Donnelly, a powerful necromancer, often worked with Cassidy and Sorren on dangerous supernatural cases, as did Rowan, a very talented witch.
“You think the dome is still crated up?” Ben asked.
“Weston Hall is the most likely place I’ve been able to identify,” Erik said. “Bartolo bought a lot of architectural items when the Commodore Wilson did its liquidation sale and shipped them out. It would be easy for people to overlook a couple more crates that weren’t on the manifest.
“Then he got killed, and there was no one to follow up or know where to look for the dome. Alessia thinks there may be spells involved, too, keeping the dome hidden. Weston Hall pretty much went to hell after that, so no one looked too closely at what was inside its warehouse because the property wasn’t sold or remodeled,” Erik recapped.
“Makes sense to me. What will Sorren do with it?” Ben asked.
“Pass it off to the Briggs Society or the Alliance, like usual. No one will ever see the windows again, and they won’t causeany more danger.” Erik felt relieved that once they made the handoff, he no longer had responsibility for the dangerous stained glass.
“Good riddance. I’ll be glad to get that thing out of the safe and out of here.” Ben drained the last of his coffee. “Same for the dome. But will the bad guys ever believe you don’t have them?”
“I was prepared to hand all of it over to Bratva if I believed that would buy your safety,” Erik admitted. “But I’ve gone up against those sons of bitches before, and I knew they were lying about letting you go.”
“Thank you,” Ben said quietly, looking down at his cup. “For everything. Being willing to turn those over to save me, and mounting the most awesome rescue ever.”
“I love you.” Erik thought that explained everything. “That’s what you do when you’re in love.”
Putting off the meeting with the cops wouldn’t change anything, so Erik and Ben reluctantly rinsed the dishes and headed for the station.
“Mitchell, Nolan, glad you’re in one piece,” Hendricks greeted them when they arrived. “Thanks for coming. I can take you to the cell block, or if you’d prefer they not see your faces, we can put them in the interview room with one-way glass.”
“Pretty sure they already know who we are,” Erik replied in a dry voice.
“Do you need to alert Interpol or MI6 or someone?”
Erik had thought about that overnight and came to a conclusion. “I don’t think so. They came for the window and the Tiffany dome. Finding out Ben and I were involved was unexpected. They weren’t originally after us. I figure you’re turning them over to the FBI to deal with.”
Hendricks grunted in agreement. “Yeah, and I’m hoping the Feds can keep them from coming back. Although I doubt we’ll get that lucky.”
Given the long-standing Mafia ties with the Commodore Wilson and other properties in town, Erik knew Hendricks couldn’t really blame him and Ben for attracting criminals to the area.
“They’ve seen us. Just take us to the cells.” Ben squared his shoulders and stood a little taller. Erik knew his partner was mustering courage to face his captors and loved him even more for it.
Hendricks led them to the back, and an officer unlocked the door to the holding cells. Three mobsters looked up when they entered. One was heavily bandaged, and his stricken expression suggested that the ghostly attack inflicted mental trauma as well as physical injuries.
“These are the survivors,” Hendricks said. “The bodies from the attack at the rental house and the guys from whatever-the-hell happened at the warehouse are at the morgue. Two of them we arrested after Erik got you out of the warehouse, part of the Newark Mob. One of them is Bratva—looks like he’s been through the mill. As for the rest of the Russians, we’ve been able to get solid IDs off their fingerprints and security footage—a good thing because there wasn’t much left of some of them.
“These guys have all got records a mile long, but adding kidnapping and extortion would help put them back behind bars,” Hendricks continued. “Any of them look familiar?”
“The Russians shot all of the Newark goons at the rental house and took me to the warehouse,” Ben said. “Then, between the second team of Newark guys and the ghosts, the rest of the Bratva team died. I recognize the Russian who’s left, but I didn’t get a good look at the last group of Newark goons.”
“Both Newark and Bratva called me to trade Ben for the windows,” Erik said for the record. “I was busy helping Ben escape during the shootout, and there were a lot of…distractions…so I didn’t get a good look at either the Russians or the Jersey guys.”
The Bratva mobster lunged for the cell door and shouted something in Russian. Erik snapped back in the same language, which left the man seething.
“You speak Russian?” Hendricks asked once they were out of the holding area.
“Only the swear words,” Erik replied. “He called me an asshole, so I said his mother fucked donkeys.”
Ben snickered. Hendricks shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “So much for a moment of international communication.”
“My grasp of Italian is likewise limited to ordering off a menu and swearing like a sailor,” Ben supplied. “Comes in handy.”
They left the cell block, and Erik turned to Hendricks. “Do you really need us to ID anyone at the morgue if you’ve gotten fingerprints?” He could see how strained Ben looked and knew that while his partner was putting up a good front, the ordeal had taken a toll.
“I’ve got mug shots for the names we matched and some photos in the conference room, so we don’t actually have to drive over,” Hendricks said. “From where we found the bodies, there’s no question about their involvement in this situation, but you might be able to add to what we know.”
