Rook, page 6
The morning sun was barely peeking over the roof of the Mason Street Police Station as I hurried up the steps and into the building.
Inspector Dupin seemed baffled to find me waiting for him outside the door to interrogation room two. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I’m sort of in the middle of something here.”
“I need the missing persons file for Mary Horne,” I informed him. “And any other files you think might possibly be connected. I know you don’t think I’m ready, but I am.”
Dupin blinked. “You solved that burglary I gave you already?”
I swallowed. “No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m ready.”
“You’re really not,” he said. “What you are is overconfident, and overconfidence is going to get you killed. I’ve got a repeat offender behind this door right now with a reputation for ripping the arms off people he doesn’t like. Is losing an arm something you’re ready for?”
I peeked over his shoulder into the interrogation room. My vision swam slightly as I took in the creature’s aura. Decidedly not human.
“Quarry troll,” Dupin explained. “Stubborn, too. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to interrogating that antisocial mountain before he starts growing lichen.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
Dupin opened the door and stepped back inside, but before he could close it behind him, I slipped in. Dupin spun. “What do you think you’re—”
“I’ve never seen a quarry troll up close,” I said, directing my attention to the prisoner. “Hello. I’m curious by nature, I guess. I was under the impression that you lot didn’t often brave the big city.”
“Troll not have to be brave in big city,” the creature grunted from the other side of a sturdy table. “Big city has to be brave around troll.”
“You’re not intimidating anyone, Rock-Jaw,” Dupin said, giving me an angry glance. He dropped his notebook on the table across from the detainee.
“No?” said Rock-Jaw. “How about now?” And without any further warning, he lurched forward in his chair, his fist rocketing toward Dupin’s head.
Dupin reacted with lightning reflexes by stumbling sideways over his own feet and landing on the floor of the interrogation room.
Rock-Jaw’s booming laugh echoed painfully in the tight space.
“Not funny,” Dupin grumbled.
The prisoner smirked as he settled back into his seat. The chair creaked in protest, but it held. “Rock-Jaw very funny. Stupid human not get joke.”
“Precisely what I was talking about.” Dupin dusted himself off as he stood up.
“Is that what Mr. Jaw is in for?” I asked. “Attacking people?” I cocked my head, taking in the creature’s unique aura. Magic spun around him in crisscrossing wisps, weaving in and out like loose braids.
Dupin eyed me. For a moment, I was sure he was going to order me back outside, but instead he let his gaze roll back to the prisoner and shook his head. “Not if they paid up,” he said. “Dozens of victims. If you’re going to observe, Miss Rook, please stay back and remain silent. Our guest here was just about to disclose to me where he stashed his cache.”
“Don’t think he was,” the creature said. “That don’t sound like Rock-Jaw.” He scratched the back of his neck. “All those shiny coins was given to Rock-Jaw. Gifts is gifts. Rude to give gifts back. Bad luck. That’s old magic.”
“They weren’t gifts,” Dupin replied, flatly. “It was extortion money—paid monthly—after you explicitly threatened their homes and businesses.”
“Gifts,” the creature grunted. “In exchange for Rock-Jaw’s gift: protection. Everyone want Rock-Jaw’s protection. Dangerous town these days. Rock-Jaw very good at protecting.”
“Really? Very good at protecting? Is that why at least four of the properties under your supposed protection have been robbed and vandalized in the past two weeks?”
“Like Rock-Jaw said, dangerous town.”
Dupin flipped a few pages in the notebook. “And when you came to collect more money from the people you’d failed to protect, you told them, and I quote: Current service not cover that. Too bad. Pay up. Do I have that right?”
“Terms and conditions is old magic, too.”
“I’m sure you don’t love being stuck in cramped spaces any more than I love being stuck in here with you,” Dupin pressed. “If you would just pay back the money, we could talk about shorter sentencing. Play nice, and we might even be able to avoid jail time entirely.”
The creature let out a chuckle that sounded like a volcano burbling. “Rock-Jaw could give humans all the shiny coins he worked so hard for, and then Rock-Jaw have no monies at all,” he said. “Or . . . Rock-Jaw could keep monies and go to human jail. Rock-Jaw not stupid. Time in jail give Rock-Jaw even better reputation as tough guy. Humans feed Rock-Jaw in jail. And Rock-Jaw back on the street in few days anyway, because humans not have enough evidence for to hold Rock-Jaw—and even if humans did, they not have enough room to keep Rock-Jaw. No. Rock-Jaw will keep monies for himself. Rock-Jaw choose jail.”
Dupin ground his teeth.
“He makes a fair point,” I said, helpfully.
Dupin shot me another glare. Before he could resume, the door opened behind us and Commissioner Marlowe leaned his head inside. The commissioner’s aura always draped over his shoulders like a weary weight, but something was different today. His heart rate had quickened and his nerves were humming.
He caught sight of me with mild surprise but turned quickly to Dupin. “Inspector,” he grunted. “I need a word with you in the hallway when you have a moment. Something’s come up.”
“Now is fine.” Dupin shot the prisoner one more scowl. “This hardheaded lump can wait.”
Rock-Jaw propped his feet up on the interrogation table with a thud and waggled his fingers at Dupin in a mock goodbye as we cleared the room.
“Detective Rook,” Marlowe said once we were all in the hallway and the door had clicked shut. “I wasn’t aware you were involved with this case.”
“She’s not,” Dupin said.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I could close it for you.”
Dupin’s eyebrows rose incredulously. His aura, dull and gray-blue as he surveyed me, was without a fleck of confidence.
“Tell you what—I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Let me speak to your intractable inmate for five minutes. If I can convince him to give up the information you’re after, you let me have the file on Mary Horne.”
“And when you can’t?”
“Then I won’t bring the matter up again.”
Dupin rubbed his chin contemplatively.
“Never hurts to approach a problem with a fresh perspective,” I added. “And he was right. It’s not as though you have room for a troll in your detainment center right now anyway, and you can’t transfer paranormal prisoners anywhere else at present. How many seats on a standard bench do you suppose Mr. Rock-Jaw would occupy?”
Dupin glanced to the commissioner. Marlowe gave a curt nod. “Two minutes,” he grunted.
“Sir. This guy has a rough reputation even among the nastiest street crews,” Dupin cautioned. “There’s a reason all those people paid up when he came calling.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, not certain if I was assuring Dupin or myself. “You can wait for me just outside the door, if you like. It will give the commissioner time to share that bad news he has for you in private.”
Dupin shot a concerned glance at Marlowe, but then whipped his eyes back to me. “Wait—you want to speak to him alone?” He shook his head. “No. No way.”
“You were in there alone with him before I arrived,” I said.
“Yes, but you’re . . .” I tried not to take offense as Dupin sized me up. I might not have been all that physically imposing, but I had made an effort to at least dress for the part. My skirts were pressed, and I had tied my hair up in a bun as neatly as I could manage without a proper mirror. Even mirrors that weren’t magical portals had been giving me headaches lately, so I didn’t like to linger. But I looked very professional. Probably.
I straightened and cleared my throat. “Two minutes,” I said. “I promise not to be too rough on him.”
Dupin looked as if he was ready to object, but Marlowe cut him off. “We’ll be watching,” he said.
Rock-Jaw raised a lumpy eyebrow as I slipped back into the room and closed the door behind me. I breathed in and out, steadying myself.
“Other humans must not like you much,” he rumbled, amusement coloring his deep voice, “if they willing to lock you in room with Rock-Jaw.”
“That’s quite good,” I said. “You sound thoroughly intimidating. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed even more threats, but in the interest of time, do you mind if we forgo all that? It’s just that we only have about two minutes before those men open up the door and you come to the prudent realization that it’s in your best interest to make a full confession. Powerful thing, confession. I was talking to a friend about it, just the other day.”
The creature’s brow furrowed. “Rock-Jaw not confess.”
“You will,” I said. “And you’ll also disclose the location of your ill-gotten bounty. I wouldn’t mind if you apologized to that nice policeman, either, for giving him such an unnecessary fright earlier.”
“Why would Rock-Jaw do this?”
“Out of fear,” I said, simply. “Of me.”
Rock-Jaw’s eyelids clicked faintly as he blinked.
“I’d rather you did it simply to be nice, of course. But as I said, we’re running out of time. Ninety seconds left.”
Rock-Jaw forced a chuckle and slid his feet off the table. “Foolish human not know Rock-Jaw’s reputation?”
“Oh, it’s an impressive reputation,” I assured him. “And it’s clever, too. One does not need to engage in any actual brutish violence so long as everyone believes that you engage in brutish violence. Quick piece of advice, though: real monsters don’t try so hard to keep up appearances. I think the department would have caught on eventually—Marlowe’s not a fool. You’re fortunate they’ve been preoccupied. Fifty seconds.”
Confidence was rapidly draining from Rock-Jaw’s face. “You . . . you threatening Rock-Jaw?”
“Not threatening,” I said. “Worse. I am seeing you.”
Rock-Jaw paled.
“The real you,” I continued. “The you that you’ve got wrapped up in all that trollish glamour. The voice is a nice touch, by the way. Top-notch magical augmentation. You’re not a troll at all. You’re a . . . a hob? Did I get that right? I can see you much more clearly now that everyone else is out of the room, but I’ve always been better with faces than I am with names. Twenty seconds, Mr. Rock-Jaw. We are nearly out of time.”
His eyes darted from me to the door and back again. And there he was, under all those layers of magic. Hobs were unassuming creatures—no taller than a primary school child, with bodies like pudgy, overgrown turtles but without the shells. The glamour he was wearing hovered above him, well constructed but immaterial.
“Please.” The creature leaned in, its booming voice suddenly reduced to a desperate whisper. “Rock-Jaw owes powerful people many shiny coins. If lady takes Rock-Jaw’s secret away, Rock-Jaw has nothing. Rock-Jaw is dead hob walking.”
“Hmm. It sounds to me as if Rock-Jaw is about to come to a prudent realization,” I whispered back, “in three—two—”
With a click, the door opened and Dupin stepped back inside. His eyes darted from me to the visibly rattled Rock-Jaw.
“Hello again, Inspector,” I said. “I believe your guest has something he would like to tell you.”
Dupin raised an eyebrow.
“There is knotty old willow tree,” Rock-Jaw mumbled. “It grow at end of low fence, just off road humans call Tanner Lane. Rock-Jaw bury his money in box between roots. It all there. Rock-Jaw promise.”
Dupin blinked.
“And?” I prompted.
Rock-Jaw sighed. “And Rock-Jaw is . . . sorry,” he mumbled, “that he made policeman look like frightened baby man. Even though it very funny.”
I smiled. “Now, then, was that so hard?”
From the doorway, Commissioner Marlowe let out a huff that might have been a chuckle.
“I think you’ll find him more amenable moving forward,” I said, standing up and tucking the chair in behind me. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Rock-Jaw. I do look forward to seeing you again sometime.”
The commissioner held the door for me, and I stepped back into the hall. “So,” he said, “you’re ready to assist on bigger cases?”
“I am,” I said. “The Horne file?”
Marlowe shook his head. “Bigger than Horne.” He took a deep breath. “Step into my office. We need to talk.”
chapter six
Marlowe’s office felt even more crowded than last time. The pressure of responsibility inside the tiny room made my ears ache. The commissioner shut the door behind me gently before speaking.
“I need to preface this by telling you that you’re not here, Miss Rook. I did not invite you into my office today. We’re not talking right now.”
“Understood,” I said. “Might I ask why I am not here, not in your office, not talking to you?”
“Because bringing you in on this matter is a terrible option.” Marlowe trudged behind his desk and slid into his chair heavily. “But frankly, I can’t afford to not use an asset with the ability to spot paranormal prints at a glance. We need a highly sensitive matter resolved as quickly and quietly as possible in a manner you’re uniquely qualified to achieve.”
“I’m listening,” I said. “Or I’m not—whichever is the right response presently.”
Marlowe nodded. “Uniforms brought a high-profile case this morning,” he said. “Juliette D’Aulaire. Heiress. Prominent socialite. Highly connected to a lot of influential people. Dead.”
“Murder?” I asked.
“Almost certainly.”
“Supernatural?”
“Looks that way.”
I considered. “I must admit, I don’t especially approve of money and influence moving a victim to the head of the line for justice.”
“It’s not the money or influence that flagged this one,” Marlowe grunted. “D’Aulaire was a vocal advocate of some extreme political initiatives. Creating a registry of all inhumans. Reduced rights. Relocation. That sort of thing. Humans First and Mundus Noster seem to be the favorite rallying cries.”
“I’ve seen the paintwork.”
Marlowe nodded solemnly. “D’Aulaire has a lot of followers. Avid ones. She gave their movement a respectable face. But every time a new column prints, a gaggle of excitable idiots vandalize the city or assault the elderly and call it heroism. Putting out fires is exhausting enough without those buffoons finding excuses to throw fuel on any ember they can find.”
“The sort of followers who would happily turn her death into a martyrdom for their cause?” I said. “I think I’m beginning to grasp the weight of the thing.”
“It’s a political powder keg,” said Marlowe.
I swallowed. A scandal on this scale was more than a few steps above stolen frippery. “Has Charlie been apprised of the situation yet?” I asked.
Marlowe winced, and I could see trepidation crackle across his aura. “I’d rather not engage Mr. Barker on this one,” Marlowe answered. “In fact, I think it best he stay well away from the whole affair.”
“Why?” I asked. “You were the one who recommended him for the liaison position in the first place. Wouldn’t this be the perfect time for him to liaise? People like Charlie. He’s good at de-escalating situations.”
“Not this one, he’s not,” grunted Marlowe. He gestured at a newspaper lying open on his desk. “D’Aulaire’s last editorial is all about the Om Caini. It ran yesterday.”
I felt a cold weight in my stomach. The Om Caini had claimed jurisdiction over the veil-gate, with Charlie’s sister, Alina, heading the operation, as sovereign of the pack. It fell to them to control who came and went between worlds, which meant they also received the brunt of the blame whenever anything otherworldly went wrong.
“Charlie is mentioned by name,” added Marlowe. “Twice. It is . . . unflattering.”
I scanned the dead woman’s scathing prose and felt my face growing hot. Unflattering was an understatement.
“I don’t need to tell you that the situation is tense,” Marlowe continued. “Ever since that rift opened, everyone seems to think they should get to make the rules, and nobody’s happy. We’ve gotten demands from religious leaders, covens, occultists. Federal agents are now overseeing our operations, threatening to seize control entirely if we can’t keep this mess tethered down. We can’t afford a flashy public scandal. The last thing we need is the same newspapers that printed D’Aulaire’s hogwash in the first place getting wind that a key person of interest was involved in her murder investigation.”
“Yes, I can see the conflict of interest.” I gritted my teeth. That D’Aulaire woman had used her last words to paint a target on Charlie’s back—but there was no reason to paint it even brighter. “Why tell me all this, then?” I asked. “Charlie’s relationship with me is no secret. “Would I not be seen as having just as much of a conflict?”
