Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2) Page 9

  I glanced around, wondering what had happened. The guards weren’t there, nor was the bartender. The tables were empty and the jukebox was bumping out an old Doors tune into the empty room. The place was a ghost town.

  I slipped past the bar and quietly made my way down the hall to the back room, where I’d originally spoken to Castle. I figured if anyone was there, he would be. He was there all right. He was slumped back in the booth, his head lolling to the side, a perfect round hole in his forehead the size of a nine-millimeter bullet. A splotch of blood was spreading out from another wound in his chest.

  “Now I know why the place is empty,” I muttered, staring at Castle’s corpse. If anybody had been there to witness the murder, they must have gotten the heck out before the police arrived.

  I stepped forward to get a closer look. The first thing I noticed was that all of the paperwork was gone. Earlier, Castle had been surrounded by paperwork and ledger books. Even the briefcase I had seen on the bench next to him had vanished. I leaned over, peering under the table. I’d hoped the killer might have missed something, but no such luck. From what I could tell, the crime scene had been expertly cleaned. Whoever had killed Castle was a pro.

  “Freeze, Mossberg!” a voice said behind me. “Put your hands on your head!”

  I recognized the voice instantly, and it made my teeth grind. I obeyed, turning slowly to see Malone and his goon squad trickling down the hall. Three detectives were following behind him, and half a dozen uniforms all with guns drawn.

  I shot Malone a crooked grin. “You’re not gonna believe this,” I said.

  “You’re right, I don’t. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Malone. You’re not seriously going to try to pin this on me? This isn’t even your jurisdiction.”

  “Do what I said,” he said tersely.

  I sighed, and followed his orders. They spent the next few minutes trying produce a pair of handcuffs that would fit around my wrists. When that failed, one of the uniforms went outside and returned with some zip ties from his car. They put several pairs on me, clasping my hands behind my back.

  “You know I didn’t do this,” I said as Malone guided me down the hall.

  “On the contrary, Steward. I know you did do this, and I’m gonna make sure you hang for it.”

  They pushed me into the back of their van. My bonds broke as I settled into the seat. I tossed them aside. Malone eyed me, his hand straying towards his sidearm. “You trying to escape?” he said in a dangerous tone.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If I was trying to escape I’d be gone, and you’d be waking up three days from now in a hospital.”

  Malone nodded at one of the other detectives. “Drive,” he ordered. Then he turned his attention back to me. “If you make one move, I’ll put a hole in you.”

  I didn’t bother telling him that he’d need at least a forty-five. I haven’t survived this long by telling people how to kill me.

  I could have escaped numerous times on the trip from Curly’s to the undercity police department. In fact, I could have escaped at pretty much any time I chose, from the moment they arrested me forward. The cops were armed with wands -which are useless against me- and tazers, which have very little effect because of my size, constitution, and the thickness of my skin. They also carried firearms, but they were all small caliber handguns. The fae do this out of necessity. Elves and satyrs are for the most part fragile creatures, with small frames and thin, delicate bones. A gun with a good heavy kick can actually break their wrists.

  Only hobgoblins have the strength to carry a firearm of significant firepower, but because they’re hobgoblins they’re not allowed to carry firearms at all. Hobgoblins have nasty dispositions and a tendency towards violence. For some reason they’re attracted to law enforcement, and because of their size and strength, they’re allowed to become peace officers. At least the police force has the sense to keep them unarmed.

  Even though I could easily have escaped, I restrained myself, primarily for two reasons: I hadn’t killed O’Rourke, and I knew that by escaping I’d just make myself look guilty. Besides, I knew that Malone didn’t have any evidence against me. I figured they’d process me, toss me in jail for a few hours, and then send me on my way. I thought Malone just wanted to lock me up for a while to teach me a lesson. I was wrong.

  Malone booked me on a murder charge and confiscated everything but the clothes I was wearing, which wasn’t much. Then he threw me in a cell and disappeared. A few hours later a guard came by and I asked him about my phone call. He snorted and left without saying a word.

  After that I tried to get some sleep, doing my best to fit on the uncomfortable cot in my tiny six by eight cell, but my mind just wouldn’t quit working. I was baffled by the fact that my best suspect had turned up dead. Out of them all, Castle had been the only one with a real motive to kill Flick. Now that he was dead, I didn’t know what to think. Who would have killed Castle, and why? The only thing I knew for sure was that the killer was covering his tracks. Whoever he was, Castle had known his secret. And now that I was on the case, the killer was cleaning up his trail. He didn’t have to worry about me now, either, because I had blundered onto the scene just in time for Malone to show up and arrest me. Either Malone had great timing or mine was terrible. Or the killer had seen me coming, and had called Malone on purpose. The whole thing felt like a setup.

  I was frustrated, angry at myself for not beating the truth out of Castle when I’d had the chance. The one good lead I needed might have come from him. Instead, I’d let it slide and now he was dead. And my chances of finding Flick’s killer were getting smaller by the hour. I knew the answer had to be there somewhere, if I could just find it. What was I missing? Could all of this really be about Excalibur, or was it possible that none of this had anything to do with the weapons at all? And if not, what then?

  Finally, late that night, Malone came to see me.

  “Detective,” I said with a smirk as he appeared in front of my cell. “You finally come to let me out?”

  “Not a chance. You ready to confess?”

  “Not a chance.” I stood up and approached the door, looking down on Malone like a grown man looks down at a child. “Malone, we both know I didn’t do this. We’re both after the same thing. We want Flick’s killer. If you let me out of here, I can help you. I’m close, Malone. I’m so close to the killer I can taste it.”

  “Baloney,” he said. “You’re a thousand miles away, and you’re not getting any closer.” He laughed at that. “You’re going before the judge tomorrow morning, Mossberg. I just came to say sleep tight.”

  He turned away and started walking down the hall. I gripped the bars and in my anger, started to bend them. I forced myself to step back and take a deep breath. Malone was seriously planning to charge me. I couldn’t believe it. I had been sure that he would drop the charges eventually. I couldn’t fathom why he’d try to prosecute me. Not without any evidence. What could he possibly have to support his case?

  I didn’t get any sleep that night, but I did zone out for a few hours. Early the next morning I was startled by the sound of shouting. The door slammed open and I heard the bodies crashing against the wall down the hallway. I heard a familiar voice cursing and shouting, and Butch appeared before me. Two big hobgoblins had him by the arms. A third one, this one wearing a suit and tie, opened the cell next to me so they could toss him in. They gave Butch a hard shove and he stumbled into the cell, tripping on the side of the cot. He went down, smacking his head on the wall as he landed.

  “You’re not gonna get away with this, Kensey!” he shouted.

  The third hobgoblin stood in front of the door, smirking. “I don’t know what your problem is creep, but you better sleep it off. If you threaten me again, I won’t be so nice.”

  He left, and Butch sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Trash-rat!” he shouted.

  I gave him a moment to calm down. “You
okay?” I said.

  Butch jumped and then stared at me with a startled expression. He hadn’t noticed me in the cell next to him. “Hank?” he said cautiously. “What’re you doin’ in here?”

  “Long story,” I said. “I assume that pleasant fellow was Talia’s ex?”

  “Aye. I had him right where I wanted him, too.”

  “Really?” I said, cocking an eyebrow. “It looks the other way around to me.”

  He snorted and sat down on the cot. “I guess I know why you never showed,” he said grumpily. I had promised Butch that I’d go with him that morning to confront Kole Kensey, Talia’s ex-boyfriend.

  “Sorry,” I said. “They wouldn’t let me make a phone call. Do you still think it was him that cast the spell on Talia?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “He says he was working on a case with the San Francisco district attorney over the weekend. He says they weren’t even in town, and he has witnesses.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “If he had an alibi, how’d you end up in here?”

  “I called him a liar.”

  “Butch, really? He threw you in jail for that?”

  “Then I punched him… well, I tried to. But I missed. I tripped and knocked him into the police chief, who just happened to be sitting at the desk behind us eating his breakfast.”

  “Oh, Butch.”

  “Aye. He got coffee and jelly all over his uniform.” He gave me a serious look. “Ya think they’ll hang me, Hank?”

  “I would,” I said, grinning.

  Butch snorted. “What’d they get you on?”

  “Murder.”

  That wiped the grin off his face. I didn’t get a chance to explain because Gen, the young wood elf from the front desk, suddenly appeared in front of my cell. She was holding a set of keys. “Gen, what are you doing?” I said quietly.

  She glanced nervously down the hall. “Quiet,” she said in a whisper. “I’m getting you two out of here.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. “They can’t hold us here for long. We’ll just wait it out.”

  “You think so?” said Gen. “Then why are they charging you with the murder of that scumbag weapons dealer?”

  “That won’t stick,” I said. “Malone doesn’t have the evidence.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “This morning Malone submitted a nine millimeter Beretta into evidence. He said it was the gun that killed O’Rourke, and he said he found it in your Blazer.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “It’s not possible.”

  “There’s a lot going on around here that’s not possible lately,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You remember that suitcase, the one with the paint on it?”

  “Yeah, the one with the weapons in it that Malone said Flick stole from the mayor.”

  “Right. It’s gone.”

  My jaw dropped. “Gone? What do you mean?”

  “I mean I came in this morning and it was gone.”

  “Did Malone do something with it? Did he give it back to the mayor?”

  “No, Hank, it wasn’t checked out. In fact, I went through the inventory sheet and found that it was never checked in. According to our logs, that suitcase never existed.”

  I was dumbfounded. “That can’t be,” I said. “You know it was there… you saw it!”

  “I know, but it’s gone now. And I have a feeling that if you two don’t get out of here, you might not be around long, either.”

  Butch and I exchanged a look. “How do we get out?” he said. “The cops are everywhere.”

  “The door at the end of the hall will be open. Wait until you hear the fire alarm and then go. Take an immediate right and go downstairs to the basement. I’ll be waiting for you there.” She reached through the bars and handed each of us a plastic bag. “These are your personal possessions.” She handed me a second bag with Flick’s name on it. “I want you to take this, too,” she said, “just in case. I wouldn’t want it to disappear like everything else has been.”

  I accepted the bag and looked it over. It had Flick’s wallet, a set of keys, and his cell phone… the phone he’d called me on minutes before his death. I looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I said. “It’ll only be a matter of time until they figure out what happened.”

  “I’ll be fine. There’s no way they can tie me to these murders. I’ll make them believe I was careless.”

  “What about us?” said Butch. His face looked grave. I could see he wasn’t enjoying the idea of becoming a hunted felon.

  “You’re going to find the killer,” Gen said. “And you better do it fast, because I won’t be able to stall Malone for long.”

  “Thanks, Gen,” I said.

  She turned and headed for the door. “Just don’t let me down,” she said. “You’re not the only one with a lot riding on this. When they find out what I did…” Her voice trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. We understood.

  I turned to Butch and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. One day ago, he’d been standing at the altar with his new bride. Now his bride was in a coma and he was in jail on the verge of becoming an escaped convict. “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You could stay in here. They don’t have much to hold you on.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “They’d just start beating on me, trying to figure out where you went.”

  “You’ve got a point.” I opened up my bag and unfolded my trench coat. Inside, I found my old fedora hat, horribly smashed up. I did my best to straighten it out. I was ready to go by the time the alarm sounded. I nodded at Butch and we headed for the door.

  I could see the commotion outside through the small, barred window in the door. Everyone seemed sufficiently distracted so I pushed the door open and stepped out. Nobody paid any attention to us as Butch and I slipped around the corner and headed downstairs. The cops were too busy dealing with the panicked civilians around them, trying to keep their latest arrests from skipping out while they were distracted. None of them even considered that the jail cells might have been opened.

  We hit the landing, turned the corner, and saw Gen waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. “Hurry up!” she whispered, motioning with her hands. “This way!”

  The staircase opened up into an empty firing range. We passed quickly through the shooting gallery, casting nervous glances behind us as Gen led the way to a heavy steel door at the far wall. “This emergency exit will take you up to the street,” she said.

  I paused, putting my hand on her tiny elfin shoulder (touching only the uniform, of course). “Thanks,” I said. “We won’t let you down. Will you be okay?”

  She looked fragile but there was fire in her eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I know how to handle these guys.”

  Butch and I slipped out the door and found ourselves at the bottom of a steep concrete stairwell. We rushed to the top and hurried past a homeless man sleeping in the alley, out into the street. We ended up on the far side of the block, behind the police station. I didn’t see any signs of trouble. It looked like Gen’s plan had gone off without a hitch. I hailed a cab and we crawled inside.

  “Where to?” the cab driver said. I glanced at Butch. “I’m sorry, but Talia’s going to have to wait a bit,” I said. “Pacific Avenue.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we stepped through the front doors of the Treetop Apartment building and a gust of cool, humid air washed over us. I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of earth and forest. The Mother tree loomed over us, filling the enormous building and pushing out through the roof. Lights shone up in the branches and apartments poked out here and there through the foliage.

  “It’s good to be home,” Butch said quietly.

  I nodded in agreement. “Too bad we can’t stay.”

  He turned to look up at me. “Where we goin’ now?”

  I pulled Flick’s belongings from my pocket. “This stuff b
elongs to Flick’s widow. We’re going to give it back.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’ve got to keep moving until I figure a few things out.”

  I felt bad, because I knew Butch was worried sick about Talia, but for the moment there wasn’t anything we could do to help her. She was safe at home, sleeping like an infant, and she would remain that way. It wasn’t a good situation to be sure, but it wasn’t exactly urgent. For now, she was safe. In the meanwhile, Butch and I were in trouble and we had a killer to find.

  Unfortunately, I had no idea where to start. I needed some time to sort things out. I put my mind to work on it as we headed for the elevator in the trunk of the Mother tree. When we stepped through the doors, Apophis’s gold and black scales flashed in the shadows as he coiled around the roof of the elevator. Apophis is the giant snake that runs the tree’s elevator system.

  “Good morning, sirssss!” he hissed. “Where to?”

  “The undercity,” I said.

  “Excssssellent. Are you in a hurry?”

  “No!” Butch said emphatically. “Normal speed, please.”

  Apophis is a good elevator attendant, as good as they come, but he does get a bit ambitious at times. Once you’ve broken the sound barrier while riding in an elevator, you get a new appreciation for seat belts.

  Apophis let us off at the nearest undercity platform and we took the tram to the Heights. When we got to Nya’s house we could see her through the living room window, talking to her mother. Nya came to the door immediately when we knocked. She looked terrible. She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair was an unkempt mess, and she hadn’t changed clothes since the last time I’d seen her.

  “Hank,” she said, gesturing to invite us in. “So good to see you.” We stepped inside and saw that the kitchen and living room were filled to capacity with gifts and food.