Bronze Gods Page 15

  “It’s hard to move forward when we file our requests and you sit on them,” Mikani muttered.

  That still grated. They’d sent in the proper paperwork days before and heard nothing from the commander. He hated the fact that the great Houses could avoid inconvenience to the point that they were almost untouchable. It was no wonder the impoverished, persecuted magicians and sorcerers were looking for a solution. Sometimes, he wanted one himself.

  “About that,” Gunwood said. “Miss Aevar’s mother has returned to the city, and she’s willing to speak with you.”

  He hadn’t expected that. The woman had seemed broken the night they’d taken the report of Miss Aevar’s disappearance. Apparently the mother had a core of strength not readily apparent. In the great Houses, if there were no sons, the daughter’s husband took on the family name to keep the line going. Mikani presumed Cira’s father was deceased or gone, as there had been no mention of him.

  “Her father doesn’t know,” Ritsuko guessed.

  “Indeed. So you will be meeting Valerie Aevar at a café in the Temple District.” He provided the name and directions, then leaned forward and gave them a narrow-eyed look. “You are not to distress her in any way. If she returns to her father with so much as a stubbed toe, I will hold the pair of you accountable. Understood?” Mikani led the way down, still grumbling about special privileges, but they did snag his favorite cruiser.

  I’ll take that as a good omen.

  • • •

  BEHIND THEM, RITSUKO heard two inspectors cursing because they were too late. Her partner answered with a smirk and a salute as they slid in. When they jolted into motion, she realized it was Shelton and Cutler, the ones Mikani had beaten up on her behalf, and more than likely the ones who had asked to take over their case.

  No rivalry there.

  “You know where we’re going?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll get us there.”

  “I have a lab report,” she said, digging into her attaché case. “I stopped by on my way up today.” Thinking about the tech, Mr. Higgins, made her smile. She’d enjoyed their luncheon the other day, more than she’d expected.

  The tech was proving to be rather delightful, with a quiet, dry sense of humor. Her heart was in no danger, but he made her laugh, and she hoped she offered a little respite from the pain of his mother’s illness. It was nice to have someone who acted as if your company was infinitely desirable. Her grandfather would never have approved, of course, but she didn’t qualify for a prestigious marriage anymore. So she might as well seek happiness over dynastic contribution.

  “Anything helpful?”

  “They identified the herbs I found at the crime scene.”

  “Well?” he prompted, cutting her a look as he wove around a hansom, the engine building up to a rumbling hum as they accelerated.

  “Acanthus and hyacinth.”

  “What does that mean? How does it help us?”

  She exhaled in a sigh. “I have no idea. Maybe it will mean something to Cira’s mother. If it doesn’t, I’ll do some research when we go back to headquarters. And perhaps you can ask Saskia? It may be related to the magical angle, though only Mr. Toombs could say what he’s trying to accomplish.”

  Mikani’s jaw clenched. “I want that bastard.”

  She agreed completely.

  There wasn’t a whole lot to say after that, so they rode in silence to the café. It was a clear evening, stars visible through the pale veil of steam thrown by passing vehicles. Her partner turned off Crown Avenue and into the Temple District, parking below one of the ubiquitous bronze statues. The bronze idols to several dozen gods adorned the plazas that connected the temples, shrines, and chapels that gave the area its name.

  Valerie Aevar was already waiting. The time in the country had done her good; she no longer looked breakable. Instead, Ritsuko read a particular determination in the woman’s eyes. Since her daughter’s body had been found, she no longer had hope; instead, she burned with the need for justice, and it had hardened her.

  Mrs. Aevar rose as they approached, indicating chairs opposite as if she were the hostess of a party. Even as Ritsuko smiled at the other woman’s manner, she took the indicated seat. It went without saying that she’d take the lead, and Mikani would do his thing. At this point, they didn’t need to discuss how they would proceed with a witness.

  “Mrs. Aevar, it was kind of you to break from mourning to answer our questions.” She offered a smile.

  “I will not say it is good to see you,” the other woman replied. “But I want you to find out who did this, and if there’s any way for me to help, well, I shall.”

  Mikani signaled for coffee while she framed her first query. Her partner stirred, and she glanced over at him. “Something wrong?”

  He was frowning. “No. I just feel like I’m cheating on Electra.”

  “Don’t fret, you can flirt with her another day.” Ritsuko addressed her next words to the other woman. “We’ve discovered that your daughter was working at the Royale as a seamstress. Did you know?”

  Guilt clouded Mrs. Aevar’s gaze. “I did. Of course I did. At first, I thought she had a lover, so I had her followed. When I saw what she was doing . . . it seemed harmless, and it made her so happy. After we talked about it, I started sending a coach for her at the boardinghouse where she made the costumes.”

  “But her grandfather had no idea.”

  Mrs. Aevar shook her head. “He wouldn’t have approved. Proper ladies do not work.”

  “I can tell you blame yourself for what happened.” Mikani spoke for the first time, eyes closed, and his fingers playing along the edge of the coffee cup. “You shouldn’t. You wanted your daughter to be happy, and you took precautions to keep her safe. It would’ve been impossible to do more.”

  Unexpectedly sensitive.

  The other woman gave a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Inspector. It gives me some comfort to be exonerated even if I cannot yet forgive myself.”

  “Was there anyone in her life? A man she held in fond regard?”

  “I’m not certain. The last few weeks, Cira began to act differently. Not secretive, precisely, but she had a glow about her. When I asked, she would grow flustered and decline to speak of it.”

  Toombs, she thought. A silent glance exchanged with Mikani said he was thinking the same thing. They needed to find him.

  “So there was a guard with her, most times,” Mikani said thoughtfully.

  Mrs. Aevar inclined her head. “After I learned Cira had been . . .” Her voice trailed away, then she went on, “I fired him.”

  “Would you happen to know where we could find him?” Ritsuko got out her notepad.

  She fought anger; if the woman had told the truth that first night, the trail wouldn’t be so cold. But she’d been in denial, still hoping her daughter would come home. She might even have had the guard looking on his own, wanting to resolve the matter quietly if Miss Aevar had run off with an inappropriate man. Once hope died, the need to keep secrets faded, too.

  “I have the address he gave me when I retained his services.” Delving in her bag, she withdrew a card and passed it across the table.

  It was good quality, cottony paper, printed with plain black ink, and it suggested a man of superior taste and a no-nonsense nature. OLIVER DINWIDDIE, PRIVATE SECURITY. One final question, then, before she let Valerie Aevar go.

  “Do hyacinth and acanthus mean anything to you?”

  The woman raised an elegantly shaped brow. “Should they? They’re plants, I think, but otherwise . . .”

  “Thank you for your time,” Mikani murmured.

  Ritsuko realized she hadn’t touched her coffee, as they stood. On the way to the cruiser, she said, “What did you get from her?”

  He waited until they were both in the vehicle to answer. “She’s holding herself together with a thread, guilt’s eating her up. She thinks if she hadn’t kept Cira’s secret, the girl would still be alive. And for all
I know, that’s true.”

  “Harsh.” But it brought home how one choice could change everything. With a faint sigh, she passed him the card so he could visualize the address. “Are you well?”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It wasn’t pleasant, but it was far better than some crime scenes.”

  “Your head—”

  “I said I’m fine.” Leave it, his tone demanded.

  “Then let’s go talk to Oliver Dinwiddie.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were banging on his flat door. No answer. Mikani wore a queer, frozen look. Though she had no Ferisher blood, Ritsuko could sense something in the air as well, not quite a smell, but almost. Her skin crawled. She didn’t want to, but she tried the handle. The door was locked.

  “Use the jimmy,” Mikani said. “We have reason to believe civilian life is at risk.”

  She’d only deployed the thing one other time—to save an elderly woman who couldn’t get to the door. What awaited them inside here might be much worse. Ritsuko got the device out of her bag and set it between the door and the frame. It popped the door like the lid off a tin of beans, and the coppery tang of blood wafted toward them.

  Footsteps sounded then, a silvery shatter of glass. “Mikani, there’s a runner.”

  “I’m on it,” he called, already pounding down the steps toward the back alley.

  A low gurgle from within the flat made her quicken her step. Using protocols that had become second nature, she secured the scene and found Dinwiddie on the floor beside his bed. Blood pooled dark beneath his body. She knelt, knowing it was too late for a med-wagon to save him. To her surprise, his eyelids fluttered open. Impending death dulled his sight, leaving the irises filmy. He clutched her forearm.

  “It was him,” he rasped. “The man from the theater . . .”

  “Toombs?”

  “Too—” With a shudder, Dinwiddie died.

  She searched the flat before Mikani strode in, more disheveled than usual. “Did you get him?”

  “I saw him from the back,” he answered. “But no. The bastard ran down an alley, went over a fence, and by the time I hit the other side, he was long gone.”

  “Could it have been Toombs?”

  Mikani gave an angry shrug. “General height is right, I think, but it’s tough to be certain when someone’s running. He did have dark hair.”

  “So does Toombs. Dinwiddie said, ‘It was him, the man from the theater,’ just before he died.”

  “Sounds like confirmation to me,” Mikani said.

  She fought down dread and nausea. “Between this and the model we found at his parents’ apartment, maybe Gunwood won’t kill us when we get back to HQ.”

  Her partner seemed none too sure. “We were this close . . . and he got away. Somehow, I don’t think the commander will be too pleased with us.”

  CHAPTER 14

  AS IT TURNED OUT, MIKANI WAS RIGHT. IWISH IWASN’T, THOUGH. His ears were still ringing from the peal the old man read over them once they reported in. Ritsuko looked as if she had been repeatedly kicked in the stomach—and he hated that expression on her. It made his fists curl though there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

  “You two are done, do you hear me?” Gunwood snarled.

  Before the old man could continue the tirade, Shelton stuck his head in the office. “I hate to interrupt when Mikani’s getting what he deserves, but there’s an urgent message from Dispatch.”

  Never thought I’d be glad to see you, bastard. He glared at the weasel who had said such filthy things about Ritsuko until the thin man took a step back. At the moment, he wanted to pound Shelton all over again. His partner, Cutler, was nowhere to be found; he tended not to face Mikani if he could help it.

  That suspension was entirely worth it.

  “Let’s hear it,” Gunwood demanded.

  “There’s been suspicious activity down in Landing Point. Some nosy neighbor, complaining about the construction noise, thinks we should check it out.” Then Shelton asked the commander, “Why don’t you let Cutler and me handle this? Isn’t it time to turn this case over to some real inspectors? This office is taking a real trouncing in public opinion because of the general incompetence of the fieldwork so far.” Shelton’s gaze flicked over Ritsuko, silently indicting her for the failure.

  Mikani lazily popped the knuckles on his right hand. The other man shut up.

  He could tell that Gunwood didn’t like Shelton any more than he did, but the old man was also pretty furious; he rapped the desk, contemplating. “Ritsuko, Mikani. You may as well go out there, get a preliminary picture of what we’re dealing with. But I’m not finished with the two of you.”

  Excellent. Something to look forward to. He had the self-control not to say it aloud. So Gunwood sent them back out, his scowl promising dire things on their return. Half an hour driving delivered them to the bay. It doesn’t always reek like this, surely. He stole a furtive glance at his partner, interviewing residents some distance away. Then he turned back to the street, frowning.

  Around them, ancient buildings dominated the skyline. Four to six stories high, the blocky structures were dwarfed by an abandoned House enclave. Far beyond them, the jagged skyline of the city center glittered. Behind them, Landing Point docks stretched deep into the bay, masts and smokestacks swaying like a floating, man-made forest on the slow currents. The creak of timber and groans of metal carried far over the water. Mikani grimaced as a warm breath of wind eddied the effluvium of the place.

  There’s fear here. And distrust. And they’re not used to it; this is the smell of sheep that know a wolf is near. And the whole damned thing is giving me a headache.

  Down the block, men slouched against a wall, taking turns glancing their way. No one seemed happy, and the young men with Ritsuko were no exception. They wore sullen defiance in the same way as territorial colors, but he sensed something more, a seething rage. The muffled sounds of broadcasts rippled through the area—warnings of some kind. That doesn’t bode well. With a quiet sigh, Mikani turned back to the structure; a makeshift mezzanine joined the two buildings, erected in relatively recent times.

  A uniformed officer strode up to them. “Inspectors, I think we may have a problem brewing. When we first found the body, a junior agent mentioned—”

  “This will have to wait. Ready, Ritsuko?” Without turning around, Mikani cast the question over his shoulder. Something about the structure made him even more nauseous than the rich currents of rice, fish, and sweat all around him.

  With a nod, Ritsuko detached herself from the group of youths who spoke little or no English. Her facility for languages was one of the reasons she’d been assigned to him initially; he had a hard time remembering things. It was the CID’s policy to pair agents who complemented each other, at least on paper.

  “It’s showtime. Got your magic kit?”

  “Minus the garlic necklaces. Stuff gives me stomach cramps . . . think I might be allergic.” Mikani led the way down toward the water. Along the shore, the darkness was as absolute as the stench. A far more real and cloying aroma, drifting from somewhere ahead, subdued the smell of fear.

  For the first time in three years, Mikani drew his sidearm, seeking comfort in its weight. With his other hand, he raised his lantern, sending the light swaying. There were recent drag marks across the soft ground: scrapes, divots of churned earth where someone had dragged and pushed something big along the riverbank.

  Despite the mild temperature, Ritsuko shivered beside him, her own weapon in hand. The silence bore the heaviness of graves, row upon row of stone, rooted in the ground beyond wind or time. His soft-soled shoes scraped as he followed the stopgap corridor; he passed through the maw into open air yet oddly, the atmosphere grew only more viscous. Decaying wood floors; green shoots that had pushed their way to the surface and from the dry summer and salt water lay in desiccated yellow tentacles. The sweetness of the air, more sickly than any flower, stung his senses.

  They made their way
on the creaking, protesting timbers to the farthest end of the building, though that word only loosely applied to such a structure; the stilts on which it teetered were half-rotten. With narrowed eyes, he skimmed the perimeter, turning slowly. Various primitive insignia marked the place as ritual ground, and at the far side, some sort of carpentry project seemed to be taking place. Bricks, neatly stacked . . . and mortared? Scaffolding . . . With a growing frown, he moved closer. At ten paces, he stopped dead, utterly motionless for a moment. Ritsuko’s face glowed pale in the lantern he swung her way, though she seemed otherwise in check.

  “Think you better step this way, partner. We have a customer.”

  “What did you—” She didn’t need to finish the question, once the light touched the scaffolding.

  It was an open webwork of wood and steel in the vague outline of an inverted pyramid. Suspended in the center was a tall, copper cylinder. Mikani could guess what the shape was, but he knew he’d have to get closer. As he spoke, he moved. “Call the constable on duty. Have him call for a team and seal the place off.”

  He would lay money on the table that Ritsuko was already taking care of it, but the words helped him focus as he approached. Mikani wished, idly, for a cigarillo to help with the smell. He did not grimace, though, as he reached the construct. The framework had been painstakingly crafted, each joint and beam buffed so that it shone in the green-tinged light. The damned thing is familiar. Definitely the work of the same maniac.

  Mikani turned his full attention to the reddish cylinder. Thick ropes wrapped around the tube and connected it to the heavy timber supports. A glass lens gleamed at the top. Toombs must have ground the thing. There’s no store that carries giant lenses, as far as I know . . . although, if he had them made on order, we might have one hell of a break. Mikani doubted the man had been that stupid, however, as he’d eluded capture for this long with the whole city searching for him.