Chapter Nineteen
A short time later, the taxi parked at the edge of Gas Works Park on the north shore of Lake Union.
During the ride, Rowan kept his thoughts cloaked from Morgan, and his mouth shut.
If Wiz was a shapeshifter, that meant he was also unpredictable.
Black Labs might look all cuddly and calm on the outside, but, like all dogs, they were descended from wolves and had strong protective instincts.
Rowan was the first to exit the taxi, and after paying the driver, he headed to the crime scene while Morgan and Wiz took off in the opposite direction.
He thought about asking them where they were going, but they disappeared before he had a chance.
An annoying habit Morgan had, disappearing without a word.
He’d told her once that she should tell him where she was going. Her simple reply was, “Why?”
Gas Works Park was the site of an iron structure that could fit into any apocalyptic movie with ease. Remnants of an industrial era, a world-renowned architect had arranged the towers, tanks and pipes as a monument to a different time.
According to Lyons, it was also the scene of another murder.
The irony that the murder had taken place in a popular tourist area was not lost on Rowan. The killer had sent a message. No place was safe.
The sun was setting over Seattle’s skyline in ribbons of crimson and grey as members of the University of Washington crew team rowed past. A few broke their concentration and stared toward the crime scene.
Detectives and medical personnel swarmed over the park like locusts.
Yellow police tape cordoned off the shore as they worked the dead body and surrounding area for clues.
Someone took pictures, while media crews jostled for space around the iron sculpture.
Even with the distraction, the rowing team didn’t break their stride.
The expression “life goes on” played over and over in Rowan’s mind, but it didn’t bring him any comfort.
A serial killer with a taste for Wizard blood was on the loose.
Although Rowan didn’t recognize the victim, he knew two things.
The victim was a Wizard who’d suffered the same fate as the male Wizard on the island.
And second, the killer knew the best way to neutralize a Wizard was to remove the eyes.
But how had the murderer been able to get close enough in the first place?
There were tattoos visible on the dead Wizard’s neck and arms that chronicled the events in his life and told the story that the victim was a high-level Fire Wizard.
Which meant the killer would have needed help on a supernatural level to get close enough to murder the victim.
Yet, aside from the missing eyes, there were no signs of a struggle.
The medics said the body hadn’t been in Lake Washington long, which would help make their identification easier, or so they thought.
They were wasting their time. Wizards didn’t have dental or medical records.
To add to what was sure to become a media circus, someone had dubbed the serial killer The Eye Doctor.
The headline would get a lot of media attention, but the curiosity would turn to panic in both the world of humans and the magical community if the murders started to escalate.
And he had no doubt they would. He needed to solve this case, and fast.
He sensed that Morgan had returned without Wiz and glanced in her direction. She was down by the shore, standing over the body. Lyons had secured the necessary security clearance. Medics and junior detectives were everywhere. They ignored her and the victim as though they were invisible.
Rowan wasn’t sure how she was managing it, probably more spells.
He didn’t question her methods, and he wasn’t sure she’d listen if he did.
Every once in a while, she bent down closer to the Wizard, but other than that, she just stood there, alternating between glancing toward the water or down at the body.
He could feel her strength and determination and power crackle in the air like an electric storm over water.
This was a side of female Wizards he’d never witnessed before, or maybe he’d never paid attention.
His brother was right. You had to admire the style of female Wizards.
A woman in a crisp dark suit emerged from a huddle of police and media.
She slipped a yellow notepad into her oversized shoulder bag before heading in his direction.
She was good-looking, for a human. Late twenties, early thirties, with an aura of self-confidence.
When she drew close enough, she held out her manicured hand toward him.
“I’m guessing you’re Rowan.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, avoiding her outstretched hand. “Any leads?”
She seemed annoyed that he’d avoided shaking her hand, but it couldn’t be helped.
Because he was so close to Morgan, his core temperature was somewhere between 120 and 125 degrees.
The infuriating woman heated his blood just by her presence.
In the condition he was in, his body temperature would freak out the human.
No sense drawing more attention than he had to.
She furrowed her brows and looked over Rowan’s shoulder. “Hello, daddy dearest.”
Lyons nodded and handed Rowan a disposable cup of coffee.
“Hello, AJ. You’re looking good. Did I miss a lunch date?
” When she assured him that he hadn’t, he introduced her to Rowan.
“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Alexandra Jordon Lyons.
” The tone in Lyons’ voice was light and casual, but the pride and love shone through like a beacon.
“How’s the new job going?” Lyons said to AJ.
“Fine, and before you start, I was careful and used the name Mildred Zollinger, the same name I used in college.” She leveled her gaze toward Rowan.
“My dad insisted I use a fake name because he is paranoid his enemies would become mine. As a result, since all of my school records are in that name, I had to use it when I applied for my current job.”
“Now, AJ…”
Rowan wanted to argue that his friend’s daughter was being smart, but decided it was wiser to change the subject. He wanted no part of this argument, so he asked her, “Are you one of the detectives on this case?”
Lyons laughed and spat out a stream of coffee. “Hell, no! She’s going to law school.”
“Dad, that’s your dream, not mine. I have a degree in political science as well as business, with a master’s in psychology and one in ancient cultures of the Mediterranean. Don’t you think it’s time I stopped being a professional student and got a real job?”
“I just thought…”
Rowan concentrated on his coffee, as the father-daughter argument escalated.
Family drama was not his thing. He looked toward Morgan.
Mistake. The way she moved should be outlawed.
She wore a raincoat over a sweater and slacks that were a couple sizes too big, yet she managed to look like she’d stepped off a fashion runway. There should be a law.
He crumpled up his empty coffee cup and threw it into a nearby receptacle, afraid he’d set it on fire if he held it any longer.
She was circling the corpse, her expression focused and intent.
What was taking her so long? The argument between Lyons and his daughter had run its course and AJ was on to another topic. Rowan felt trapped.
“Dad, I have a favor to ask. That’s the real reason I’m here.
A friend from college called me late last night.
You remember her, Sally Schultz. We roomed together my last year.
Anyway, she knows you’re a detective and wanted to know if we could help.
Her sister, Daffeny, and Daffeny’s boyfriend were found dumped on a landfill in Alaska, both dead of an apparent overdose. ”
Lyons’ expression morphed from concerned father to patient cop who’d heard too many of these types of stories. “Overdosing is a tragic end and difficult for the family. I’m very sorry.”
“Except my friend said that her sister never did drugs, nor, to her knowledge, had her sister’s boyfriend.
My friend said she and her sister were very close and a trip to Alaska had never been mentioned.
Daffeny had just started working for a company along the wharf for an insane amount of money.
But instead of being happy about it, Daffeny was really stressed and wanted to quit. ”
Lyons put his hand on AJ’s shoulder. “In my experience, the family is either the last to know what a loved one is really doing or is in denial. As far as not liking a job…”
She shrugged out of his reach. “You’re not listening.
My friend Sally thinks her sister was murdered.
The last text Daffeny sent claimed she’d discovered that the place where she was working made a substance linked to the drug Magic Carpet Ride.
Sally believes her sister stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have and was killed. ”
Rowan had been only half listening, but the mention of MCR caught his attention. And not in a good way. The coincidence was too strong. Vlad had shown him a sample of MCR on the island. Rowan exchanged glances with Lyons. The man looked pale and sick. He’d made the connection as well.
The detective spat out his words. “Don’t tell me that you’re working for the same company where your friend’s sister was killed?”
The silence was deafening.
“AJ, stay out of this. That’s an order! Let the professionals do their job.”
“Too late,” she said, matching his tone. “I’ve listened to you talk about your cases most of my life. I am not going to stand by and do nothing. I’m very careful. I created a whole backstory, complete with a fake boyfriend.”
All the color drained from Lyons’ face. “Holy crap! So you’re a private investigator now? In this gun-crazy climate, when even computer programmers carry weapons, you won’t last a month. You refused to learn how to use a gun.”