neutral and unreadable, good cop eyes. She frowned. âWhat do you mean, you donât know? Youâre supposed to be the monster expert.â
I let the âsupposed to beâ go. She hadnât called me a zombie queen to my face; in fact sheâd been very polite, correct, but there was no warmth to it. She wasnât impressed, and in her quiet way, with a look or the slightest inflection, she let me know. I was going to have to pull a very big corpse out of my hat to impress Sergeant Freemont, DD/CC. So far I wasnât even close.
Larry walked up to us. His face was the color of yellow-green tissue paper. It clashed with his red hair. His eyes were red-rimmed where his eyes had teared while he threw up. If itâs violent enough, sometimes you cry while you vomit.
I didnât ask Larry if he was okay; the answer was too obvious. But he was on his feet, ambulatory. If he didnât faint, heâd be fine.
âWhat do you want from me, Sergeant?â I asked. Iâd been more than patient. For me, Iâd been downright conciliatory. Dolph would be proud. Bert would have been amazed.
She crossed her arms over her stomach. âI let Sergeant Storr talk me into letting you see the crime scene. He said you were the best. According to the newspapers, you just do a little magic and figure it all out. Or maybe you can just raise the dead and ask them who killed them.â
I took a deep breath and let it out. I didnât use magic to solve crimes, as a general rule; I used knowledge, but saying so would be defending myself. I didnât need to prove anything to Freemont. âDonât believe everything you read in the papers, Sergeant Freemont. As for raising the dead, it wonât work with these three.â
âAre you telling me you canât raise zombies, either?â She shook her head. âIf you canât help us then go home, Ms. Blake.â
I glanced at Larry. He gave a small shrug. He still looked shaky. I donât think he had the energy yet to tell me to behave myself. Or maybe he was as tired of Freemont as I was.
âI could raise them as zombies, Sergeant, but you have to have a mouth and a working throat to talk with.â
âThey could write it down,â Freemont said.
It was a good suggestion. It made me think better of her. If she was a good cop, I could put up with a little hostility. As long as I never had to see another set of bodies like the ones below, I could put up with a lot of hostility.
âMaybe, but the dead often lose higher brain function faster after a traumatic death. They might not be able to write, but even if they could, they might not know what killed them.â
âBut they saw it,â Larry said. His voice sounded hoarse, and he coughed gently behind his hand to clear it.
âNone of them tried to run away, Larry. Why?â
âWhy are you asking him?â Freemont said.
âHeâs in training,â I said.
âTraining? You brought a trainee in on my murder case?â
I stared up at her. âI donât tell you how to do your job. Donât tell me how to do mine.â
âYou havenât done a damn thing yet. Except for your assistant throwing up in the bushes.â
An unhealthy flush crept up Larryâs neck. Embarrassed when he was almost too nauseated to stand.
âLarry wasnât the only one upchucking in the weeds, just the only one without a badge.â I shook my head. âWe donât need this shit.â I brushed past Freemont. âCome on, Larry.â
Larry followed, obedient to the last.
âI donât want any of this leaked to the press, Ms. Blake. If the media gets hold of it, Iâll know where it came from.â She wasnât yelling, but her voice carried.
I turned. I wasnât yelling either, but everyone could hear me. âYou have an unknown preternatural creature that uses a sword, and is faster than a
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