Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Carlos Ryson was a legacy cop—but not in this town.
That was back in Salt Lake City, where his father had been a career officer.
Here in Chicago, he was simply Officer Ryson, a guy who’d transferred from Utah with a handful of years on the job, who needed to take the sergeant’s exam if he wanted to rise in the ranks.
A guy who should probably admit to his partner why he was really here but hadn’t yet.
Their patrol car stopped in front of the Shrine, a place he’d avoided so far, in between the front steps and the protestors now pushed back behind a barrier.
Carlos shoved his way out of the passenger seat and waited a second for Officer Halstood to do the same. Halstood locked the electric vehicle with the key fob, and the two headed for the doors, surrounded by a swell of yelling that they ignored.
“I’ll take lead.” Halstood unsnapped his gun but didn’t draw the weapon.
Carlos left his gun where it was. “The call said one dead, correct?”
They’d both heard the same information over the radio. Nothing additional on the computer, where they’d been given an electronic copy of the callout details.
Halstood always had him radio back to Dispatch that they were responding and enter their badge numbers into the computer. Fine by Carlos. He preferred when things were correct, while Halstood was more of a “spirit of the law” than the letter of it.
Right now, his partner was acting antsy. “You think the killer might still be here?”
Halstood grinned under his handlebar mustache. “I think this is the most excitement we’ve had all shift.” He pushed through the front doors.
Carlos looked around the lobby and saw a couple of suited employees waiting for them.
The woman waved them over. She wore a navy-blue skirt suit and had a gold badge on her lapel. “This way. One of our security guards discovered him. The EMTs are right behind you, I believe. But it’s very clear he’s dead.”
“We’ll contact the Medical Examiner’s office and get someone here to take care of the deceased,” Halstood told her.
The woman nodded, hair shifting over her shoulders as she did so.
“I’m Director Sylvia Caughton. I run the Shrine.
I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as taking away the body.
” She said nothing else until the door closed behind them, leaving them in an echoey hallway.
“It’s clear that Doctor Splitfield has been murdered. ”
Halstood lifted one hand and showed her his palm. He did that with women a lot, Carlos had noticed. “We’ll be the ones to make any determinations.”
The director lifted her chin so she could look down her nose at them. “I assure you he’s quite dead.”
Carlos figured he’d have to play peacemaker. “Could you please show us to the victim?”
She turned, and they followed her to a cloudy glass door etched with an illegible name.
“When was he discovered?” Carlos asked.
“Just a short while ago. He never clocked out last night, so I had one of my security guards check to see if he was still here.”
“Sounds like he was.” Halstood snorted under his breath.
The director stepped into the room. “Hope?”
A female with light-brown hair sat in a chair, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt—her head tipped forward and her hair hanging loose. The security guard who’d found the body?
Halstood said, “Ma’am, you’re the one who found him?”
The hair was wrong, but Carlos knew it was her. Eliana Jaxton, disguising herself to deceive these people. Figured.
Carlos strode past her before she could look up and had to contend with the fact that he was here. He walked down the row between the stacks of books. All of them leather-bound papers. Volumes and volumes that looked like they might fall apart at the barest touch, all bundled on the shelves.
History had been collected here, a reference to things the world should never touch. A testament to learning from the past so as not to repeat it.
Calling it “the Shrine” and how Carlos felt about that played into his opinions of this whole place, but his epic grudge against people who wanted to rule the world wasn’t something he could get distracted by on a callout.
“Excuse me! I need you all to take a step back,” he told the collection of people at the end of the row. When they started to turn, he said, “Thank you. Keep moving. Give me some room.”
He’d rather they left altogether, but the spectacle at the table was enough to have drawn attention, and he doubted they’d walk away now.
“If you could all make your way to the other end of the room…” He reached for his radio and called in the body, rescinding the order for EMTs to confirm the victim was deceased. “We need the ME, investigators, and CSU.”
“Copy that, Six-Five. Assistance on route.”
He let go of his radio and scanned the scene. Deciphering who killed this guy from the evidence available wasn’t for him to worry about. All Carlos had to do was ensure the scene was secure.
A couple of lab coats remained. Both men.
“Gentlemen, if you could return to the other end of the room.”
“We should take photos.” The one with a goatee glanced at the other.
“And samples.” The guy’s colleague lifted his smartphone. “Retain as much as we can of this. For posterity.”
“Excuse me.” Carlos blocked the phone’s camera with his palm. “Return to the other end of the room as instructed.”
Goatee Guy huffed.
“Now, gentlemen.” He wasn’t going to be ignored anymore.
“The display will be positively ruined by the police.” Phone Guy looked at Carlos like he was a piece of trash that had missed the can and fallen to the floor. “We have to preserve the scene.”
“That’s the job of the police.” Carlos glanced between them, matching him look for look.
This is what Dominatus was. This us-versus-them, lording-it-over-people thing. None of them had changed.
“The loss of life is something that deserves dignity and respect,” he continued. “Not for you to turn him into a display.”
“That has already happened.” Goatee Guy waved at the victim.
Beyond him, at the far end of the stacks, she appeared in view. Eliana Jaxton peered around the shelves, looking at him. He could see her out of the corner of his eyes but didn’t look directly at her.
She had to know he was here some time. Why not now?
Carlos folded his arms, making him appear more imposing to these two scientists.
He had a couple of inches on his old man, but less breadth in his chest. But he was still bigger than these two guys, both of them at least sixty.
Decades of lab work, or dusty research, or whatever it was they did here had kept them from being prime physical specimens no matter what genetic manipulation Dominatus had been into years ago.
“Question.” Carlos paused. “Did you guys jump on the Dominatus train when they opened this place after the trial, or were you…preexisting?”
“You think we were Dominatus scientists?” Goatee Guy looked aghast.
Phone Guy, not so much.
Carlos eyed him. “So you were—what?—with the Smithsonian, then?”
A sniff. “The British Museum, actually.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.” Carlos turned to Goatee Guy. “How about you?”
“New York Museum of Natural History.”
“Prestigious credentials.”
Both puffed up a little.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to jeopardize your professional reputations by interfering in a police investigation. That could cast a shadow on the work you’ve done, and maybe even get you guys fired.” Carlos let that sink in for a second.
Goatee Guy tipped his head to the other. “Come on.”
They were probably going to look at the security cameras.
Eliana stood at the end of the row, fire in her eyes. Anger. Disappointment. But why would she care that he was in Chicago?
Carlos glanced at the body first, then went over, but he didn’t know where to start.
The director came to stand by her. “Officer, this is Hope Adams, one of our security guards. She found the body.”
Hope Adams? That had to be the reason she was wearing a wig—pretending to be someone other than who she was. For all that he thought of her, he’d never have said she was a liar. But here was the evidence, plain as day.
Eliana started to speak, but Halstood came over, cutting her off. “Already got a statement from the security guard.” Halstood motioned to Eliana with a nod. “You call it in?”
“Yes.”
When she didn’t continue, Carlos said, “We’re secure until they get here.”
After that, Carlos would be on crowd control or watching the perimeter. Ensuring only authorized personnel had access to the scene. Keeping out interlopers.
She was still staring at him. Hope Adams. These people didn’t even know she was one of the ones they should keep out.
The director turned to Halstood. “Can I speak with you?”
“Sure thang, boss lady.”
Carlos clenched his teeth while they walked away, then looked at Eliana.
Before he could speak, she jumped in. “Are you kidding me, Carlos? What are you doing here?” She glanced at his badge. “Wait. That’s not a Salt Lake uniform. You’re…Chicago PD?”
He wanted to shrug it off. “I transferred, Ms. Adams. What’s your excuse?”
She made a face. “I live in Chicago.” Folded her arms. “I work at the Shrine.”
Lest she think him being here was only about her, he said, “Luci is missing.”
Eliana rolled her eyes. “Luci is always missing. It’s her thing.”
“This time I think she’s actually missing.” Carlos always worried about his sister, but it was more than that. “Something is wrong, and I came here to find out what.”
She lifted her chin, but she just wasn’t that imposing. “You could’ve done that with a vacation.”
He stared her down. Her mom made him quake in his boots—literally. It was why he’d agreed to check on her while he was here. But even though Eliana matched him in height, he wasn’t going to back down. “It’s been months, and no leads. We knew it would take longer than two weeks to find her.”
“‘We’? Still taking orders from everyone else?”
He waved at the room around them like it was the symptom of a disease. “Still doing whatever you want?”
“It’s called ‘freedom,’ and you should try it sometime.”
“I’m not interested in lying just to get what I want.”
“No?” Her eyes flared. “You lie all the time.”
“Why are you picking a fight with me? I need to get back to work.”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I just found a guy nailed to a table.” She blew out a breath. “So how are you?” Before he could comment on that, she followed up with, “How is what’s-her-name? Beatrice.”
“Bethany.” As if she didn’t know he’d gotten a divorce three years ago. Carlos lifted his left hand. No ring. “It’s been over for a long time.”
“Right.” She didn’t look guilty. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Bethany certainly isn’t.”
“Listen…”
He studied her expression. “Are you actually okay?”
“No.” She scrunched up her nose, the way she always had when she didn’t like something. “That was…”
He glanced over his shoulder, then took her arm and drew her away. There was nothing in her life that had prepared her for this. He had to remind himself of that. “Death isn’t peaceful or comfortable. It’s jarring. It should be.”
“My mother wouldn’t agree. She’d think it was a regular Tuesday, right? This is what she does.”
“It isn’t what you do, Lia. You aren’t…this.”
She stiffened and pulled away. “You need to call me Hope. Or pretend we don’t know each other. You’re good at that.”
“It was high school.”
“Funny, it still stings.” She backed up and turned away from him, and he watched her walk away. Again.
He could keep an eye on her without talking to her. They didn’t need to be on speaking terms for her to be safe.
And for him to keep his promise to her parents.