Chapter 11 #3
“You shot the dog first,” Jenny said, “the one that . . . er . . . turned into a man? Then he threw some sort of fire magic at you and burned your cheek—that’s not on the disc I saw, but Adam told me that it’s on the second disc.
Then you fired five times at him, three to the head, two to the chest. You jumped on the car, looking for a way out, and when it became obvious that there was nothing available, you engaged in battle with Juan Flores, who apparently is a Canary Islands volcano god named Guayota? ”
She was scary good. She got out the last part of the sentence without any inflection.
“Almost,” said Adam. “First, he broke into the garage with a crowbar. We have that caught on the outside camera.”
She nodded. “Okay, I’d like to wait until I’ve had a chance to review all the discs available, but, as you’ve pointed out, there is the worry that in the meantime some poor law-enforcement officer will run into him without knowing what he is.
We need to let the law-enforcement agencies know what they might be dealing with.
With that in mind, and with your permission, I’ll send copies of the discs to the police immediately. ”
“And,” I added because it seemed an important part of the narrative, “he admitted to me that he’d killed seven women whose bodies were discovered yesterday .
. . no, sorry.” Just because I hadn’t slept didn’t mean that time hadn’t passed.
Her assistant handed me an ice-cold bottle of water.
I took it and drank a quarter of it down.
“It was the day before yesterday, Thursday. The police took me out to the crime scene to see if werewolves were responsible for the massacre.”
Her right eyelid twitched. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this. When did he admit that? I didn’t see it.”
“That’s the ‘trouble in Finley’ I was talking about,” I told her.
She took in a deep breath. She made me go over all that I knew about the seven women and assorted horses and dogs that Guayota had killed near the hayfield in Finley. At some point, her assistant took over the questioning, though I’m not sure she was supposed to.
“You mean all the dead women looked like Mr. Hauptman’s ex-wife? That’s . . . that’s right out of a profiler’s book.”
Jenny snorted her coffee, wiped her nose, and gave her assistant a quelling look. “You might curb your enthusiasm over the deaths of seven women, Andrea. It isn’t really appropriate.”
“Poor things,” said Andrea obediently. “But this is like being in the middle of an episode of Criminal Minds.” She paused.
“Okay. That’s dorky. Sorry. But most of our cases are like somebody’s kid got drunk and hit a fence and wants to make reparations but would rather not lose their driver’s license.
The only murders we’ve been involved with have been those ‘everyone knows who did it,’ and our job is to get our client the lightest sentence possible .
. . and I’m talking too much.” She blinked at us.
“It’s just that I moved here hoping I might get the chance to see a fae, because the reservation is just over in Walla Walla.
And here I am talking to a werewolf about a fire demon who is killing people and burning down buildings. ”
Jenny covered her mouth, and when she pulled her hand away, her face was stern. “She actually is very, very good in court.” Her voice became very dry as she said, “You wouldn’t recognize her. And, in case you were worried, nothing comes out of her mouth in public that she doesn’t want to say.”
“I am discreet,” agreed Andrea.
“So,” Jenny said in a we’re-getting-back-to-business manner, “you want me to set up a meeting with Cantrip and the police.”
“That is correct,” Adam agreed.
“Okay. I’ll get something set up for this afternoon, hopefully here, but probably down at the Kennewick police station.” She looked at us and smiled. “In the meantime, I suggest you get a few hours of sleep.”
________
IN THE END, WE CHECKED INTO A HOTEL. HONEY’S house was filling rapidly with even more pack members as the story about last night’s fight got out. Sleeping there during the day was out of the question.
Adam put us in the hotel nearest the airport. The room was clean and quiet, and for the four hours we were there, it was perfect for sleeping. Well, after we remembered to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign—and after I put the fear of me into the second maid who apparently couldn’t read the sign.
I wasn’t exactly chipper when we woke up to head in to our afternoon appointment with Cantrip and the police, making a quick stop at the mall to grab clean and appropriate clothing.
Apparently, Cantrip was still jockeying for position and fighting with the local police, so our lawyer’s office was acceptable neutral territory.
The Cantrip agents, Orton and Kent, were waiting for us, smugness radiating off them both.
Jenny and her assistant Andrea were there along with a gray-haired man who was balding and so thin and fit that he must have made a real effort at keeping in shape.
It was hard to tell for sure, but I thought he was maybe twenty years older than our lawyer, which would put him in his late sixties or early seventies.
His face looked slightly familiar, and he exchanged courteous nods with Adam, so I assumed he was someone from the firm whom Adam knew.
Jenny didn’t introduce him, beyond his name, Larry Torbett.
Jenny gave us a small, controlled smile.
“I suggest that we start. I have the originals of three discs from the security video at Mercy’s garage from the night in question for you, gentlemen.
I have copies for my files and, of course, I have already sent copies over to the police as well.
Detective Willis called to tell me that they found the video enlightening, but that they would, regrettably, be late.
“The outside camera clearly shows Mr. Flores, who is wanted in connection with murder and arson in Eugene, breaking into the garage with a crowbar after hours when only Ms. Hauptman was inside. The other two are views from two different cameras in the garage. I will show you one, the one that shows, more or less, Ms. Hauptman’s view of the events.
The last camera shows Ms. Hauptman’s actions better. They are time-stamped.”
At the conclusion of the video, Orton looked grimly satisfied and the younger Cantrip agent, Kent, triumphant (presumably because any altercation between the wife of a werewolf Alpha and a fire demon put the case in their jurisdiction).
“Well,” said Larry Torbett, “wasn’t that something watching the agents come, Jenny?”
“There is more,” she said. “There is no sound in this recording, and Ms. Hauptman has a lot of pertinent information that is not apparent. Ms. Hauptman?”
By this time I could have told the story in my sleep, but four hours of napping had removed that temptation. I told the whole thing from beginning to end. The Cantrip agents didn’t ask for any clarification, which bothered me. Only when I had finished entirely did the Cantrip agents stir.
“Ms. Hauptman,” said Agent Kent genially, “I know that you are on record any number of places stating that you are not a werewolf.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s right.”
He tapped the discs. “Are you human?”
“Are you?” I asked.
“You move very well for a human,” said Agent Kent, who didn’t seem nervous or green today. The change was so great that I wondered if the appearance of being a rookie was one he used for effect.
“Thank you,” I told him. “I’ll tell Sensei that you were impressed.”
“My wife takes lessons in Shi Sei Kai Kan. Additionally, we spar in various styles several times a week. I do not intend that anyone hurt Mercedes again.” Adam’s tone was cool, and the warning in his last sentence was clear to anyone who was listening.
“We are familiar with the . . . alleged assault,” said Agent Orton.
“Have you seen the security footage from that?” asked Torbett before Adam could speak.
I got my heel on Adam’s foot, but he’d cooled off considerably and frowned at Torbett.
“No,” said Orton. “However—”
“I have.” The older man’s voice was cool.
“I assure you that an assault took place, and the bastard got what was coming to him.” It was nice that he agreed there had been an assault, but was there anyone in the whole world who hadn’t seen me assaulted?
Anyone except Orton, that is. Maybe we should have just put it up on YouTube.
I forced my hands to unclench before anyone noticed.
“The issue remains,” said Agent Kent, taking up the charge as the senior agent stalled out. “That we believe, Ms. Hauptman, that you have not been entirely forthcoming about whether or not you are human.”
“Are you?” I asked again. Because my nose told me that he was not.
“Yes,” Kent said, believing he told the truth. “How about you, Ms. Hauptman?”
“No, you aren’t,” said Adam, intrigued. His head tilted, and he took a deep breath, so everyone would know what sense he was using to determine it. “Fae. Though you aren’t even a half-blood. Maybe one of your parents?”
Agent Kent just stared at him.
“You might talk to them and ask,” I suggested. “Do you have trouble with metals?”
“I have a nickel allergy,” he said defensively.
“This isn’t about Agent Kent.” Orton had had time to recover. “We’ve determined that Ms. Hauptman is a potential threat to the public safety, and we are bringing her in as a murder suspect who has supernatural powers that make her too dangerous to be incarcerated in the usual ways.”
“Under what authority?” asked Jenny.
“Under the Humanity Act that established the agency I work for, Ms. Trevellyan, and the discretionary detention provisions in the Patriot Act. We can detain Ms. Hauptman indefinitely as a possible terrorist.” Orton’s tones were smug.