Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) (12 page)

The last incident was recent, only three months old. A private Bernadette Chesterfield had filed a complaint against Timmy for ‘promoting a hostile work environment’ and ‘using language unbefitting the workplace.’ Another stamp had been affixed to the bottom of the synopsis, this one bearing the word ‘Withdrawn’ and a date two months past.

I made some mental notes before moving on to the remaining two files in the folder. If I hadn’t been particularly impressed with the wealth of information available on Sergeant Holmes, then I was downright disappointed with the files on privates Chavez and Delvesdeep.

I supposed it was to be expected. Both were relatively new enlistees, having joined five months back, on the exact same date no less. Both also hailed from the same town, a flyspeck on the map a few days north of the city by boat. I assumed the two had known each other prior to enlisting.

While I didn’t glean much about the pair from the army documentation, I did note the psych evals listed Chavez as ‘argumentative’ and Delvesdeep as ‘aloof’ and ‘potentially uncooperative.’ Which got me to thinking—who, exactly, did the army turn away? Of the three evaluations I’d read, not one had been filled with glitter and affixed with gold stars.

I replaced the pages in the manila folder and set the pile back in its rightful spot on Shay’s desk. A long shadow stretched across the floor, and as I looked up, I spotted Quinto standing beside his chair, shrugging into his enormous purple duster that contained enough fabric to clothe an entire village in loincloths.

I hustled to catch up to him before he vanished. “Hey, big guy. Headed out?”

“Yup,” he said. “Taking Cairny to a new restaurant a few blocks south of the station. A place called Flimflame. Heard of it?”

I bit down on my tongue. I’d planned on asking Quinto if he wanted to join me at Jjade’s, my watering hole of choice. “Um…no. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, I’ll let you know how it is,” he said. “If it’s good, maybe we can all head there sometime. Though we should wait until Rodgers returns. You know how he gets about being left out.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Quinto gave me a nod. “Anyway. See you tomorrow.”

“Right. You, too.” I paired my farewell with a halfhearted wave.

Thumping footsteps dogged Quinto’s departure, and I found myself standing in the pit, surrounded by polished wood and gleaming metal, chatting cops and coffee-fueled investigators and the Captain’s lingering aura, but still feeling very much alone.

19

A chill morning fog hung to my shoulders and prickled the skin at the base of my neck as I marched down Schumacher onto 5
^th
. I grumbled under my breath, but I didn’t fight it—not only because doing so would’ve marked me as loonier than a brace of ducks, but also because the cold mist seemed like such a fitting complement to my mood.

I pushed through the station’s heavy double doors, letting traces of fog sweep in behind me, and headed toward my desk. Quinto’s empty chair gave me a wink and a smile as I passed, relishing in its temporary liberation from the big guy’s weighty hindquarters. Steele’s chair couldn’t give me the same salutation, but then again, it probably liked the attention
it
got.

Shay sat, back to me, her still-curled chocolate brown hair spilling over a maroon jacket, one that featured full length sleeves, a notched lapel, and a heavier weave than yesterday’s version. A cream-colored scarf curled in a tight spiral in the spot where I’d last seen the army admissions folder reside, and an umbrella rested against the side of the desk, its oiled fabric dry and its clasp still attached. Though the skies threatened, so far all we’d gotten was fog.

Shay heard the thumping of my feet and turned to face me. Her cheeks were smooth and the line made by her mouth flat, but other than the cool air about her, I didn’t detect any hints of malice. I took that as a good sign.

“You’re in early.” She glanced at my face and did a double take. “You look terrible, by the way.”

I frowned. “Thanks…?”

“Oh come on. You know what I mean. It’s early—” She glanced at the windows, where a stray ray of light had burst through the low cloud cover. “—at least for you—but it’s not
that
early.”

I settled into my seat. “I suffered through some extenuating circumstances.”

Steele tilted her head and lifted a brow. “Of the projectile vomit variety?”

“What?
No.” I sniffed my coat. “Is that what I smell like?”

Shay shook her head. “You’re emitting your usual aroma—”

I wondered what she meant by that comment.

“—but I assumed based on past events. Given your appearance, I figured…Jjade’s, heavy drinking, and the inevitable conclusion of the first two.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Clairvoyant,” I said. “But you’re batting one for three this morning.”

“You tried a different bar?” said Shay. “How adventurous of you.”

I snorted. “Your unshakable belief in my alcoholism is reassuring, but no. I went to Jjade's. I did not consume any potent potables. And I did not get sick afterwards.”

Shay smiled an evil grin. “So you’re telling me you look this bad because you
didn’t
drink?”

“I look like this because of when I got up.”

“Daggers, really. I know you’re in your own league in that regard, but it’s not
that
early.”

“I’ve been up for over two hours,” I said.

“You have?”
Shay’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I picked up bagels, cream cheese, and coffee, not to mention some kolaches, and went over to Rodgers’ place. Checked in with Allison—who’s doing fine, by the way, thanks for asking—and had breakfast with her and the kids.”

Shay blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I said. “I’ve known Rodgers for almost a decade, and I’ve always been fond of Allison—in a purely platonic way, mind you. It’s the least I could do to drop off food along with my condolences.”

My partner’s face softened, and she seemed to regard me in a new light—though it could’ve been the strengthening sun burning its way through the mist and into the pit.

“Well…that was very thoughtful of you, Daggers.”

I nodded.

Shay played with the tassels on the end of her scarf. “Did you find out who died?”

“His father.”

My partner took a sharp breath. “Oh, no. Poor Rodgers.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He suffered a stroke. Totally unexpected. Well…not totally. The guy was pretty old, apparently. Did you know Rodgers is the youngest of five?”

Shay shook her head.

“Yeah. Anyway, it sounds like Rodgers will be gone for at least a week. I hope he doesn’t lose that trademark smile of his. Losing a parent…can be tough.”

Steele seemed to have lost her taste for speech. She regarded me with soulful eyes and nodded.

“So where’s Quinto?” I asked.

“In self-imposed solitary confinement,” said Steele. “He’s trying to churn through the Captain’s paperwork in record time.”

I snorted. Apparently the big guy didn’t realize the key to survival wasn’t to wade through the stacks of work but to simply weather the storm until it passed.

A flash of sunlight shimmering through fog caught my eye. A runner, no more than ten years old, pushed his way through the front doors and headed in the direction of the Captain’s quarters.
Just what the doctor ordered…

Shay noticed him about the time he reached the bulldog’s office. “Oh, no. I could’ve gone without that this morning.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” I said. “Why is it people always get forked in the kidneys at night?”

“That’s a rhetorical question, I presume?” asked Steele.

“Mostly,” I said. “But killers need sleep, too.”

Within a minute, the Captain emerged from his office and motioned to the two of us. “Daggers? Steele? A minute.”

The runner made himself scarce, and we joined the Captain, who leaned against his door frame. A grim frown stretched across his lips.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Another murder?”

The bulldog didn’t bother to rib me over my patent observation. “Possibly. The runner’s description was unclear. I’ll need the two of you to check into it.”

“Where are we headed?” asked Steele.

“Back to the Delta district,” said the Captain. “Outside, on a street corner, near Cross and Sweetgum.”

I shot Steele a suspicious glance. “Wait…that’s not far from where we found Lanky yesterday. A few blocks at most.” The Delta district could get rough at night, but not
that
rough.

“Think I don’t know that?” said the Captain. “Like I said, the details are confusing at the moment. But given yesterday’s events, I want the two of you to investigate the matter. Speaking of which…any leads on yesterday’s murder?”

“We’re working on it, sir,” said Steele.

The bulldog snorted, and his lip curled upward in an approximation of a smile. “What a wonderfully vague response.”

“She learned from the best, Captain,” I said with a grin.

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about yourself or me.” The grizzled commander-in-chief nodded toward the door. “Now quit yapping and get moving. The murders won’t solve themselves, detectives.”

Shay stopped by her desk to grab her scarf. I watched her, transfixed, as she wrapped the napped wool around her slender neck, looping it once, then twice with a casual grace. There was a feminine, sensual element to the way she did it, the way she flicked her fingers and elongated her neck opposite the motion of her arms.

Shay glanced at me curiously as she settled the last end in place over her shoulder. “You…ready to go?”

Based on the look in her eyes, I knew yesterday’s storm had passed. The question of how to prevent another squall from blowing in, however, still lingered.

I nodded. “Let’s hoof it.”

20

The sun burned off the last of the mist as we reached the outskirts of the Delta district, though it wasn’t strong enough to displace the droplets of water clinging desperately to awnings or to banish the thin, glimmering sheen coating the exterior of residences both old and ostentatious enough to be built out of stone. Cats mewled from within alleys, their calls followed by the patter of small, clawed feet scrabbling for purchase on damp earth and fog-slicked cobblestones. As I skirted a rat that dove out of a back street in front of me, I couldn’t help but reflect upon what the city’s vermin infestation said about the homeless population: either felines and rodents reproduced faster than they could be skewered and eaten, or New Welwic’s soup kitchens were flush with cash.

After fumbling about at the intersection the Captain had directed us to, Shay and I eventually found our crime scene hidden amongst a couple smaller cross streets nearby, sandwiched between an embroidery shop by the name of Needle in a Haystack and a shoe store that specialized in anything dull, brown, and ugly. Probably because of the location, gawkers were nonexistent. Besides me and Shay, I only spotted a couple of bluecoats, a young couple with bags under their eyes, and a rough around the edges stiff laying on his side in the dirt.

One of the two beat cops approached me, one of the guys who’d been at yesterday’s scene but whose name I couldn’t remember—if, indeed, I’d ever learned it. An ill-advised chinstrap beard grew from his face, and when he opened his mouth to speak, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off his severe underbite.

“You’re Detectives Daggers and Steele, right?” he asked.

I forced my gaze north of the mouth border with a practiced ease, born from years of tearing my eyes away from prominently displayed female knockers. “That’s right. And you are…?”

“Officer Peabody.” He jerked a thumb toward the other bluecoat. “That’s Carter. You need a rundown?”

“That would be helpful,” said Shay.

“Alright,” he said. “Not much to tell, really. Gary and Norma, here—that’s the couple, see—flagged me and Carter down ’bout an hour ago. Said they ran into this guy who wasn’t doing so good. Collapsed and fell down right on the spot. So they brought us here and showed us who it was. And that’s the guy. The one on the ground, there.”

“Yes,” I said. “We’re crack detectives. We identified which of the five of you wasn’t looking so hot right from the get-go.”

Peabody eyed me with a furrowed brow and a jutting lower lip, which was impressive thanks to his underbite. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate my humor. Where was Phillips when you needed him? That kid would laugh at anything I said or click his heels at a moment’s notice. Maybe Shay had been right. I’d probably treated him unfairly.

“Anything else you can tell us?” asked Shay.

The guy shrugged, and I felt confident in my assessment that he probably wouldn’t rise above his current station even if he stayed on the force another forty years.

“Thanks,” said Shay before brushing him off and kneeling beside the body.

I joined her. “Spooky, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“The resemblance,” I said.

The stiff was a dead ringer—no pun intended—for Lanky. Long hair, thick beard, wide frame, and big hands. He wore a tattered chestnut brown coat and matching, moth-eaten trousers. If anything, he was burlier than Lanky, which was a surprising quality for a transient—of which the new guy undoubtedly was. The clothes, beard, and hair gave it away. Unlike Lanky, however, he was in pretty rough shape. Lesions covered much of his face, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor to it—whether from disease or from some orc or ogre blood in his lineage, I couldn’t tell. He also smelled.
Bad.

“He does look a lot like yesterday’s victim, doesn’t he?” said Steele. “And the similarities between him and Lanky don’t end at the superficial. Look at this.”

She pointed at the vagrant’s backside, and I leaned over so I could follow her finger. At the base of the man’s skull was, for lack of a better word, a dent, caked with mud and dried blood and bits of hair and gristle. I held a couple fingers to the wound. Two wide, as with Lanky.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as I rubbed my chin.