly boring.”
“Aurelia stopped by?” That sounded like she drove a car to Boone’s house or knocked on the door while she was out walking around the neighborhood.
Boone nodded, not taking his eyes from the list. “Yeah. Momma too.” His head snapped up and his eyes widened. “You will not believe what Peaches got Aurelia this time.”
Now my eyes widened. “Another cat?”
Boone shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth. “Nope. A hamster.”
“A hamster? What the hell for?”
“According to Aurelia, Peaches thinks she’s mourning the loss of Little Fang and needed another pet. Get this, she’s carrying it around in the same backpack with the plastic bubble. It’s full of wood shavings. She even has one of those clear balls to put it in so it can run around.”
“Christ, what was Peaches thinking?”
“I’m not sure.” Boone chuckled. “Aurelia keeps calling it a ‘useless creature.’”
I rubbed the stubble on my chin. “I’m not entirely sure she’s wrong. I mean, I know people like them and all, but…” I couldn’t see how this would be a good pet for a djinn. “They’ve got a really short life span. I think it’s a long shot that Aurelia will get attached to the little guy, but if she does, then it won’t last long.” Even with the best care, hamsters simply didn’t live that long compared to other animals humans kept as pets.
“Aurelia didn’t say anything about that. She’s still mooning for a scuttlebutt.”
I’d never heard of such a thing until Aurelia brought it up, and according to Boone, that would be a terrible idea. Since I trusted Boone’s opinion implicitly, I agreed. “Are you going to talk to Peaches about that?”
Boone appeared thoughtful before shaking his head. “I think King Moony would be better.”
Boone’s eclectic list of friends never failed to amaze me, or the ease with which he spoke of contacting the Southeast vampire king. I’d met the Midwest vampire queen and didn’t care for a repeat performance. While I understood King Moony was supposed to be very different than Queen Millicent, he was still an ancient, very powerful vamp.
“Anyway, Aurelia stopped by and then Momma came over. When Aurelia showed up, I was staring at my phone, debating on whether or not to call Tenzen Huxley.”
My muscles went rigid and my mind immediately went on alert. “You called Director Huxley?”
“I did.” Boone’s fingers toyed with the edge of the paper. “Do you think I shouldn’t have?” He turned his beautiful green, pleading eyes my direction. That gaze was so full of indecision and doubt. “I’m not even sure if he can do anything or not. Tenzen said he’ll speak with the Warlock Council, or at least he said he might have some personal influence. I honestly don’t know what that means.”
I didn’t either. Knowing Huxley thought he could possibly influence the Warlock Council should have given me relief. It didn’t. All I had to go on was Boone’s original reaction to Huxley’s first call. Huxley gave Boone pause, and in so doing, he gave me pause too. Like I said earlier, I trusted Boone. I also trusted Boone’s gut. I trusted his father’s gut too and if Warlock Holland was leery of Huxley, then I took notice.
Flopping back on the couch, Boone stared at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you didn’t tell me I did the right thing either.”
That was true. “That’s because I don’t know what the right thing is. Listen, I don’t know this Huxley guy at all. He’s the Director of the Magical Usage Council. That has to mean something positive. Doesn’t it?” Honestly, I had no idea. As a lowly human, I didn’t have much contact with them. “I can always ask Captain Cicely what she thinks.” While witches had their own council, she seemed to know something of the Magical Usage one. It’s who she contacted during the shredded soul case. We hadn’t gotten any help from that quarter. Captain Cicely had been informed they were short-staffed and since Captain Cicely was, in fact, a witch herself, they thought her more than capable of handling the situation. Given the scope of the murders and the even bigger plans Dr. Morgan McCallister had, I think the council was a little shortsighted.
Boone’s head rolled my way, his eyes narrowed and the quirked lift of his lips indicated he thought I was full of bullshit. Boone probably wasn’t wrong.
Joining Boone’s lounging position, I leaned back so our shoulders were touching. “So, what are you thinking now?”
“So many things,” Boone groaned. “My mind’s all twisted up in knots. I… Something needs to be done and I was out of options, or maybe ideas. Calling Tenzen for help wasn’t first on my list, but—”
“The list of options is woefully brief.”
“Exactly.”
“I understand, and we’ll do what we always do. We’ll figure it out along the way. Chances are this Huxley guy has ulterior motives.” I grunted. “I’ve yet to meet someone in a position like that who doesn’t. It’s par for the course. The important thing is that we realize Huxley’s most likely got something up his sleeve and that we vigilantly watch for it.”
“He hasn’t asked me for anything yet. I think that’s what bothers me the most. Nothing’s free, Franklin.”
“Don’t I know it.” I got it. I really did. This would all be a lot easier and more settling if Huxley had asked Boone for something. If we knew the price for his aid up front and center. That was what was so unsettling, not knowing the cost. It was worse than signing papers on a house and being told the cost after you’d signed the very last one.
We lay there as the night wore on. I spent a lot of time on Boone’s couch. The TV was rarely on. We liked each other’s company well enough not to need outside entertainment. Boone listened while I told him as much about my day as I could and I listened as Boone told me about his neighbor, Mrs. Hart and her diminutive dog, Miss Pattycakes’s latest antics. It was peaceful and calm. Relaxing with Boone settled something deep in my soul. He was it for me. There would be no one else.
I had no idea what necromancer bonding looked like. Most likely, Boone didn’t either. If I had to guess, necromancers probably didn’t have any mating traditions. I hoped Boone wasn’t averse to the human kind because I really, really wanted to put a ring on his finger.