The Hex Files_Wicked Long Nights Page 10

  “Her testimony was...” He hesitated. “Unflattering to my client.”

  “And your client is...?”

  “Now, Detective, you know I can’t—”

  I stared at my Stunner. “You can tell me the name of your client, Mr. Lupis. Don’t play coy with me—I know the rules as well as you do.”

  “The Bellevues,” he said on a sigh. “I trust you will use that information wisely and will not cost me business with your investigation.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A suggestion.”

  “Here’s a suggestion,” I said. “If you’re defending the good guys, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “The Bellevues are extremely high-profile clients. They trust me—”

  “I know who the Bellevues are,” I interrupted. “I can assure you I will handle this case as a professional.”

  “As professionally as you did storming in here with guns blazing?”

  “Tell me some more about the illustrious Bellevue family—you don’t have to break confidentiality to do that.”

  He looked frustrated at the request. It was likely he knew he wouldn’t be telling me any information that wasn’t public knowledge, but that didn’t matter. I wanted to hear him talk about the family, to see if I could find any breaks in his story, any weaknesses he was trying to cover. It was a trap, and he knew it—and couldn’t avoid it.

  “I’m working on a murder-suicide case that involves their daughter,” he said through gritted teeth. “The Bellevue family is one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the Golden District,” he continued. “They live on the brink of Gilded Row and own half the jewelry stores in the city. They got rich during the golden years, obviously.”

  “And they’ve managed to hold onto their wealth.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “They’ve managed to grow it. As I said, they are some of the most well-off individuals in Wicked. They are very influential.”

  “And they hired you—why? I’m sure they have an army of lawyers.”

  “They do, but not many are criminal,” he said. “Their lawyers deal mostly in legal battles. They’ve been sued, they sue others, that sort of thing.

  “So why are you involved?”

  Sanders ran a hand through his hair, flustered. “They have a daughter, Ellen.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Yes, and I’m trying to prove she was murdered,” Sander said. “It’s my job to make the guilty party pay.”

  “I thought you said it was a murder-suicide.”

  “It was,” he said, his voice dripping venom. “She was dating that troll. A woman like Ellen from a family like the Bellevues—she should’ve been married in a wedding on Gilded Row to someone with a similar social standing.”

  “But she fell for someone on the other side of the tracks, and her family didn’t like it.”

  “Obviously, they didn’t approve of the union and tried to stop it.”

  “Apparently they did stop it,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “In a very morbid way. They drove their daughter and her fiancé to death.”

  “Possibly,” he said with a frown, and then realized his mistake. Immediately, he backtracked, his eyes wide as he realized his slip of the tongue. “I mean, that’s what I’m trying to prove.”

  “No, that’s not what you meant.” I crossed my arms, studying him as I sat back. “You think something else happened.”

  “The troll killed his fiancé first, then offed himself,” Sanders said, sounding unconvinced. “That’s the way things went down.”

  “That’s how the Bellevues wanted things to go down,” I said, “but when you talked to Sienna, that’s not what she said happened. Isn’t that right?”

  He stood, his fingers clenching his desk. “We’re done.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Sienna,” I said, standing as well. “And please keep me updated on any results of the case.”

  “You never told me why you came here.”

  “Oh, we’re doing a little investigation ourselves,” I said, debating the pros and cons of letting enough information slip to spook the lawyer. “Seems like some of Sienna’s evidence has been tampered with. We’re thinking it’s probably something to do with a certain party not liking the outcome of her decision.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I just spoke to Sienna once she had the workup done on the vics.”

  “You already insinuated that you tried to bribe Sienna, but she couldn’t be bought. She has unfavorable findings on your client.” I paused in the doorway, spinning partially around to face him. “What I’m trying to decide is how far Sanders Lupis would go to keep the Bellevue family as a client?”

  “But—”

  “I’m guessing the answer is pretty damn far,” I said with a wink. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Lupis.”

  Chapter 9

  I tried to keep my expectations low as I filtered a Comm through to Ursula once I’d left Lupis’s office. Though I enjoyed getting to the bottom of things, intimidating powerful people wasn’t a particular joy of mine. It was draining and left me exhausted.

  The reality of the job was that I wanted to find guilty parties and put them away. To make them pay for their crimes against the dead. Sometimes, however, it was hard to know who was guilty and who was an innocent bystander, and while Sanders was far from innocent, I wasn’t convinced he had anything to do with the disappearing bodies.

  Which is exactly the reason I grabbed a second gelato on my way back from Lupis’s office as the Comm connected from Ursula to Sienna.

  “What is it?” the necromancer asked in a clipped voice. “I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not,” I said dryly. “Fill me in on Sanders Lupis. Golden Boy lawyer—he’s with the Bellevue family on that murder-suicide case. I can’t quite figure out what he’s hiding—if anything.”

  “He’s rich and smart. I don’t like him,” Sienna said. “He doesn’t like me either after what I told him about the Bellevue case.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The troll went first.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The troll,” she said, striving for patience and failing to find it. “Rich elf falls in love with ghastly troll. Horrible press for the Bellevue family, and it’s my belief Ellen’s parents drove her to the brink of insanity.”

  I nodded, understanding sinking in as I sucked down gelato goodness. This time my dessert was in the shape of a flower bouquet. “The Bellevues hired Sanders to prove that the troll murdered their daughter then killed himself. It makes Ellen look like a poor, helpless victim.”

  “Exactly, but that’s not what happened,” Sienna said. “Either both parties were victims, or Ellen was a willing participant in this mess.”

  “Clarify what you mean.”

  “The troll—his name was Harrison—he died first,” she explained. “He couldn’t have killed their baby girl. When I told Sanders that, he got irate. Exclaimed I was doing my job wrong and hinted about a big payday if I could change the findings around a little. Maybe swap times of death.”

  “Pig.”

  “Yep, I turned him down,” she said. “I did him a favor by just embarrassing him and not reporting him to the authorities. My records stand for themselves—no use in ratting the bastard out, seeing as nobody trusts him anyway. NYPD has a copy of my report.”

  “What do you mean about them both being victims?”

  “The Bellevue family hired a lawyer, didn’t they?” Sienna said. “Why hire a lawyer to prove your daughter’s murder when they’d already disowned her for wanting to run off and elope with a troll?”

  I hesitated. “You think the family wouldn’t stand for that. When Ellen didn’t listen to their pleas, one of them might’ve taken action to get rid of the problem.”

  “Bingo,” she said. “Harrison and Ellen died similarly close in time, but the troll was definitely first—no question about it. Either Ellen killed him then offed herself, or her fa
mily got rid of Harrison first, and then realized they wouldn’t get away with it unless they got rid of Ellen, too.”

  I shivered, though it had nothing to do with the gelato. “Yikes.”

  “It’s an ugly mess. Why are you looking into it? Their bodies aren’t the ones who disappeared.”

  “Just following up on leads,” I said. “Never know how things are connected.”

  “Fair enough. What are you eating?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Um, yeah,” she said. “You’re slurping.”

  “Sorry—it’s this gelato, have you tried it? I’m eating a bouquet of flowers. It even smells amazing.”

  She cursed. “I need to get out of the Dead Lands more often.”

  “Dinner,” I said, “this week. You and I will get out.”

  “I don’t have friends, Detective.”

  “Me neither,” I said. “We’ll be coworkers getting food.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “It’s a date.”

  “Shut up, Detective.”

  Sienna disconnected, leaving me with a smile. However, pure friendly interest wasn’t the only reason I’d asked the necromancer to join me for a meal.

  A part of me hoped that in a less formal setting, maybe Sienna would feel comfortable opening up to me. The fact of the matter was that I’d seen Residuals on her hands that shouldn’t have been there. I needed to find out what she’d been hiding, and I hoped we’d been through enough that she knew she could trust me.

  I HAD SOME TIME TO kill before Matthew finished up his questioning of the doctor, so I decided to use my time in a way that Matthew might not approve of if I asked. Turning my feet toward the NYPD station, I left the Golden District behind, and I headed to interview those closest to Lucia: her coworkers. I’d ask forgiveness later.

  I flashed my badge at the Sixth Precinct’s front counter, hoping to swoop right past security without questions, but it was a long shot. The police station was the equivalent of gossip central, and watercooler chatter spread like wildfire. There was a chance Matthew was already aware I was in the building, and I hadn’t yet passed through the lobby.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the front desk goblin said with a crafty squint to his eye. “May I inspect your badge?”

  I handed it over with a huge sigh. “I’m a special consultant just here to see...” I debated saying Matthew’s name, but I knew he wasn’t around, and the goblin would send me away. “Nash. Lieutenant DeMarco is my brother.”

  “I know who you are, Detective,” the goblin said, squinting his beady little eyes at me. “But it’s useless to try to fool me. They don’t have goblins working the front desk for no reason.”

  “Listen, pal,” I said, leaning against the counter. “It’s really—”

  “Officer Jones,” he corrected. “I work here full time, Detective. You’re a special consultant.”

  The way he said special consultant implied I was gum on the sole of his shoe. “Great. Well, Officer, I can see we got off on the wrong foot here. I just need to pay a visit to Nash—”

  “You know protocol as well as I do,” he said. “Or have things changed that much in the few months you’ve been away from the activity? Now, you’ll need to schedule an appointment with Pamela. Nash is very busy. We’ll see if we can fit you in this month.”

  “I’m going to talk to the chief,” I said, “and I’m going to give him your name.”

  “Be my guest. The chief has a waiting list that’s three months long for complaints, and I doubt he’s going to take issue with my upending his rules.” The goblin leaned his knobby elbows on the desk and pressed his pointy nose forward. “After all, if the chief wanted you to have full access, he would’ve given it to you on your damn badge.”

  “Come on, I just have to talk to my brother.”

  Lucky for him, Officer Jones was spared a response when the door opened behind me and a familiar voice called my name.

  “What’s going on here?” Peter Abbott, Nash’s former partner in Narcotics, asked as he stepped up to the front desk. “Jones giving you a hard time, DeMarco?”

  I stared at Jones, leaving it up to the goblin to decide if he wanted to take the hard route or the easy route.

  “I—ah, she doesn’t—” Jones spluttered.

  “I’m just trying to see my brother,” I said. “It’ll only take a second, but I’ve been told there’s a month long waiting list.”

  Peter frowned at the goblin. “It’s alright, Jones—I’ll take her to him myself.”

  “But Lieutenant—”

  Peter stopped, raised an eyebrow at the goblin. “Yes?”

  Officer Jones drew himself up to his full, bony height and put thin arms on his waist. “You’re taking full responsibility of her, then. I wash my hands of the Reserve.”

  Lieutenant Abbot gave a light laugh. “Fine. I’ll take that risk. Detective?”

  I followed the good-looking lieutenant as he brushed by the desk, past a blustering Jones, and into the drab hallways that were unadorned and unexciting. I’d always wondered why it seemed mandatory to keep police stations drab, but I supposed there wasn’t exactly budget to put up streamers and shoot confetti all over the place.

  “It’s good to see you, Peter,” I said with a grin. “How’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been good.” Peter’s smile faltered for a second, and a flicker of pain passed through his eyes. “Losing your brother to Homicide was rough on the Narcotics Unit. How’s Nash doing? Like, really doing?”

  We paused in a small corridor where there was a relative shroud of privacy. “He’s...” I hesitated. “He’s okay. It’s been a bit of a struggle, but he’d doing better now.”

  Nash’s history with narcotics was long and complicated, and nobody knew this more than his former partner. Nash and Peter had been inseparable for their first eight years on the force. Then Nash had taken a tumble into some trouble and had nearly dragged Peter down with him. Peter had given a valiant effort to pull his friend and partner out of the muck, but it just hadn’t been enough. After some time off the force, all involved had agreed it was better for Nash to return to the precinct in a homicide role.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened,” Peter said, though he’d apologized a hundred times over already. “I know you already told me it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help feeling if I’d just noticed something a little sooner, paid a bit more attention...”

  “Peter.” I reached out, my fingers coming to rest on his hands. “Look at me.”

  I waited for him to face me. When he did, his mahogany hair shone under the fluorescent lights, and there was a twist of remorse in his gray eyes.

  Peter was a handsome man—someone my mother had encouraged me to date the first time he came around for dinner. We’d found the attraction mutual and shared one kiss on my mother’s porch during my first year on the force. It had been okay. And an okay first kiss didn’t exactly set the stage for a passionate, whirlwind romance, so we’d both concluded that remaining friends was the only option for us. After that, he’d become another brother to me.

  “I know,” he said, meeting my gaze. “I know what you’re going to tell me. It’s not my fault, it wasn’t my job, it wasn’t—”

  “No,” I said sharply. “You’ve heard all that, and it doesn’t help. I just wanted to tell you that I know how you feel, and it sucks. For the record, of course it wasn’t your fault, but I’d have blamed myself too.”

  He blinked, looking surprised. As his gaze landed on me, understanding registered. “You feel the same way about him.”

  I swallowed. “I should’ve seen the signs in Trenton’s behavior, I should’ve known, I should’ve...”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Dani. Come on—we all liked the guy.”

  “There,” I said. “Now we’re even because we all know that none of this chit chat is going to make us feel better. Shall we get down to business?”

  He laughed, which got me grinning, too
. “I admire your grit, Detective. So, fill me in. What’s on your agenda today? By the way, Nash is out and about right now, but I think he has an interview room booked in a few minutes.” His eyes flicked over to mine. “That is, if you’re actually looking for him.”

  “I’m not.” I winced. “I’m looking for Lucia Livingston’s co-workers. Any chance you know her?”

  “Know her? Of course. It’s impossible not to know the working Reserve.” He winked at me. “If you hadn’t noticed, you made the position a bit of a legend. We were all huge fans of Lucia’s—but don’t worry, we still missed you. In fact, I hear the position’s open if you have a hankering to come back.”

  “I don’t know, Pete—”

  “I’m joking. Anyway, I suppose you want to know about Lucia’s open caseload from when she left?”

  “That would be great.”

  Peter crossed his arms, leaned back in thought. “The rumors say she resigned. Is that not true?”

  “I’m looking into it.”

  He ran a hand over his face and looked tired. “Well, I just assumed that if she quit, her caseload would roll over onto the first available officer. That means Commander Thomas would know who’s covering for Lucia.”

  “Ugh. I was hoping to avoid him.”

  “No luck there—he’s head of the Investigative Division now. He’s basically riding the desk until the end of the year when he can retire. The captains of the units are carrying the load,” Peter said with an impish grin. “But as you know, the Reserve doesn’t really slot neatly into a particular unit, so Lucia reported directly to the commander.”

  “Thanks,” I said, reaching out to give Peter a hug. “How can I thank you for all your help?”

  Peter gave me a chaste pat on the back and a brush of the lips against my cheek. “How about you send Nash over with a pizza someday soon?”

  “Pepperoni or cheese?”

  “Surprise me,” he called as we parted ways.

  I continued through the corridor until I reached the corner office of the commander where a door sat partially ajar. I peeked through and saw a wizard sitting at the desk with his feet propped on top and his eyes closed.