‘That’s notYes Maggie, I can track people.’
‘No it’s not.’ Fenn bites her lip. ‘There are two constants in such spellwork. One is intimacy with the person to be found, whether that’s a blood relationship, long friendship, or physical intimacy. The other, much more unreliable, is to seek them through an object dear to them. Not something they’ve only touched once, but a thing they will have handled often, or possessed for years.’
‘But you must get asked this all the time,’ Chester says. ‘Missing People is half of routine policework. The half that isn’t shoplifting or yard boundary disputes.’
‘The problem is as I explained during our very first interview about Dan Whitman.Consent. Consent is a foundation stone of successful magic and by law we’re not permitted to work without it. Missing people, by definition, cannot give it.’
‘By lawyou’re not permitted,’ I say. ‘But you’ve done it without permission at least once, Sarah. You just told us. Beatriz Garcia.’
‘Who would have been murdered! Exceptional circumstances.’
‘And these aren’t? Look, don’t we agree Luka needs to face justice for what he did? Isn’t it obvious that him absconding is casting magicals into an even darker light than they stand in already? Or are you happy to see this trial deferred because of what might come out – about Lachlan Frey, for example?’
Fenn stiffens. The hesitation before she replies is telling. ‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s important Luka faces justice. I believe that whatever else he claims, fundamentally he knew what he was doing. But that doesn’t get round the problem that I have no ties to Luka, and nothing of his to enchant.’
‘Cops know a bit about breaking and entering,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll have a go at Sandra’s house. You might be able to disable a security system?’
‘I’ll come,’ Chester says. ‘I can keep a look out.’
‘You will not! How would that look, you robbing a congresswoman’s house?’
‘I know who’ll help,’ Fenn says. ‘The pair of us were peeping somewhere we shouldn’t have the other day. And I’ve information she’ll want, too. If you’re happy to trust another witch, Maggie?’
There’s surely only one person she can mean. I picture Naomi Yamakawa’s unnerving little poppet doll. I remember how much I liked her, by the end of the farcical Bittershore investigation. Her wry observation thata problem shared is a problem halved. My suggestion that wedo justice together sometime.
Well, no time like the present.
Which is why, that night, the three of us are a few blocks over from the Pennsylvania State Capitol in the historic midtown of Harrisburg, staring at a smart corner-lot grey clapboard house that looks more than a century old on the outside and from the future on the inside, with angular white furniture moodily lit through its many tall windows, and cursing our luck that Sandra Ortiz is at home.
‘Sarah, keep well clear,’ I instruct the witch. ‘Naomi and I both know what we’re doing in situations like this.’
Naomi didn’t take much persuading to join us. Then Sarah dropped another bombshell, that the Moot President had some secret supper meeting with Sandra Ortiz, and Naomi is understandably seething. She clips her transmitter to her chest and pops in the earpiece. I get the feeling she wishes we could kidnap Ortiz rather than one of Luka’s childhood plush toys.
‘We won’t be quick,’ she tells Fenn. ‘We have to scope out the house, make sure she doesn’t have an on-site security team, or if she does, see how we can avoid them. I need you safe.’
Which is a peculiar thing to say, but I guess Naomi’s job is protecting witches.
Fenn retreats to the car to wait, promising not to nap,In case I’m needed for a quick getaway, she says. I tell her she’s watched too many cop shows. Then Naomi and I settle down for some surveillance. It might be easier to wait for night-time, when Ortiz is asleep, but that’s also when most folks switch on their alarm systems. So we’re aiming to get in as soon as we safely can. There’s a smart doorbell with a camera, which rules out the front, but does tend to mean there won’t be a more extensive professional CCTV setup. Naomi is as close as she can get to the house, beyond the camera’s wide angle, and is using her poppet to eavesdrop within its walls.
‘I’m only hearing two of them,’ she confirms over our two-way. ‘Sandra and Michael. She’s in her office; he’s in the kitchen cooking supper.’
A realtor’s listing from the last time this property sold – six years ago, not long after Ortiz was elected to Congress – included a floor plan which showed bedrooms on the second, third, and fourth floor. The top one is the master, and presumably Sandra’s, which puts Luka on one of the middle floors. All the bedrooms save the master are rear-facing, so I tell Naomi I’m going round the back and make it over the yard fence with a little more effort than I’d like. Naomi is more of the cat-burglar build than me, but she can’t be doing everything.
The only light visible in the middle floors is what’s filtered from the central stairwell. Not bright, but enough to see by.The room doors must be ajar onto the landing. I’ll have to be quiet, but I can work with that. My main challenge is going to be the sash windows, and I briefly regret not bringing Fenn for anOpen Sesame!click of her fingers. But it’s nothing I don’t know how to do.
‘Whitman’s told her it’ll be on the table in five,’ Naomi crackles into my ear. ‘There might be a bit of pan bashing and plating. Good opportunity to force a window?’
Fuck it. Up I go. At least on these period houses there’s plenty of guttering and the windows have wide sills and overhangs. I’m wearing grippy, DIY gloves. Yeah, as a cop you learn all the tricks.
‘He dropped something,’ Naomi hisses in my ear. ‘Lots of swearing. Now would befantastic.’
First, I have to slice open the window screen. A box-cutter takes care of that, and the mesh rolls up like a sardine-tin lid. Next, a muffled rubber hammer breaks enough glass that I can get my hand in and around the locks, and I ease the sash up gently so the rest of the pane doesn’t tumble out. The movement is smooth, telling me this window is opened often. Please let me have the correct room, first try.
‘Ortiz has started another call,’ Naomi tells me, wryly. ‘Whitman’s gonna be so pissed after all his hard work. Sounds like he’s cut himself, too. Shit! She’s talking withOkoye!’
I tune her out as I check the room. Bullseye! It’s Luka’s and his desk is right under the window. I wish I could grab the first thing I see, but doubt even a 4.0 GPA student has an emotional attachment to political-theory textbooks and a laptop charging cable. As my eyes adjust, I see a bed, a nightstand, and the door to a spacious en suite bathroom. The nightstand holds a photo frame. And there, right down the end of the bed, slumps a half-bald beanie bear.
I grab the bear. Pause to check the photo – it’d be good to give Sarah a couple of items to work with – and see a round-cheeked baby Luka on his mom’s knee, when everything goes suddenly too bright.
