‘Stacy …’ Robbie’s voice behind me was soft.
‘Give me a minute,’ I said brittlely, not looking back, not looking at him. I busied myself with making myself a cup of tea, trying to ignore the way my heart ached. I made a tea for me and a black coffee for him, because it would have been rude not to, and Mum hadn’t raised me to be rude.
I passed him the cup, which he took without comment. It looked small in his hands. I always admired a man’s hands, and his were no exception. He had strong, powerful hands.
Hands that killed, as was par for the course.
And I was a goddamn murder cop.
This was a mess. A mistake.
So why did it feel right?
I finished the much-needed line of chocolate and sat on my sofa. Robbie sat on a chair opposite, giving me space which I appreciated and resented in equal measure.
I took a sip of the scalding liquid before I spoke. ‘I’m a homicide detective, Robbie, and you didn’t tell me that one of your people got murdered.’
‘It was out of your jurisdiction,’ he said patiently. ‘It was back in the region of my old den, in the Home Counties.’
‘I don’t give a shit if it was in Timbuktu,’ I ground out. ‘You tell me about it.’
‘I didn’t report it to the Connection at all, Stacy. Telling you about it would have put you in an invidious position.’
‘You tell me about it,’ I said firmly again. ‘And we work out together how to move things forward. If we’re going to be mates, then you need to act like it. You need to share your life with me, your highs and your lows. Not just what you think I want to hear. Don’t keep shit from me. You called me every day last week. You talked about politics in the den and various other things, but not once did you say, “Hey, one of my people was murdered. You’re a professional murder cop. You got any ideas?”’
‘It wasn’t a case I could report to the Connection,’ he repeated.
‘Damn it, Robbie! I didn’t say you had to report it, not officially, but you should have reported it tome.I could have helped you.’
He studied me, his face utterly blank. He could make one helluva killing on the poker circuit, but that enraged me more. Now he wasn’t just keeping facts from me, but his emotions too.
‘I didn’t need help,’ he said. ‘I knew who killed him and why.’ He shrugged.
‘Tell me,’ I demanded, temper whipping through me.
Robbie sighed, leaning back into the small chair that looked like it might break under his weight. ‘He was killed in a black tourney. I have expressly forbidden all ogres to take part in them. That has proven … unpopular. The black tourney is seen as a test of strength and virility for some of the younger ogres. Thrain Olofsson wanted to show off, but in doing so he directlydisrespected my authority.’ Face still blank, he continued, ‘His parents are loyal to me, and they were scandalised not only by Thrain attending the black tourney against my orders, but by him doing so and dying. It’s a fucking mess.’ His face softened a fraction, but it was nice to seeRobbiestarting to bleed through, even though he looked weary. ‘Out of respect for them, I’m keeping it as quiet as I can and passing his death off as if he died in the line of duty. Better for us all that way.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Eighteen. Young, and dumb, and thought he knew it all.’
Goddamn. What a mess. What a waste. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said, because I could see in his eyes that the mask was dropping.
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Here’s where it gets weird.’
‘Weird?’
‘Before I could collect the body, his head was removed.’
‘What the hell?’
‘And despite my best efforts, I haven’t recovered the head as of yet.’
It all clicked into place with athunk. ‘The dead tissue Kate found …’
‘Yes, I think it was Thrain’s.’ Before I could say anything, he held up a hand. ‘I’ve already arranged to send a sample of his flesh to Dr Potter so she can confirm a DNA match. Thrain’s body hasn’t been burned yet. His parents are holding off in the hope that we can recover his head so he can be burned whole.’
It was unbelievable. ‘You’re telling me someone used Thrain’s decapitated head to kill Marlow?’
