Bronze Gods Page 3

  With a nod, she waved him out. He knew she’d smooth things over with the Aevars as a matter of course. It was a pattern they’d fallen into early on; Ritsuko eased his path over the details, and he cut corners so they wasted less time in grunt work.

  Before too long, they returned to the cruiser. He wasn’t steady enough to drive, so she did. This, too, was part of their routine. He drove out to all their crime scenes, but she manned the wheel on the way back if he used his gifts at all. An ice pick tapped quietly inside his brain, so he missed most of the journey. Blessedly, Ritsuko chose to be silent, knowing that words would only ratchet up the pain. At times he questioned whether the payout was worth the price, but whenever they brought someone home or delivered a killer to the scales of justice, he decided it was, all over again.

  He sat in the cruiser while she signed forms with the requisition officer. At her signal, he slid out. The world reeled, and he was half a shade from dissolving. He set a hand on the steel door as his partner came over, ostensibly to collect her attaché case, but in reality, she offered him an escort. Other officers were used to seeing her on his arm, and sometimes they joked about inappropriate relations, but the truth was, he often wouldn’t make it back up to HQ without her steadiness at his side.

  The ride in the lift set his stomach to churning, and he fought the building migraine. When Mikani opened his eyes, the room swam with ghosts. Stale memories of despair and guilt, sharp flashes of anger left behind by killers and their captors. The flickering lights felt oily against his skin . . . their spreading coronas indicating he’d soon be incapacitated. He’d opened himself too fully in Cira’s room, been profligate with his gift, and now he’d suffer the consequences.

  Ritsuko fetched him a drink; he took the glass wordlessly. After the first sip, he closed his eyes. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he leaned back as far as he could in the uncomfortable chair. This case marked the beginning of a hell of a mess; he just knew it.

  Poor girls from the tenements down in Iron Cross might go missing, and nobody would bat an eye. But let some pretty House scion get taken, and the newssheets would be screaming about it first thing in the morning. The City Council then called the commander, who in turn put the boot to their backsides. Sometimes, the divide between privation and privilege rubbed him the wrong way, but he loved his job too much to do anything but complain inside his head.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I just need some time. And quiet.” And a couple of chemical solutions that would win him a long, impassioned lecture on treating his body like a temple. While Mikani appreciated his partner’s concern, he had his own methods of coping.

  “Will you be able to get home?”

  “If I say no, will you take me there and tuck me in?” It wasn’t the first time he’d teased her thus.

  The wrinkle on her brow evolved from concern to aggravation. Truth be told, he preferred the latter. “Of course not. I’d just enjoy some advance notice if you mean to get yourself murdered on the underground. I’d like to scout who my new partner might be.”

  “Your sensibilities never cease to charm me,” he said, managing a half smile.

  The resurgence of his skewed humor seemed to reassure her. “Oh, shut up.”

  As Ritsuko eased into her chair, Mikani opened his eyes and gave her a nod in appreciation for the night’s work. “Let’s file this and get out of here.”

  “Your turn,” she said.

  And it was. She only cut him so much slack, after all. Document in hand, he filled in the details on the missing girl; that done, he set the toggles for the index-card press.

  A person reduced to numbers and codes, a few comments, to be filed away.

  • • •

  “GO HOME. I’LL drop the evidence off at the lab.” It was easy to be kind to Mikani when he looked as if he had been dragged six blocks behind a hansom.

  “Thanks. You’re the best.” Her partner pushed to his feet, somewhat unsteady, but she trusted that if he were seriously incapacitated, he would forgo that dreadful sense of humor long enough to ask for help.

  Once she put the forms Mikani had filled out in the correct bins, Ritsuko gathered up her things and headed for the lift. This late, Anatole was probably taking his meal break, so the hall was quiet, eerily so. Flickering gaslight threw ominous shadows on the walls as she stepped out of the bronze cage. The lab was housed in the lower levels of HQ, affectionately called the Dungeon by those who had reason to utilize its services.

  Like the rest of the division, Analysis and Laboratory Services struggled with budgetary and payroll issues, so there was only one man in the austere room when she pushed through the doors. With tired gray paint and cold stone walls, the Dungeon earned its name. It was a large, cold room where bodies could be stored without risk of immediate decomposition, and there were four tables overburdened with various types of equipment.

  The scientist who had the misfortune to work the witching shift from midnight to eight in the morning glanced up as she came in. Cyril Higgins was also the youngest member of the team, only four years out of the Academy, where he had studied the latest forensic techniques and could be relied on to run experiments that other lab specialists would refuse for fear of failure or loss of prestige. Ritsuko wished she could’ve persuaded her grandfather to send her to school there, but he’d said higher education was wasted on a woman; that was a pity since the Academy had opened its doors to female pupils in recent years. I would’ve loved to enroll. The foremost institution of higher learning in Dorstaad offered so many intriguing study options for girls of moderate means, not only business and clerical skills but hard sciences such as engineering and mathematics, as well as softer courses like art and literature for those of a more romantic bent. With a wistful sigh, she put aside thoughts of missed opportunities and focused on the task at hand.

  Higgins was a tall man, well over six feet, with the pallor of one who never voluntarily sought the sun; only a splash of freckles saved him from looking ill. His hair was perpetually in disarray though it was an agreeable shade of ginger, complementing bottle-green eyes, shaded by a pair of silver spectacles.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked cheerfully.

  Ritsuko greeted him with an answering smile, as many inspectors didn’t bother to do. They also waited a lot longer for their lab results. She’d learned that she was better off entrusting her requests to Higgins anyway, as the older scientists disapproved of her on principle, and therefore, they dragged their heels on her work, perhaps thinking that if they delayed enough, her cases would become impossible to close, thus causing her to be discharged for incompetence. She walked a constant line, and sometimes the effort to remain in balance was dizzying.

  “I need you to analyze this sample, please. See if you can figure out what it is.” She slid him the evidence packet, along with a properly annotated request form. “Whenever it’s convenient.”

  By his appreciative look, he rarely received such courtesy. Ritsuko was sure other inspectors couched their requests in the form of demands for immediate information, mostly because she had worked as an assistant in the Dungeon, early in her career, and the men had barked at her as if she were both deaf and mentally defective. There would be less traffic at this hour, but she didn’t imagine the late hour offered any improvement in a boor’s manners.

  “As it happens, I can set aside what I’m working on and tackle this immediately.” He offered a conspiratorial grin, inviting her to share this quiet revenge, the only kind people like them ever enjoyed.

  “I appreciate that tremendously. Do you need anything, Mr. Higgins? I could fetch you a cup of tea or coffee before I go.”

  “Tea would be lovely, if you don’t mind. One sugar and milk.”

  “I’ll be right back. I remember where the lounge is.”

  The room where specialists took their rest didn’t offer a lot more warmth than the Dungeon, as it was just down the hall. In an attempt at comfort, someone had put down a ru
g, and there were some armchairs, but mostly it was a dank, depressing room. She put the kettle on the gas cooker and waited for it to whistle, then she found the requested milk and sugar to prepare the cup. In a moment of inspiration, she added a few biscuits to make it a snack as well. All told, it was an endeavor of five minutes, but the delight on Mr. Higgins’s face made it obvious it had been time well spent. Ritsuko was not, by nature, a nurturer, but she had found that small kindnesses often delivered excellent results when provided to people who did not generally receive them.

  Higgins set the cup and saucer aside to let the tea cool. “If you’d care to wait, there’s a simple test I can run to determine basic chemical composition.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Wistfully, she considered the comfort of her empty bed, but if ten minutes meant a head start on the investigation the following day, it made sense to keep Higgins company.

  The scientist had a number of odd mannerisms as he went about his work, but some of them were endearing, such as the way he bounced on the balls of his feet. Sleepy, she made polite conversation, asking about his family as a matter of course, but he seemed to take it as a profound gesture. Higgins paused, one hand flattened on the counter, as some strong emotion stirred in him.

  “I . . . That is, thank you. I didn’t realize you knew my mother was ill.”

  Ritsuko hadn’t had a clue, but she said, “I hope she is improved?”

  “I’ve taken her to the best physicians, and I do hope for a successful treatment soon.”

  “You have all my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

  Five minutes more of this, and Higgins glanced up from his microscope with an excited air. “It is as I suspected from the aroma and texture. This is a cosmetic, greasepaint. It’s much thicker than you’d usually see, though. Perhaps something a theater or a performing troupe might use.”

  She recalled the sewing kit, the intricate fashionable design sketches. “That’s a valuable clue, Mr. Higgins. It gives us an excellent place to begin on the morrow.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Good evening,” she said, turning toward the door.

  “Miss Ritsuko.” The words came in a rush, as if he couldn’t believe he was speaking them. “I had heard . . . that you are no longer personally . . . that is to say . . . you might be willing to consider walking out with a new gentleman.”

  She tried to hide her astonishment. Certainly, she had filed the papers notifying the CID that Warren should no longer be considered her emergency contact, if the worst came to pass in the line of duty, but she never imagined that the gossip mill could churn so quickly. For Higgins to have heard already, people must be talking in all corners. To salve her pride, she pretended not to feel enormous chagrin over the notion of people discussing her private business.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” Higgins went on, looking fairly desperate. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You have my deepest and most profound apologies. I—”

  Bronze gods, does the man mean to grovel all night? His green eyes glinted with profound remorse, touched by abject embarrassment. There was something sweet about his desire to maintain her good opinion, however. So she said, “I am often busy with work, but . . . I have Sundays free.”

  Her hesitation was, unfortunately, perceptible. It reflected her doubt about his intentions. If he sought to capitalize on her alleged loneliness, then he wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. And it would be very disappointing.

  “At this juncture, you probably aren’t interested in another immediate entanglement,” Higgins said with more acuity than she would’ve given him credit for. “Nor can I afford such with my mother’s health weighing on me. But perhaps it wouldn’t be unwelcome for us to enjoy a more companionable friendship outside of work?”

  He seemed to be warning her that he wasn’t looking for a marital alliance. And that was fine with her; the last thing she wanted was a husband, common law or otherwise. Ritsuko didn’t think she had to worry about Cyril Higgins breaking her heart. He was polite, friendly, and had excellent manners, plus a touching devotion to his mother. She could do worse for a casual companion.

  “I understand. And I agree.”

  Higgins nodded, relieved. “Perhaps we could share luncheon sometime then?”

  “That would be most agreeable.”

  Cyril Higgins seemed to like her, at least, which was more than could be said of Warren, toward the end. She suspected the only reason he had stayed so long was for fear of admitting to failure and showing he was as fallible as anyone else. He had cared for appearances to the exclusion of practically everything else. People probably whispered in these corridors that she was heartbroken, but in fact, she felt nothing but relief.

  “Come visit me again,” he invited, smiling.

  “I’ll certainly do that. Good evening, Mr. Higgins.”

  Most inspectors would have taken the lift directly to the ground floor and gone home at once. But then, they weren’t female, working twice as hard for three-quarters of the same wage. So instead, Ritsuko went back to her desk and filled out a request form, asking for a complete listing of all licensed and operational theaters and performing troupes currently in the city. With a satisfied nod, she dropped the form into the delivery tube, which she then fed to the access slot that led to the pneumatic whoosh of interoffice mail. She had no doubt the document would be tremendous, but with any luck, it would be in her incoming bin by the time she returned to work the next afternoon.

  Sometimes it paid to go the extra mile.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, MIKANI ARRIVED AT HQ EARLY—JUST in time to start the interviews with the rest of the family. He strolled past the queue of cousins and House hangers-on, entering the room with a quizzical smile. Ritsuko was already pouring tea for the girl’s aunt, who was pale and red-eyed. She looked a good deal like Cira Aevar’s mother, he thought, just a bit older and more worn.

  “I’m sorry to put you through this at such a difficult time,” Ritsuko was saying. “But any insight you have could be crucial in locating Cira.”

  He sat beside his partner, cracking his senses like a bottle of beer, just enough to let a rivulet of emotion trickle into his consciousness. Anna Aevar was distraught, worried about her niece. Mikani sat silently and gathered impressions while Ritsuko asked all the pertinent questions. At the end of the session, he shook his head subtly to indicate the woman wasn’t hiding anything. They went on in such fashion for an hour, until Cira’s cousin stepped in.

  She was a sly-looking creature with fine brown hair and a narrow face complete with deep-set eyes. Though she said all the right things, she exuded a quiet satisfaction, as if Cira’s disappearance was no more than her just desserts. Mikani nudged Ritsuko’s foot with the tip of his cane to indicate there was something wrong.

  His partner broke from the prepared questions, leaning forward to spear the young woman with a stern look. “Miss Aevar, why don’t you simply admit that you’re hiding something? Your prevarications cannot fool the CID.”

  The girl’s face paled. “There’s nothing, I swear.”

  But sweat beaded on her prominent brow, and Mikani’s sense that she had a secret intensified. So he broke protocol and joined the interrogation, thinking she might find him more intimidating. “You do realize that we are at liberty to detain you at our discretion.”

  “My grandfather would never let that happen,” the girl cried.

  “Let’s call him down here to ask,” Ritsuko suggested coldly. “When I tell him that we believe you’re concealing key evidence relating to your cousin’s disappearance, do you think he’ll be inclined to protect you?”

  “Cira’s always had everything, and she didn’t appreciate any of it.”

  Mikani exchanged a look with his partner, wondering if this girl had a hand in her cousin’s vanishing act. “Prove your innocence. Tell us what you know.”

  “I don’t know everything,” the girl whined. “Only whispers.
My mother said Cira was involved in something Grandfather wouldn’t approve of, and her mother was covering it up. That’s all I know, I swear.”

  Ritsuko glanced at him for confirmation. At his thoughtful nod, she made a note, and said, “Thank you again, Miss Aevar. You may go.”

  “We definitely need to interview Cira’s mother again,” Mikani noted when the girl stepped away. “If the cousin’s correct, and Mistress Aevar is hiding something, we need to find out what.”

  “Let’s ask the commander to set it up before we start canvassing theaters.”

  “Great job on the greasepaint lead,” he said, pushing to his feet.

  Ritsuko smiled. “It helps when a lab specialist likes you.”

  They spent the remainder of the evening canvassing, covering three theaters, where nobody had heard of Cira Aevar, though they had, of course, read about the poor girl in the newssheets. Past a certain hour, however, the CID went to a skeleton crew, and they had to spend the wee hours responding to other calls. Yet there was no question that this case would be top priority until they closed it.

  The following day was Sunday; normally they took the day off, but with a case this pressing, they had to work straight through. Mikani waited for Ritsuko at the Royale, the next stop on their master list of places where Cira might’ve come into contact with greasepaint. Age left its mark on the walls of a place, and the theater was among the few structures that had survived the renovations of the previous century. Its dome design and marble columns bespoke classical origin, unaltered over the years.

  He lit a slender cigarillo, summoning a thin shroud of sweet smoke to the lobby. As he dragged on the laced tobacco, he glanced about the hall and spotted his partner coming toward him. Nothing about her ever changed. Same charcoal wool tailored suit and split skirt, same polished case. Her hair shone like black silk, and her expression was pleasant, if not delighted. Some people got stuck with lazy partners or surly ones; occasionally other inspectors commiserated with him on being saddled with a woman, but he wouldn’t trade her for three men.