3. Griff #3
Blinking, Griff shook his head to clear it.
The urge to shield his eyes from the stunning sight was strong, but he resisted the impulse to grab his aura blockers.
He had to remain watchful for any potential clues.
This was still the site of an active investigation.
While the woman’s resplendent aura made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else, he sensed the thread of that darker aura continue past her into the room.
Could this elderly woman really be involved somehow?
He finally found his voice. “Apologies for disturbing you, madam,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss details of my current investigation, but I have reason to believe a suspect I’m searching for may be in this building. Is there anyone else here with you?”
He tried to look past her into the apartment, but all he caught were glimpses of an empty sitting room and a tiny kitchen that was little more than a stove and wash basin.
“If there is, it’d be news to me,” the woman said with a gap-toothed grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector, but I’m afraid it’s just little old me here ever since Albert passed last winter.”
He ducked his head. “Sorry to hear about your loss.”
She waved a hand. “Eh. We knew it was coming. Old codger never did learn how to take care of himself.”
Still feeling thrown off-balance, Griff awkwardly nodded. “Would you mind answering a few questions? They might help in my investigation.”
The woman stepped back from the doorway with a bony shrug. “Why not? Don’t know how much help I’ll be, mind you, but it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Come in and take a seat. I’ll fetch some tea and biscuits.”
“Oh, that’s not really…” His protest trailed off, the woman already bustling over to her tiny kitchen.
He stared after her alluring aura a moment longer before he finally managed to jerk his gaze away. Stepping inside, he scanned the room.
It looked like any other run-down apartment in the city he’d seen: a step up from true squalor, but a far cry from the pristine villas one found closer to Derimay’s center. Yet despite its apparent normalcy, that awful aura hung over the place like a pervasive rot.
He wrinkled his nose as he took a seat on an ancient couch, certain he could smell it like a foul stench permeating the air. It clung to everything inside, even the woman slowly preparing her pot of tea.
He eyed her while she worked. It seemed unlikely Blackjack or any other Brotherhood associates could’ve been here without her knowledge. Yet at the same time, he found it hard to believe she was involved. After all, how could someone with an aura that resplendent be up to no good?
“Here we go,” the woman said, returning with a tray containing the steaming teapot, a pair of cups, and a plate of obviously stale biscuits. Her hands, he noted, were surprisingly steady as she set down the heavy tray.
She sat down across from him in a patchwork chair leaking stuffing. “So,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Lay it on me, Inspector.”
He nodded. Reaching into his coat, he took out a small notepad and a Vantoric pen with a nearly unlimited supply of ink. He flipped to a blank page. “Let’s start by getting your name, please.”
“Of course. You can call me Cassandra.”
He dutifully copied down the name. “You said you live here alone. How do you usually spend your days?”
“Reminiscing about the good old days when I had more to do than sit and reminisce about the good old days.” She gave him another of those toothy grins and took a sip of tea.
“My knees don’t much like the stairs these days, and it’s not as if I’ve anywhere to be.
I head to the market every Sunday, and sometimes I take a walk along the water to stretch my legs. But most days I’m right here.”
“And yesterday? Did you leave at all, day or at night?”
Cassandra shook her head.
He scribbled some more notes, logging her response. “So, you were right here in this room all night?”
“Sure was,” she said.
He kept a close eye on her aura as she answered, doing his best not to let its unusually bright, swirling colors distract him. If she was lying, she was a pro at it—he didn’t catch so much as a flicker of nerves.
“And did you see or hear anything suspicious?”
“Suspicious how?”
“Anything that struck you as out of the ordinary. That stuck in your mind as peculiar.”
“Can’t say as I did,” she said.
“Please. Take a moment to really think hard about it. Even the smallest thing might be important.”
Cassandra frowned and tapped her chin, seeming to ponder the question. “Well…now that you mention it, I guess something did wake me last night.”
Griff perked up at that. “When was this?”
“I’m not sure…around midnight, maybe? I’m a light sleeper, so it’s not unusual for me to wake up throughout the night. But last night, I remember being jolted awake by a loud noise.”
“Can you describe it for me?”
“I’m not sure—sort of a loud bang? Like clanging metal.”
He furrowed his brow as he considered that. That could mean a gunshot, though Vantoric firearms were still fairly rare in Derimay. More likely, she’d heard trashcans colliding. Maybe someone skulking about in an alley?
The interview continued, with him asking more follow-up questions about the noise and who she’d seen coming and going from the building last night. All the while, he kept a careful watch on her aura.
Yet there was nothing that struck him as suspicious.
If she was hiding something, she was a master deceiver.
He would’ve already dismissed this as another dead end if not for the tainted aura still lingering in the room and on Cassandra.
That inherent contradiction drove him to keep digging.
With every one of her innocent responses, however, his confusion only grew.
Just what in the Light is going on here?
When he’d exhausted every possible question he could think of, he rose, shoving down his frustration as he tucked away his notepad. Their empty teacups sat on the tray. The stale biscuits remained untouched.
“I think that about covers it,” he said, reluctant to let the lead go. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Of course, Inspector.” Cassandra rose on shaky legs. Grabbing the tray, she hobbled with it to the kitchen. “I must say, that was most thorough! I hope I gave you at least one worthwhile insight. I’d hate to think I wasted your entire afternoon on a wild goose chase.”
Though that was exactly what this felt like, he forced a smile. “Not at all, madam. This has been most illuminating. Thank you again for the tea. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions for you.”
“Come by anytime, Inspector. It would be a pleasure to see you again.”
Griff was almost at the door when it suddenly splintered inward. His hand flew to his revolver as a group of rough-looking men and women appeared in the doorway. The woman in front looked vaguely familiar, and it took him only a moment to place from where.
One of Bald Locke’s muscle from The Last Drop.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “This is unlawful breaking and entering!”
The thugs ignored him, their leader peering about the room with narrowed eyes. “All right, where is it?” she demanded. “Where is the orb?”