SEVEN
Murder .
The word echoed in Aly’s head as she stepped into the street, resisting the urge to run and attract the copper’s attention.
How could it be murder?
The man had been alive when he’d left. High as a kite on someone else’s magic, to be sure, but no one had ever died from buying magic—it was selling that was dangerous.
The mist settled on Aly’s woollen jacket like seed pearls on fine net as she hurried through the streets, her heart pounding.
Yvaani wasn’t a grass—no self-respecting fence was, not if they wanted to keep working—but there was a difference between theft and murder.
Aly wasn’t certain she could rely on Yvaani to keep her mouth shut if it put her at risk of being implicated in a murder, particularly not to protect Aly.
There was only one option. Aly would just have to get there before the police did and buy back the kilt pin. And then destroy it.
The streets narrowed as Aly reached the rougher part of town.
Widely spaced torches flickered, barely providing more light than the pre-dawn sky, blocked out as that was by the tall grey stone tenements that stretched up on either side.
It was easy enough to imagine how a rich fellow without his wits about him would be a ripe target in the dark.
Aly turned a corner and thudded down a set of rain-soaked stone stairs, her boots skidding on the slick surface. Another trio of golden balls marked Yvaani’s shop, though the brass was green and tarnished here. She twisted the handle and stepped in, drawing a look of surprise from Yvaani.
Aly leant on the counter. “I’m wanting to buy back the kilt pin I sold you this morning.” She kept her voice low, shooting a glance at the dark-haired fellow browsing in the corner.
Yvaani raised her eyebrows, turning to fetch the pin from a locked cabinet.
She held the kilt pin out to Aly, but didn’t let go. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
Aly reached for the kilt pin, but Yvaani jerked it out of her grasp. “I need it back, that’s all,” Aly said.
“Tell me why, and I’ll give it to you for a shilling,” Yvaani said.
Aly sucked in a steadying breath, jerking her head over her shoulder again to peer at the customer, but he seemed engrossed in the selection of books from Vaedhoun.
“The fellow who gave me that’s dead. Murdered.
The guards are out looking for it. They think it’s evidence.
” She dug in her pocket and pulled out the same shilling Yvaani had given her earlier, slapping it on the counter between them and closing her fingers over the top of the kilt pin.
Yvaani held firm, the pair of them clutching this tiny piece of silver between them.
Yvaani shook her head in disbelief. “What have you got yourself into, Aly?”
“Nothing.” Aly held the other woman’s eyes, willing Yvaani to believe her.
Trust between them had long since fractured, but there were never lies between them, not even in the worst rows in those last few days as their friendship crumbled.
“He was alive when he left Grant’s market.
I don’t know what happened to him after that, but it’s nothing to do with me. ”
Yvaani’s fingers slackened on the kilt pin and Aly pocketed it as a bell chimed over the door.
She spun round to find a dark-haired man towering over her, a line of white slashing through the hair above his left ear.
He wasn’t uniformed, but everything from the rigidity of his shoulders to the set of his jaw screamed that he was police.
The hair rose on the backs of Aly’s arms. He was the same inspector she’d tried to rob two days ago.
His grey eyes flashed with recognition as he looked at Aly. Her skin warmed as his gaze swept over her, heat pooling in her core.
“What can I do for you?” Yvaani asked the copper, breaking Aly from her trance.
The man stepped closer, his expression as cold as the sea. “I’m looking for a kilt pin.”
Yvaani smiled, too brightly. “I’m sure I can help with that. I’ve got several nice pewter ones in here.”
Aly took a step towards the door as the inspector spoke again.
His voice was low, and there was something lilting in his accent Aly couldn’t quite place.
Somewhere in the Highlands, perhaps. “I’m not looking to buy.
I’m looking for one in particular. One that was acquired, shall we say, in less than legal circumstances. ”
Yvaani’s smile didn’t waver, though Aly saw the fear in her eyes. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Aly took another step towards the door, careful to avoid the floorboard that always creaked.
“So, you’re telling me that if I were to come back here with a warrant to search the place, I wouldn’t find anything that had been stolen—or taken off the body of a murder victim.”
“If someone tried to sell me something like that, I’d go straight to the guards.” Yvaani widened her eyes in a reasonable imitation of surprise.
The police officer jerked his head at Aly. “Then why is she trying to sneak out without me noticing?”
Aly bolted for the door, her fingers closing round the doorknob.
She twisted her wrist, but it was stuck fast. Her heart leapt to her throat as she rattled the handle, but it held firm, no doubt by the copper’s magic.
In two long strides the police officer loomed over her, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb.
“I’m stopping you under Section Thirty-Three of the Alleviating Harms Act.
My name is Detective Inspector Erskine, of Station House Eight.
” He reached into his pocket and flipped open a leather wallet, displaying a card listing his name and rank, emblazoned with the seal of the Mossburgh City Guard.
“And, yes, I remembered my card today.” Aly clenched her teeth, frustration bubbling over inside her. “Turn out your pockets.”
Aly stuffed her hands in her pockets, setting her jaw. “You haven’t got a warrant.”
“I have probable cause. Here we are, in the premises of a receiver of stolen goods, and the moment I came in you hid whatever it was you were trying to sell. And I have reason to believe you’re a thief.”
“Now hold on a moment,” Yvaani interjected. “Whoever told you I was a fence—”
“Of course you’re a fence.” Erskine turned his cold gaze on Yvaani.
“Every pawnbroker from here to Fleshmarket Close is. Whether or not you know your goods are stolen is irrelevant. It’s your legal responsibility to check the provenance of anything you suspect of being stolen, but you don’t, do you?
If you did you wouldn’t make enough to live off, so you look the other way.
” He never raised his voice, but his low, even tone radiated disdain and sent a chill down Aly’s spine.
“And now you have a choice.” He jerked his head to a cabinet containing an array of purses and sporrans.
“You can tell me where you got that green sporran hanging on the wall, which, by the way, looks suspiciously similar to one reported stolen last week, or you can tell me what this woman was putting in her pocket.”
Aly turned to Yvaani. The other woman looked Erskine straight in the eye, her shoulders square.
“It was a kilt pin. I heard them talking about it.”
Aly jerked her head round in surprise. The other customer, the one whose presence Aly had utterly forgotten when Erskine had shown up, was shaking his head. “But I swear, I didn’t know she was a fence.”
Erskine turned back to Aly. “Turn out your pockets.”
“No.” If he found the kilt pin, she was done for. He’d pin the murder on her—there was no way she’d convince him the dead fellow had parted with it of his own accord.
“It’s not optional.”
Aly was familiar with the law he’d cited. It was well-known and well-loathed, giving the police the power to search people’s belongings without a warrant as long as they had probable cause.
“If you don’t obey, I can arrest you for failure to comply with a police investigation,” he continued.
Aly tried to twist the doorknob again, but it was immobile. She glanced at the door to the back of the shop. If she could get through there, and out the back door, she could disappear amongst the closes and alleys.
She waited until Erskine reached beneath his coat, then darted towards the back of the shop—but despite his size, Erskine was faster.
His hand snapped out and closed around her wrist, jarring her shoulder.
She pulled up short as pain screamed through her arm.
Her other hand snaked around, reaching for the knives at the small of her back.
Pulling a weapon on a police officer was foolish beyond measure, but letting him arrest her and search her was more dangerous.
Erskine’s eyes narrowed as he saw what she was doing, and he tugged her to him, spinning her so her back was against his chest and his left arm pinned both of hers to her sides.
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” His breath was warm against her cheek, and the feel of him pressed against her as his voice rumbled in her ear sent desire spinning through her.
Her skin blazed under his touch, despite the layers of clothing, as his free hand brushed over her abdomen to unbuckle her belt.
She clamped her jaw shut, catching her tongue between her teeth.
Pain bloomed in her mouth and she concentrated on that feeling, driving out the urge to arch against him.
He was a copper, for goodness’ sake. A copper who was, in all likelihood, about to arrest her for murder.
That thought poured cold water on her lust, curdling her desire as Erskine removed her belt and tucked it into a pocket of his coat.
“Are you carrying any other weapons?” he asked.
Aly shook her head, fear closing her throat at the clank of manacles as Erskine removed them from his pocket.
She barely heard the words he said as the manacles closed around her wrists, the iron so cold it burned.
He led her out of the shop, and the thud of the door in its frame shuddered Aly’s bones.