There it was. The reason he’d come tomyoffice and not summoned me upstairs to his mahogany desk like aheadmaster with a detention slip. This was quieter. More discreet.
Political, then, I decided.
I sat back in my chair, careful to keep my posture relaxed. ‘What about him?’
Thackeray still didn’t sit, but he moved a step closer, hands clasped behind his back, eyes hard. ‘You are going to close the file.’
My stomach dropped, but my voice stayed steady. ‘I haven’t solved it yet, sir.’
‘No you have not. And you will not. But you’ll close it all the same.’
‘No,’ I argued instantly. ‘I won’t.’
His eyebrows shot up and he ground out, ‘Excuse me?’
‘Sir, Ineedto know who killed Aspen. I need to know who Jingo is currently wearing,’ I leaned forward. ‘Aspen was murdered on Kate Potter’s lawn, our ME. She deserves closure. And there’s a dangerous doppelganger out there, wearing someone else’s face, and you want me to close the file because it’s … what? Inconvenient?’
The air in the room tightened.
Thackeray growled, ‘Watch your tone, Inspector.’
‘Respectfully, sir, that order is bullshit, and I suspect you know that too.’
Thackeraystared at me for a long beat. Then, very slowly, he let out a breath.
‘Respectfully, huh?’ He looked faintly amused, resigned. ‘You’re too bloody stubborn for your own good, Wise,’ he muttered. ‘Just like your father.’
‘Thank you,’ I said sweetly. ‘I try.’
His gaze flicked to the notes and case file on my desk, then back to me. ‘Wise,’ he began, lowering his voice, ‘you’re high enough in rank to know there are rules in place. Not just the ones written down, but the unspoken ones – ones people kill to keep secret.’
Thackeray stepped closer still, his thighs pressing against the edge of my desk. Despite the privacy runes in place, he kept his voice low enough that it felt like a confession. ‘The unofficial stance within the Connection is that doppelgangers aren’t pursued criminally,’ he said. ‘As such, justice cannot and will not be adequately served here.’
My skin went cold. ‘Explain.’
He hesitated like he disliked saying it out loud. ‘A doppelganger’s very existence requires murder,’ he said. ‘They can’t stay living without it. The same as the griffins. Like the griffins, they can’t “reform” or better themselves. They can’t be rehabilitated. You can’t cage them long-term without a tribunal deciding you’re wasting resources. Andif you put one on trial—’ He paused ‘—you give the entire Other realm a front-row seat to the fact we have a creature amongst us that survives by hopping bodies like it’s changing coats.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Think of it like this: it’s just like the way we don’t pursue the imps for criminal damage. It would be punishing their very nature. This decision was made at the inception of the Connection some eighty years ago, and it’s been in place – unofficially – ever since. It’s not just a policy decision, but a safety one. Think about it, Stacy. Any Inspector who comes up against a doppelganger and kills them … that doppelganger can take over their body, and then we have a real fucking problem. We have a doppelganger in our midst, infiltrating our ranks. So we’ve agreed to a truce. We won’t arrest them for the murders their existence dictates iftheyagree to never infiltrate the Connection.’
I stared at him. ‘So we let the doppelgangers get away with murder, taking whoever’s body they choose? Killing our citizens?’
‘No,’ he snapped, and there was anger there, real anger. ‘We don’t “just let them”. We handle them. Quietly. When we can. When it won’t start a panic. They know the rules too – people they’re not allowed to take, and they’re not supposed to take more than one body a year.’
‘Jingo has taken two this year. Aspen and whoever he’s in now.’
‘I’m well aware. But I’m telling you, this case needs to be officially closed.’
‘So it won’t embarrass the wrong people?’ I said cynically.
‘Yes,’ he bit out. ‘Because the Other doesn’t run on justice, Wise. It runs on power, and you well know that. And power hates looking weak.’
Something hot and fierce rose in my chest. ‘What am I meant to do, sir? Pretend Ash Aspen tripped on his shoelaces, fell, and snapped his own neck?’
Thackeray’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘You’re meant to do your job in a way that doesn’t get you shut down. I need you heading Unit 13, not getting shuffled off to manage traffic violations for the rest of your life because you don’t know when to toe the line.’
I held his gaze. ‘My job is to stop killers, not toe the line.’
‘Your job,’ he corrected, ‘is to stop killersandstay alive long enough to do it again tomorrow.’
The words landed like a punch.
