stupid. This doesn’t seem like the kind of case someone like you would normally handle, so I figure you’re working this for Doretti, or
with
him, which means it’s probably about Theodore Bryant. And it also means the most obvious suspect is Doretti’s chief rival, and that would be Fallerstein. Right?”
She paid more attention than he’d thought. He couldn’t decide if that made her even more interesting or if it made him even more suspicious. Probably both. “Except Fallerstein’s bound by the same agreements everyone else is. No ritual murders, no magics to kill people. He shouldn’t know how to use a demon-sword.”
“He
was
bound by it,” she said. “With Hardin gone, we don’t know if anyone’s sticking to that anymore.”
“Doretti is.”
“As far as you know.”
He bit back the sharp reply he wanted to make. So she didn’t like Laz, so what? Not everyone did. There was no rule that said she had to. “As far as I know,” he said. “Yes. And I haven’t heard of Fallerstein deciding not to stick to it, either. Have you?”
“I haven’t. I don’t usually pay attention to that kind of shit, though. I can ask around. It’d be good if we could figure out what the killer’s doing with the demon-sword, though. It’ll help.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was hoping you might have some ideas. You probably know more about the sword than I do, in general.” That was true, too. He knew more about them than the average guy in his business or in Doretti’s, but Ardeth was a thief. She wasn’t bound by the agreement that the organized Legacy Families had made, and she dealt with occult artifacts and items regularly.
If his deference to her knowledge and experience pleased her, she didn’t show it. “I probably do, yeah. But most of what I know about them has to do with soul stuff, not body parts. Like, the soul can be cut up or destroyed, or parts of it retained, or certain memories or skills can be. Maybe someone’s doing some weird kind of sacrifices? Somebody planning a major crime of some sort, and they have to burn certain parts or something?”
“It’s as good a theory as any right now.” He slid the car onto the shoulder and cut the ignition. The sound of insects filled the air; the mountain looming to the right of them gleamed in the moonlight. He reached for the door handle, glancing back at her as he did. “The problem is, what crime are they planning to commit? Why Theodore? What are they up to?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” She opened her door the second after he opened his. They exited the car in unison, and the sound of the doors closing again echoed off the rocks.
Majowski’s cruiser came into view as soon as they crossed the low hill that separated the street from the vacant land ahead. At least Speare assumed it was Majowski’s cruiser; not only could he not imagine that some other cop had decided it was a good place to hang out for a while, and not only had Majowski specifically said he was there alone, but it was clearly Majowski’s voice emanating from the cruiser’s open windows, singing—of all things—Abba’s “Fernando,” in a fairly ridiculous falsetto.
The singing came to an abrupt halt when Speare and Ardeth were about fifteen feet away from the car. The door flew open.
“Hey,” Majowski said. “Glad you could make it.” His once-over of Ardeth was quick, but Speare saw it just the same. Annoyance flared in his chest.
“Glad you’re having such a good time while you wait,” he said, shoving that annoyance out of the way. He’d think about it later. Or not.
“What was I supposed to do?” Majowski asked. He turned back to Ardeth. “Hi. I’m Chuck.”
She smiled. A brighter, more genuine-looking smile than she’d given him, he noticed. What was that about? “Ardeth.”
“Ardeth what?” Majowski whipped out a notepad. “Got any ID?”
Oh, no. Speare took a step to his right, half-blocking her from Majowski’s line of
with
him, which means it’s probably about Theodore Bryant. And it also means the most obvious suspect is Doretti’s chief rival, and that would be Fallerstein. Right?”
She paid more attention than he’d thought. He couldn’t decide if that made her even more interesting or if it made him even more suspicious. Probably both. “Except Fallerstein’s bound by the same agreements everyone else is. No ritual murders, no magics to kill people. He shouldn’t know how to use a demon-sword.”
“He
was
bound by it,” she said. “With Hardin gone, we don’t know if anyone’s sticking to that anymore.”
“Doretti is.”
“As far as you know.”
He bit back the sharp reply he wanted to make. So she didn’t like Laz, so what? Not everyone did. There was no rule that said she had to. “As far as I know,” he said. “Yes. And I haven’t heard of Fallerstein deciding not to stick to it, either. Have you?”
“I haven’t. I don’t usually pay attention to that kind of shit, though. I can ask around. It’d be good if we could figure out what the killer’s doing with the demon-sword, though. It’ll help.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was hoping you might have some ideas. You probably know more about the sword than I do, in general.” That was true, too. He knew more about them than the average guy in his business or in Doretti’s, but Ardeth was a thief. She wasn’t bound by the agreement that the organized Legacy Families had made, and she dealt with occult artifacts and items regularly.
If his deference to her knowledge and experience pleased her, she didn’t show it. “I probably do, yeah. But most of what I know about them has to do with soul stuff, not body parts. Like, the soul can be cut up or destroyed, or parts of it retained, or certain memories or skills can be. Maybe someone’s doing some weird kind of sacrifices? Somebody planning a major crime of some sort, and they have to burn certain parts or something?”
“It’s as good a theory as any right now.” He slid the car onto the shoulder and cut the ignition. The sound of insects filled the air; the mountain looming to the right of them gleamed in the moonlight. He reached for the door handle, glancing back at her as he did. “The problem is, what crime are they planning to commit? Why Theodore? What are they up to?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” She opened her door the second after he opened his. They exited the car in unison, and the sound of the doors closing again echoed off the rocks.
Majowski’s cruiser came into view as soon as they crossed the low hill that separated the street from the vacant land ahead. At least Speare assumed it was Majowski’s cruiser; not only could he not imagine that some other cop had decided it was a good place to hang out for a while, and not only had Majowski specifically said he was there alone, but it was clearly Majowski’s voice emanating from the cruiser’s open windows, singing—of all things—Abba’s “Fernando,” in a fairly ridiculous falsetto.
The singing came to an abrupt halt when Speare and Ardeth were about fifteen feet away from the car. The door flew open.
“Hey,” Majowski said. “Glad you could make it.” His once-over of Ardeth was quick, but Speare saw it just the same. Annoyance flared in his chest.
“Glad you’re having such a good time while you wait,” he said, shoving that annoyance out of the way. He’d think about it later. Or not.
“What was I supposed to do?” Majowski asked. He turned back to Ardeth. “Hi. I’m Chuck.”
She smiled. A brighter, more genuine-looking smile than she’d given him, he noticed. What was that about? “Ardeth.”
“Ardeth what?” Majowski whipped out a notepad. “Got any ID?”
Oh, no. Speare took a step to his right, half-blocking her from Majowski’s line of
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