Chapter 35 #2
“What is this?” Colette narrowed her eyes on the dogs. Both animals shrank under her attention, ears flattened and tails tucked as they whined low in their throats.
“Cadaver dogs, ma’am,” said the officer holding the leashes. “They’re going to assist in the search.”
Colette swelled with a haughty breath and gave her ponytail a toss. “Ridicule. You think your mortal mongrels can do a better job than me? I’ll find the corpses myself.”
“There are no corpses, Coll,” Beck told her, his voice strained. Then to the officers, he offered a tight smile. “No corpses,” he repeated. “This is all a misunderstanding, I’m afraid. But as you can see, we’re happy to cooperate.”
Between the press of law enforcement and the territorial hellhound, Beck was pushing the limits of his composure. I wasn’t sure what would happen if he dropped the veil and went full demon mode in front of the LVPD’s finest, but it wouldn’t be good.
Zephyr must’ve noticed the disruption because he drifted close and tucked himself under Beck’s arm, either offering or seeking comfort. Maybe both.
The higher demon took him in then bent to brush his lips against Zephyr’s brow before straightening again.
“All right, gentlemen,” he told the cops. “The floor is yours. Would you like me to show you around, or—”
“Are there any walk-in coolers or freezers on the premises?” one of the officers asked. “Maybe in the bar area?”
Everyone turned toward Rush, who stood slightly back, paused in the middle of retying his apron. He glanced sidelong at Beck, conveying something with his dark eyes. Emphasis. Or concern.
“There’s a few, yeah,” Rush said slowly.
“Mind showing us the way?” the officer asked.
“Not at all,” Rush replied while keeping his gaze trained on Beck. Waiting for something, though I wasn’t sure what.
He led the officers toward the bar while the dogs weaved among them, noses twitching. Beck followed, and I brought up the rear, my nerves prickling as I tried to place that odd look Rush had given him, seemingly spurred by the mention of the walk-in.
Then it hit me.
Before opening, somewhere between sleepy pep talks and double-checking the bar stock, Rush had asked Beck for a key. To the cooler. To a lock of unknown origin.
I suddenly had a pretty good idea where it came from.
Darting forward, I caught the sleeve of Beck’s suit coat. “Becky,” I hissed under my breath.
He turned with a scowl and whispered back, “What?”
“Do you have that key?”
“What key?” he snapped, matching my volume but missing my urgency.
We entered the bar area, passing the counter into the cramped storage room beyond. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bottles and bar tools. Crates from our last-minute liquor order were stacked waist high, and cleaning supplies crowded in alongside a mop and bucket.
At the back, the shiny steel door of the walk-in was dimly lit by the single bulb assigned to this space.
When Beck’s gaze landed on it, the color left his face.
“All hells…” he murmured.
They let the dogs go first. The handler unclipped the leashes, and the pair of shepherds moved like shadows, nosing along the floor, up the shelving, and into the narrow gaps between crates.
One slid its muzzle along the baseboards while the other worked the edge of the walk-in door, nostrils flaring.
“Could you open that, please?” an officer asked Beck.
“I don’t have a key,” he admitted. “It isn’t usually locked.”
“But it is now,” one of the other policemen said.
Beck grimaced. “Clearly.”
The dog at the walk-in door had been circling, nose skimming the seams of the metal. Suddenly it froze—head up, muscles taut—then dropped into a stiff sit.
The handler’s focus sharpened, all business now. “Dog’s given,” he announced.
The lead officer gave a curt nod. “We’ll need bolt cutters.”
The third cop turned on his heel and exited the room while the rest of us closed in, drawn by some morbid gravity.
Beck found his voice again. “Gentlemen, I think you should know this property was vandalized yesterday. We were out for the afternoon and returned to find—”
“You can save that for questioning,” the officer cut in with a sense of finality.
The room descended into miserable silence until the officer returned with a pair of bolt cutters slung over one shoulder. He faced the cooler door, and the dogs shifted, nails clicking and tails beating against their handler’s legs.
Beck stood beside me with every trace of charm scrubbed from his face. His glamor was nearer to failing than ever, causing his edges to flicker and wave. Shadows curled like smoke up his form, twisting around the spirals of invisible horns.
“Step back,” the lead officer said, and we obeyed, retreating to the far wall. The bolt cutters severed the lock with a metallic snap, the sound loud enough to make me flinch.
The lock clattered to the floor, and the officer gripped the handle. His gloved fingers flexed once before he pulled.
The door gave a hiss of suction then cold air poured out.
A low fog rolled across the ground, white clouds over battered floorboards.
It moved toward us, clearing a line of sight to the inside of the cooler.
Kegs, like Rush had mentioned earlier, lined the back wall.
And in front of them, on the ground, was a shape.
For half a second my brain tried to make it anything else—a pile of refuse, a bundle of linens, some old supplies—but then my eyes caught the contours. The bend of a shoulder. The taper of legs.
An unmistakably human figure lay before us, wrapped in black plastic with duct tape cinched around it in brutal bands.
No one spoke. The dogs whined once and were hushed.
Rush turned aside with a hand cupped to his mouth like he might be sick.
Beck stood closest to the open door, staring at the bundled corpse while the chill burned off around him.
I swallowed, trying to stomach the sight and its implications.
The silence broke with the crackle of a radio.
A call for forensics.
“Everyone out of the room,” the lead officer barked. “Now.”
The handler tugged the dogs away while the third policeman shooed us out. Beck remained anchored until I caught his arm and pulled. He blinked and took one step backward, then another.
“Make room, sir,” the officer said more firmly. “We need to secure the scene.”
The command snapped Beck out of his stupor, and he turned, vacating the storage area with me hot on his heels.
On the other side of the doorway, Colette was waiting. Her hackles were up, and she rumbled a growl that caused the police dogs to whimper and cower behind their handler.
“Ma’am,” the policeman warned as his hand drifted toward his holstered pistol.
Colette shot him a look sharp enough to flay skin. “If you point that weapon at me, officer, I’ll take it as a personal challenge.”
“Coll,” Beck rasped. “Enough.”
The cops herded us onto the main floor and toward where the dolls had gathered by the stage. Oz, Elliot, and the twins took on shades of panic when they caught sight of Beck and Colette flanked by uniforms. Zephyr started forward, but Beck’s raised hand stopped him.
I went to join them, and Rush made to follow before being held back by one of the officers.
“We have a few questions for you, sir,” one of them explained. “Would you mind going with my colleague over there?” He motioned to yet another policeman waiting near the entrance.
Rush hesitated then nodded. He went where he’d been sent while the other officers turned to Beck and Colette.
“Mister Beckett,” began the lead officer. “We’ll need to take you to the station for questioning.” He turned to Colette. “And you, ma’am. You’re head of security, correct?”
Colette folded her arms. “That is correct.”
“Then you should come along too. We’ll give you a ride.”
Beside me, Zephyr hugged his arms around his slinky Miss Scarlett dress while staring at where Beck stood between the officers, unmistakably framed for a perp walk.
“Daddy?” Zephyr whispered.
Beck’s expression softened. “I’ll be right back, Beauty.”
Zephyr’s wide eyes darted next to Colette, who smiled gently.
“Ne t’inquiète pas, mon petit Francais,” she said. “You’ll barely have time to miss us.”
Despite their assurances, Zephyr let out a petering whine. I tugged him against my side, giving him something to hold on to besides himself.
Beck glanced over one shoulder. “Darby, you’re in charge. Take care of them.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, though I hardly needed to be told. I had always taken care of them, and I always would. Manager was my position, but watching over the dolls was my purpose.
Two policemen led Beck and Colette toward the front doors while the third officer stayed behind. He turned his attention to the rest of us.
“You all need to return to your homes.”
“This is our home,” I replied.
He cast a glance around the empty club. “You live here?”
Everyone except Zephyr nodded.
The cop gave the place another look, then shook his head. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll need to find other accommodations while the investigation is underway.”
Colt slung his arm around Callum, who seemed torn between burying his face in Colt’s shoulder and dashing fearful glances at the uniformed man.
“And how long’s that exactly?” Colt asked.
“Hard to say,” the officer replied. “But we’ll be in touch.”
“Very helpful,” I muttered.
The cop didn’t respond as he marched us toward the exit and shoved us out the door without giving us a chance to grab our bags or even change. A moment later, we stood in the parking lot, where I held Zephyr’s hand and wondered how many lives a single corpse could ruin before sunrise.