Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Franklin
“Dustin Boggman. ‘Boggs’ to his associates. His name has come across my desk more than a few times.” Detective Ellie Decatur said. “He’s your typical small-town dealer, or at least he was. Recent information suggests he’s attempting to expand his operation.”
My grunt was automatic. “Secondhand information has come to my attention that suggests your information is accurate.” I related my conversation with Billy Davies along with his deceased brother’s case file.
“Well, shit,” Detective Decatur cursed. “That moves Boggs up on my list of priorities.”
“Mine too. Do you have any undercover operations going on where Boggs is concerned?” I didn’t want to jack up any ongoing undercover work with my own investigation.
“No. Like I said, up until now, Boggs has mostly been small time. I hate to say it, but bigger fish take priority.” Decatur sounded genuinely regretful.
“Trust me, I get it. We’re all short-staffed.” The sad truth was that the police were often more reactive than proactive. We simply didn’t have the man or woman power to do much more than that. “Since this has to do with one of my homicide victims, do you mind if I retain point on this case?”
“Mind? Hell, I’d be grateful. What can I do to help?”
“Sending me anything you can on Boggs would be a first step. Now that I’ve got a full name to work with, I can get busy on my end as well, but you could save us some time. I’m afraid the clock’s ticking on this one.” I didn’t like the short timeline we were working with. So far, nothing had come of the surveillance we had set up and around the Davies’s family. I didn’t know if that would hold out or not. Many would say it was still early days, but I got the feeling Boggs wasn’t waiting around. Billy was a good-looking kid. Even if he could come up with the supposed money Lucas had owed Boggs, I got the feeling it wouldn’t be enough. Boggs was after a bigger payday.
“I’ll get everything put together and send a file over ASAP.” I rattled off my official e-mail address and Decatur asked, “Anyone else you want this sent to?”
It didn’t take but a second for me to decide to hand out Becks’s information too. “She’s our tech genius.” I doubted Becks would agree with the genius part, but compared to me, she was a damn savant.
“I’ll make sure you have it by noon.”
Considering it was just a little past ten a.m. I thought that was more than reasonable. “Thanks, Detective Decatur.”
“I should be the one thanking you, O’Hare. If you can get this guy off the street, that’s one less asshole on my plate.”
I grinned. “I’ve always been good at cleaning my plate, as well as others’ at the table.”
Decatur chuckled. “You’re my kind of man, O’Hare. If I weren’t already a married woman, I’d be tempted to ask you out.”
“Ah, but I’d have to decline as I’m a taken man.” I loved being able to say that. “I hope to put a ring on it soon.”
“Bit of advice, don’t wait too long. If you’ve found someone to put up with our shitty hours and even shittier cases, then that person’s a keeper. You lock that person down, pronto.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. Message received and understood.”
“Good man, O’Hare. I’m here if you need me. You’ve got the state’s attention and any resources we can spare. Get this scum off the street.” I liked the note of steel backing up those words.
“Promise I’ll do my best,” I answered.
“That’s all any of us can ask. Stay safe, Detective O’Hare. I like you, and I don’t get to say that often enough.” Decatur ended the call, and I set my phone aside before pulling open a nearby drawer. I’d printed out a few engagement ring options. I fully intended to speak with Warlock Holland regarding a wedding ring. I wanted something more than what was locally available—something with more magical punch. Something that would help protect the man I loved.
Eleven thirty-five rolled around and, true to her word, Detective Decatur sent me what was known about Dustin Boggman, a.k.a., Boggs. The jackass had a shitty name. I didn’t think Boggs was much of an improvement. If the snort Becks sent my way when I gave her the name was any indication, neither did she.
I pulled up the file and began reading. The information was sparser than I’d like and so far hadn’t given me much more than Becks had already found out once I got her a name. Born Dustin Boggman, Boggs was a local. He’d grown up in a suburb of Tupelo and moved farther south sometime after graduating high school. I was kind of surprised he’d managed to get that far in his education. That wasn’t exactly judgmental; it was experience. Boggs had been in and out of jail a few times, but he always seemed to evade anything heavy. The guy had a way of slithering out of sticky situations. It seemed like there was always someone else he rolled on that took the bigger hit while Boggs walked with a deal.
Boggs went quiet about seven years ago. On the surface, it looked like he’d finally cleaned up his act and got his life straight. In reality, he’d just gone deeper underground. Boggs had lackeys that did his dirty work and took the risks while he pulled the strings. Boggs was the proverbial head of the snake and needed chopped ASAP.
I searched the records for any hint of family. Family could be a weak spot. Not always, but it happened often enough that it was worth a shot. Family sometimes knew what hole the snake had nested in. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. Boggs’s mother took off and had been MIA since he was four. Boggs’s father died fourteen years ago. There was a sibling. One older brother who died five years ago. There was no record of marriage, children, aunts, uncles, grandparents, or anyone else. For all intents and purposes, Boggs was a man without familial connections.
The file was disappointing. I wasn’t sure if it was so thin because Detective Decatur truly hadn’t had time to do a deep dive into the man or if there simply wasn’t anything to find. With that in mind, I headed to Becks’s desk. The list of necromancer mother names had definitely taken a backseat to our current case.
“Got anything interesting?” I asked while heavily sitting in a nearby chair.
Becks let loose a low, frustrated growl. “Not much. It’s not that Boggs is a ghost. I can find you bank accounts—far too modest accounts,” Becks said, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I can also get you a home address, but I doubt that’s where he truly lives.”
“Why do you say that?” I leaned closer, trying to get a glance at Becks’s computer screen but she stubbornly blocked me out.
“Easy. The guy’s not an idiot,” Becks huffed. “Oh, I’m sure that’s where his mail is delivered and that’s what’s on his driver’s license and such, but that’s not where he washes his dirty laundry.” With a shrug, she added, “I suppose he might actually live there at least some of the time, but it’s not truly his home.”
I understood. Home wasn’t simply a brick-and-mortar structure. Home was where your soul hung its hat. Boggs’s soul wasn’t clean enough to find solace in such a quaint, conventionally modest house.
“Any ideas where he’s really operating out of?”
Becks cocked her head to the side and answered, “Maybe. I’ve got a nagging thread I’d like to pull on a little harder. Nothing concrete yet. Give me until the end of the day, tomorrow if something else jumps to the priority list.” We both knew that could happen.
“Thanks, Becks.” I stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and earning me a smile wide enough to show pristine, white teeth.
“Anytime, O’Hare.” Stretching her arms, Becks intertwined her fingers, cracking her knuckles.
“God, that sounds awful.” I shivered. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to me.
“But it feels oh so good.” Becks’s laughter followed me back to my desk.
Heavily sitting, I checked my phone and saw I had a missed text from Boone followed by a missed call. My brow furrowed with worry. I didn’t like the double contact this close together. The text was a simple, I’m home . When I checked my voicemail, there was nothing. Quickly pulling up Boone’s number, I hit the send button. Thankfully, he answered after the first ring.
“Franklin?” I hated the hesitant quiver in Boone’s voice.
“What’s wrong?” I immediately asked. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” My memories of Warlock Holland’s phone call, telling me Boone had been run off the road and shot at, flooded my mind and made my heart race. I was already reaching for my coat and keys, ready to bolt from the precinct.
“I’m fine, at least physically.”
My butt was halfway out of my chair when those words sank in. “I need more explanation, Boone. Did something happen with your client or the deceased?” My ass hit my chair, but I remained tense and ready to spring into action.
Boone blew out a breath. “No, that was fine. Better than fine actually.” I tried to wait as patiently as possible but my anxiety was still high. Boone’s next words pushed me a little further up that anxiety slope. “I got a call from Tenzen Huxley.”
I swallowed hard. “What did the director have to say?” While I might not know the words spoken, I already knew I wouldn’t like their implication. I’d like to say I was wrong, but by the time Boone was done summarizing the gist of the phone call, my hands were clammy and my skin felt cold.
“How does he know what happened?” Boone asked. “Did he call you again? Or maybe Pops?”
“He didn’t call me, and I certainly didn’t inform Huxley. As for Holland, I can’t imagine he did either.” I’d spoken to Holland recently and he hadn’t mentioned it. While Boone’s pops and I might not always see eye to eye, we easily agreed on one important thing—Boone’s safety.
Boone’s voice sounded less shaky when he said, “I’m sorry for worrying you. I… It’s not exactly what Tenzen said. More the way he said it. It gave me the creeps and made me feel like he’s got eyes on me that I don’t know about. I feel stupid and paranoid. It’s ridiculous.”
“It is not ridiculous,” I sternly answered. “Don’t ignore your instincts. Besides, it’s not just you.”
“You mean we’re sharing in group paranoia?” Boone tried to lighten the mood by joking.
“Maybe, but somehow I doubt it.” I didn’t like how spooked Boone sounded. I checked the time. I typically remained at work another two hours or more. I still had work I wanted to do on the Davies’s case, but I’d drop it and head home if that’s what Boone needed. “Do you want me to come home early?”
“No,” Boone quickly answered. “That’s not necessary. I’m okay, really. I just… I think I just needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry for bothering you at work.”
“You are never a bother . And for the record, I love hearing your voice too. Anytime, anywhere. Do you hear me?”
“I do” was Boone’s quiet response.
“And do you believe me?”
I heard Boone inhale and exhale before again answering, “I do.”
“Good. I’ll be home within the next couple of hours. Promise me you’ll call if you need me sooner. Also, do me a favor and let your pops know about Tenzen’s call.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? He’ll just worry and—”
“A worried Warlock Holland isn’t always a bad thing. He’d want to know. I’m not sure about Lydia.” It wasn’t that I wanted to keep Boone’s momma in the dark. I just didn’t know what Lydia could do, and I didn’t want her to get hurt.
“I’ll ask Pops. If he thinks Momma should know, then he’ll say something.”
Boone was right. His parents worked like a team with a single goal when it came to their son. “Okay. I’ll text you before I head home.” At this rate, I might as well sell my place and completely move in with Boone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to my residence and most of my clothes and personal effects had already migrated to Boone’s house.
“See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I answered before hitting the end button.
If my phone had been a living creature, I would have strangled it within my death grip. What was Huxley’s game? He wanted something, that was clear enough. What wasn’t clear was what. As I sat there thinking over what Huxley said to Boone, the what began taking a murky shape and that picture didn’t just chill my blood, it turned it to ice. Our trip to Chicago a couple of months ago illuminated a very poignant fact.
I’d always felt like Boone was one of a kind, but I loved him and most thought that way about the one that completed them. When I looked at Boone, I didn’t see a uniquely talented necromancer. I saw the man who lit up my life, who made a house a home, who made me laugh and comforted me when the horrors of my job became too much to bear alone.
But I’d seen the look in Sara Tompkins’s eyes when she realized Boone could bring a soul back with only a pile of ashes to work from. I saw that same crazed, covetous look in the Midwest Vampire Queen’s coal-black eyes. When they looked at Boone, they didn’t see the beautiful soul beneath. They saw a means to an end, a way to assuage their greed and lust for power.
The question was, what did Huxley want Boone for? That was the key that would unlock the mysterious door hiding Huxley’s motivation. It was a door I didn’t want to open, and yet knew without a doubt needed to be taken down with a battering ram.