“I promise we won’t take up too much of your time, but it is important. Dr. Barlow and I have been made aware of a potential threat against the society and magical folk as a whole.”
Felipe kept his eyes on the head inspector and Gale’s expressions as he recounted all they had learned that day, from the crime scene at the Livingstons’ to the aborted autopsy. Oliver let him do most of the talking, only chiming in to add more detail about the physical findings or to clarify what Gwen mentioned about the book. Felipe had expected the head inspector to at least look somewhat concerned or even angry, yet by the end, both he and Gale appeared more confused and put-out than worried. Felipe’s chest tightened with dread. He didn’t understand it; everything they had seen should have deeply concerned even a seasoned investigator.
“Is that it?” Head Inspector Williams asked when they finished.
“What do you mean ‘is that it’? Someone is threatening to kill people like us. We could have another Institute for the Betterment of the Soul case on our hands.”
“But this isn’t that case, Galvan. All you have is a crank message and a dead man, but you don’t know who the dead man is, where he came from, why he went after this book.”
“Or if it is the right book in the first place,” Gale added from their perch on the armrest.
“You know nothing for certain, yet you want us to do an all hands call or sow panic because you’re convinced the message left on the body is from the next Jack the Ripper.” Draining his remaining scotch, the head inspector plunked the glass on the table. “Come back when you have real evidence that there is an actual murderer on the loose because, right now, this sounds like Medieval nonsense.”
“It isn’t Medieval.”
The head inspector glared at Oliver. “Barlow, I don’t care if it’s from the Middle Ages, the Ming Dynasty, or the Old Kingdom. You have no evidence proving the magic isn’t hundreds of years old, and I will not incite panic on a gut feeling.”
“Sir, with all due respect,” Felipe gritted, “the magic we encountered is highly sophisticated and obviously very dangerous. Would it not be more prudent to treat this as a serious threat until proven otherwise?”
“Galvan,” Head Inspector Williams said, his voice icily calm, “I’m saying this to youoncebecause you’ve been one of my most reliable men for many years: you need to mind your place. I will not tolerate you second-guessing my orders and mouthing off. You have been an investigator for twenty years; you know what is expected of you.”
I don’t care anymore. I quit. The words hovered on Felipe’s tongue, but he bit them back. Now was not the time. He held his head high as the head inspector continued.
“Hysteria and paranoia have no place here. We cannot treat every crackpot with a grudge like a major threat. Come back to me when you have proof of a plot and we can discuss the matter further. Until then, keep your mouth shut, or there will be disciplinary action for any mayhem either of you cause. Do I make myself clear?”
Felipe choked down the anger rising in him like a tide. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, then get—”
“All I ask,” Felipe said, his voice rising over the head inspector’s, “is that any unusual crimes or injuries are reported to us immediately and that you give us leave to investigate in cooperation with the team assigned to that case. Dr. Barlow and I plan to investigate this case to the fullest extent, and if we areunable to do that, I will reach out to those who will help us to do so. And I will make it very clear that any people who are hurt as a consequence are your doing.”
The head inspector’s hand tightened on his glass, and the scotch in the bottle roiled dangerously as they locked eyes. Felipe refused to look away or tack on a “sir.” The head inspector could be as dismissive as he wanted, but Felipe knew he and Oliver weren’t overreacting. Even without the prophecy’s warning knocking at his brain, he wouldn’t have ignored magic used in such a flashy, violent way. To lash out and kill was one thing. To build a trap that killed horrifically and left a calling card was another. In the past, he would have let it go in favor of chasing the next case that came along, but now, he didn’t run and he didn’t trust someone else to look as closely as this case needed. He would go to the Capital Branch and beyond if he had to. When Gale laid a hand on the head inspector’s shoulder and rose, the older man finally looked away.
“Inspector Conklin is doling out assignments this week. This evening, I will write up an order telling her to report any particularly violent or strange incidents to you,” Gale said tepidly as they took a step toward the door. “Will that suffice, inspector?”
Felipe wanted to say that no, it wasn’t enough because they had a duty to protect people before something bad happened, but Gale’s mask of civility made it clear there was no true choice. He could feel Oliver’s eyes on him, a current of dismay and disappointment washing between them. Felipe pushed against the tether in hopes that Oliver would feel it like the press of a hand against his chest.
“For now,” Felipe answered. “Thank you, Gale, head inspector. We’ll be back when we have more evidence.”
Before Gale could get to the door, Felipe opened it and ushered a wide-eyed Oliver into the hall. His partner spunaround, ready to protest, but Felipe held a finger to his lips and nodded toward the stairwell.
When the stairwell door shut behind them, Oliver shook out his hands and blurted, “It isn’t Medieval.”
“I know, Oliver, but does the exact time period really—”
“No, no, I mean, the curse can’t possibly be Medieval. That’s what I was trying to tell the head inspector before he got huffy. I hadn’t thought of it before, but whoever created the book curse knew that their victim’s body would come to us and we would autopsy them. That would be the only way for anyone to find a message inside him, but autopsies weren’t common until the last hundred years or so. Someone from the sixteen hundreds never would have hidden the message inside because that’s not how murder investigations were conducted. Should we go back in and tell them? That’s proof the crime had to be recent, right?”
Felipe wanted to tell him yes, but that wasn’t the kind of proof the head inspector wanted. He would want concrete, irrefutable proof of a crime and conspiracy. Nothing less would do, even if they had plenty of circumstantial evidence. The eager, hopeful look faded from Oliver’s expression at his silence.
Shaking his head, Oliver sighed. “Ah, they don’t actually want proof, do they?”
“Not that kind. I’m not even sure proving the dye is synthetic will cut it. You know how the head inspector is with science. If it isn’t something he can see or imagine, then it isn’t real enough evidence.”
“He probably doesn’t want something he can’t explain to others if questioned.” Oliver let out a frustrated huff and sagged against the wall. “Now, what?”
“Well, we still need to know if the dye was synthetic, but I think for the head inspector, we’ll have to prove that the book was meant for our dead man or at least for someone in the Livingston household before he’ll act. How about you runwhatever tests you need to do on his blood, and I’ll run the film up to the development lab? DeSanto should be able to rush the picture of the man’s face for me, so I can send it over to Mulberry Street with the runner who’ll pick up the notes. By dinner, we should have at least some answers or leads.”
The verve returned to Oliver’s features as he nodded thoughtfully. “Consider it done.”
