“Disturbing,” Oliver murmured, knowing he should. “But what bearing does that have on the case?”
“Well, if the priest is planning on selling the book, it would probably be bought by a certain type of collector. There are several the library knows of in the city and surrounding area who would be interested in rare, esoteric books and have deep pockets. I already alerted Mr. Turpin, and he will put out word to our contacts. The interesting thing is that the sources specify thepageswere made of skin. Not the cover. Not that it would matter now since the cover was replaced when the book was split into four volumes.”
“Vellummade of human skin?” Felipe sputtered the same moment Oliver asked, “Whose skin?”
“We don’t know. But I would assume only the old pages are made of skin while the newer pages are traditional vellum. I hope. Anyway, I’m going to go back to the library and dig through the archives to see if I can find anything else. If nothing else, the special collections should certainly have something on theClausum Librum, but Mr. Turpin might do that research himself. You know how he is.”
Felipe groaned and rubbed his temple as he wrote. “Do we have time for that?”
“I can try to convince him to let me help. That might move things along.”
Oliver had no doubt Mr. Turpin understood the urgency of their cases right now. His eyes had caught on the tether nearly immediately, and he knew Oliver had questions he desperately wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Turpin knew more than almost anyone, though Oliver wasn’t sure how to feel about that either.
“Tell him it’s for our case. He might be more willing, then. Can you also tell him I will be stopping by soon?”
Searching Oliver’s features, Gwen raised a questioning brow but nodded. She slipped her glasses and papers back into her pocket as she stood. “I will. Let me let you boys get back to work. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”
“Thank you for your help, Gwen.”
Oliver and Felipe watched Gwen leave, the air thickening between them again in her wake. Oliver swallowed hard and wished he knew what to say to make things like they were. Maybe Felipe was just tense about Agatha being questioned again. Clearing his throat, Oliver took Gwen’s cup to the sink. With his back to Felipe, the pressure abated enough that he could speak.
“At least Agatha and Louisa won’t have to deal with a full investigation. It should be fairly painless.”
“Somehow, I doubt it will be. I’ll be right back. I’m going to see if Inspector Newman ever dropped off his report. I want to know how this all fits together.”
Before Oliver could ask if he should come, Felipe sprung up from the table and stalked out. The door closed with a jolting slam. Oliver stood very still at the sink, his heart ringing in his ears. The sound echoed through his mind, but what stayed with him the longest was the sight of Felipe Galvan’s back and the pang in his chest as he left.
***
The nun, the priest, the book, the murderer, and Felipe.
They were all tied together somehow, and if he couldn’t figure it out, he would go mad. He had less than five days left to find his killer and tie up whatever loose ends he could. It didn’t feel like enough. It would never be enough.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Felipe made for his apartment with his head down. He listened at the door to confirm no one was inside before throwing it open. The pile of letters on the floor was the usual assortment. The secretaries from the Head Inspector’s Office had sent him a summary of Oliver’s notes on the stolen book while the archivists forwarded him a list of the items he and Monroe had brought back from California and where they could be found within the archive’s storerooms. Beneath a Montgomery Ward catalog was a letter from Teresa. Felipe’s hand shook as he started to rip it open but stopped halfway. Heat rose in his eyes at the sudden image of Teresa getting married or finding a person to share her life with like her mothers. He wouldn’t know that person. His throat trembled. He wouldn’t get to see her find love or graduate college or put on her first solo gallery show.
Leaning back against the door, Felipe clamped his hand over his mouth as silent sobs rocked his form. Pain tore through his newly healed ribs and throat, but it was nothing compared to the pain of knowing he had missed so much and would miss so much more. He had devoted his life to chasing monsters and catching those who would hurt others, and for what? What had he gained from it? He had missed his daughter’s first steps. He had missed more events at her school than he would care to think about. He had missed Christmases, birthdays, and everything in between, for what? No one gave a shit about what he did. Cases mattered until they didn’t. His powers mattered until they didn’t. His life had mattered until it didn’t. Sliding down to the floor, Felipe’s chest tightened and his fists clenched. He punched the carpet once, twice, six times wishing it was the person who killed him. The person who had taken away the chance to make different choices, to spend time with his daughter, to have a fucking future.
The diluted bloodstain mocked him from the edge of the rug as he slumped back breathlessly, coddling his throbbing fist. The invisible hand around Felipe’s heart tightened a fraction, and he wondered if Oliver had felt his outburst. Unlike his anxiety tugs, this was far more tentative, like the slow slide of Oliver’s palm across his back to squeeze his shoulder. Felipe rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hating the feeling of being hollowed out only to have his spent rage pool and sour into sadness. Tucking Teresa’s letter into his inner jacket pocket, he shuffled over to his liquor cabinet. His hand hesitated over the rum before taking up the sherry. He downed a glass before he could talk himself out of it.
He would read her letter later when he was in a better state. Right now, he would read into everything and assume she was angry with him. He wouldn’t blame her. He had been a terrible father. Supportive and loving but absent. If she wrote him a letter to rake him over the coals for missing Christmas and her time at home, he would agree with every word. As he finished his second sherry and reached for the bottle a third time, Felipe turned back to the pile of mail. Rifling through it, he huffed and flung the remaining stack onto the sideboard. Fucking Newman. He still hadn’t forwarded him his notes from Sister Mary Agnes’s case like he said he would. If Felipe wanted the notes, he would either have to force Newman to give him the originals or stop by the Head Inspector’s office.
Downing the little soda water Oliver had left behind to dilute the smell of sherry, Felipe steeled himself. If the head inspector had been the one to hold back the notes and he caught him looking for them, things could go badly. This time, he had his revolver inside his coat, a knife in his pocket, and the knowledge that he couldn’t die a second time. Felipe made certain to lock the door behind him before descending to the part of the building with the library and offices. The head inspector’s door stood ajar, and through the opening, Felipe could see Head Inspector Williams’s secretary, Gale, at their desk, fingers flying across the keys of their Remington.
Gale was the only one at the society that everyone referred to exclusively by, what they assumed was, their Christian name, but that was because Gale preferred it that way. In the past, when others had tried to ask for their last name or if they used mister or miss or misses, Gale simply told them, “Gale.” Some days Gale came dressed in a suit with their long, chestnut hair tucked up into a sleek approximation of a man’s style while other days they came in gowns with their hair intricately braided. Today, they wore a suit and braids, and Felipe found that combination suited them very well.
Holding up a finger for one more moment, Gale quickly stamped out the rest of the sentence before turning their attention to Felipe. “How may I help you, Inspector Galvan?”
“I’m looking for Inspector Newman’s interview notes for the Sister Mary Agnes case. He was supposed to drop off a copy to me, but I have yet to receive it. It would be dated Friday but may have been turned in over the weekend.”
“Hmmm, let me look. I don’t remember filing it, but Miss Mitzner may have been on duty when it was turned in.”
Turning to the wall of wooden filing cabinets, Gale riffled through one drawer before frowning and trying another on the other side of the room. “And the case is still open?”
“Yes, very much so.”
Gale bustled over to a tray full of papers on the unoccupied desk and leafed through the pile. Pulling several pages out, they quickly perused them. “Miss Mitzner had it on the pile for the records department, but I think this might be what you’re looking for. It seems a little scant for what would constitute a full interview for a mysterious death case.”
Felipe took the papers from their hand. Three pages, front sides only. That was all Newman had turned in after spending hours talking to the nuns and searching Sister Mary Agnes’s room. Flipping the pages, Felipe confirmed it was nothing more than a summary of his case notes.
