Chapter Twelve
Con listened while Rey used her wiles to get the captain to send them to Albany. Doofus One and Doofus Two got the Buffalo and Ithaca assignments.
She even got her boss to spring an unmarked for the ride.
Clever female.
Before they road-tripped it out of town, Con needed clothes. His backpack was nearly empty.
Rey looked him up and down, taking in his denims and tee. “There’s a nearby Target. I don’t think you need a more upscale place.”
She was right. He took no offense. After the stop where he did a fast grab-pay-and-go, they were on their way.
Most of the two-and-a-half-hour trip, they argued over music.
Con liked loud and heavy, while Rey preferred soft and sleepy.
She drove like she dressed. Sensible. Conservative.
Irritating. But since she was cautious, she had to keep her eye on the road.
He got control of the radio, rolled down the window, and breathed in the fresher air outside of Manhattan. “Does the traffic ever get better?”
“Not really.” Rey settled a hand on his thigh. It was warm and gentle.
Without thinking, he rested his palm on top. “Nice.” He meant her touch, not the traffic. Regretting his emotion, he cleared his throat and returned to staring out the window. But he didn’t move his hand.
The GPS took them to the correct precinct, where they found the detective who’d handled the similar case. The older guy, dark-skinned with salt-and-pepper hair, Clive Melrose, led them up the stairs and into his cubicle.
“Your own space,” said Rey.
“Yeah, but everybody can still hear ya. Take a seat, detective.”
“Rey,” she said. “This is Con. I told you he works out of Scath. He’s helping on the case.”
He sank into his desk chair. “Because you think we might have some crazed shifter or vamp loose on Earth?”
Immediately, Con sized up the guy as smart and determined. He had the look in his eyes. Not much got past Clive. “It’s possible.”
“Gotta tell ya. When I first saw our DB, Ivan Petrov, I thought the same. But no evidence of it.” He brushed a hand over his tight-cropped hair. “Damn. No evidence of anything. So, I’m open to ideas.”
“Do you know a George Sandoval?” asked Rey.
“Nope. And after you told me his name on the phone, I did a little checking around. Nobody else knows him.”
“Did your victim hang with vampire wannabes?” asked Con.
“No. Not into anything weird, I could tell. His only vices were smoking and drinking.”
“George was a drinker. Where did your guy hang?”
“Close to home. According to the wifey, he got sloshed at a neighborhood bar and walked home most nights.”
Con had an idea. “Is your victim’s favorite bar owned by an Aeternal?”
Clive stroked his chin. “How’d ya guess. Yeah. Some Warlock owns it. A popular joint. Gets rowdy on weekends. Music venue, too.”
Clive turned on his computer. He flipped through his files. “Here it is. Tooth and Claw Pub. He was killed a few blocks from there. On the path between the bar and home. After we talked to the bar owner and a few patrons, we cleared them.”
Con checked out Rey. “It’s worth a visit after our trip to the morgue. Want to go with us, Clive?”
“Nope. I trust you on your own. I’m working an active case right now, and my partner is expecting me.”
They shook hands all around. He had a firm grip.
****
The body in the morgue didn’t tell Rey anything she didn’t already know. Even Con’s great sniffer didn’t pick up anything. The body had been here too long.
It looked the same as the other DBs. Neck ripped out. Ugly mess. No trace evidence.
They drove to the Tooth and Claw Pub. Rey took the lead in the bar, talking to a waitress who sent them to the bartender. When she saw his size, she twisted toward Con. “One of yours?”
“How can you tell?”
“He looks like he’s on steroids. Vampire or shifter?”
“Could be the owner. Warlock. I hate mages. They don’t fight fair. He could freeze my balls off before I could get my teeth around his neck.”
“Should I talk to him then?” She grinned. “I don’t have balls.”
“Sure you do. Yours are spiritual rather than literal.”
“Thank you, but he’s yours.”
Con pulled out Rey’s stool and sat beside her. The bartender sauntered over, wiping a cloth across the old wood. “Wolf. Ma’am.”
“She’s no ma’am. Show your badge, love.”
When she did, the warlock said, “Wrong part of New York. Lost?”
“We’re here about the dead guy.”
“Don’t know nothing about him.”
“He drank here.”
He waved his hand around the bar. “So do lots of people.”
Rey interrupted. “We hear this place can get rough.”
“Mostly weekends when we get the Scath crowd. It’s our music. You shoulda seen it when the rapper D Monz was here last month. I tripled my bouncers. And he brought his own security.”
“Was he performing the night Ivan was killed?”
“Let me think.” He waited on another customer, pouring a draft beer. He strolled back, drying a beer stein. “Yeah. Come to think of it. Same weekend.”
“Who were your bouncers?”
“I’d have to get the names from my office manager. She doesn’t come in until morning. Got a number where I can reach you?”
Rey wrote down her cell number. “Text me. Were they local?”
“Couldn’t tell ya.” A patron raised two digits to signal him. “Gotta go. Is that it?”
She asked one more question. “Do you know of a hotel that caters to ... uh ... sex?”
He chuckled. “I shoulda become a police officer. Yeah. The Orgasmic Orchid Resort.”
Con leaned across the seat, whispering into her ear. “Did you get us a room, love?”
“Yes. As part of our investigation.”
“Of course.”