Chapter V

Present day

‘And you don’t remember anything else? After you killed Teddy?’

Morgan rubbed his left arm absently. The med team had reattached the limb – they hadn’t really needed to do much anyway, just keep the two halves secured while his body did the rest – but the wound was recent and traumatic enough that he sometimes felt phantom pain. ‘Not really. The corporal did a good job. Right in the forehead. I was out for a couple days.’

‘You could have had some serious brain damage, lieutenant. The gun was set to kill.’

He waved the doctor off dismissively. ‘I’ve busted my head open before. On purpose, too, once. The shot and the state I was in is why I don’t remember much. That’s what the med team said.’

‘Lieutenant. You do realise if you’ve suffered memory loss or brain damage in the past, you wouldn’t exactly know about it, would you?’

‘…You have a point there, doc.’

Chatlin nodded, those vertical eyelids closing in a kind of smile. ‘Exactly. Now, let’s talk about how you felt when you –’

The Glass fitted to Morgan’s bracer flashed with an incoming call; the ID was from the bureau on twenty-fourth. Morgan shrugged apologetically and got to his feet. ‘Sorry doc. Work. I gotta’ take this.’

Chatlin waved one of her tentacles. Disappointedly, ‘Go ahead.’

Morgan mouthed ‘Sorry’ as he ventured outside, fitting the earpiece he usually let dangle from his shoulder into his ear and taking the call. ‘Hello?’

‘Morgan? It’s Orlov.’ Orlov was one of the detectives in Morgan’s precinct, now five years on the force and whom Morgan had watched grow from a shy, nerdy cadet into a nerdy and anxious adult. He was a studious detective though and did his best work at a computer rather than in the field.

‘Good news?’

‘Not so much, I’m afraid. There’s been a homicide in the District of Bones and, well…’

‘…What?’

‘Nothing. You just have to see for yourself. I’m sending coordinates now. I’ll explain more when you get here just…I wouldn’t have lunch if I were you.’

‘One of those, huh.’

‘Afraid so, sir.’

Orlov ended the call. He sounded more apprehensive than usual if that were possible. Morgan wished he could have talked to the man face-to-face; sometimes it felt like he was missing a sense when he talked over the phone, without even the option of peering into their thoughts.

After apologising to the doctor – he couldn’t tell if she was relieved or irritated at his escape – Morgan left the office on the corner of seventh and followed Orlov’s coordinates into the twenty-eighth precinct, the largest sector of the District of Bones. The distance portals that lay at the corner of most main streets throughout the city would only take him so far; when he emerged into the District of Bones, he found he was still more than half a mile away from his destination. The persistent rain was still coming down in sheets and Morgan had once again forgotten to grab an umbrella after leaving the precinct a few hours earlier.

Morgan followed one of the main paths closest to the crime scene. Glasses, the communication devices most prominently used in Joudai, tended to lose their charge in the District of Bones, leaving many loved ones lost and stranded to wander the mazelike pathways for hours until a security guard found them. Perhaps it was because of the ghosts of the people buried there that electronics tended to fail in the area. Morgan hurried along, feeling as though something was watching his back.

He came across the crime scene not because of the coordinates, but the flashing of blue and red that cut through the fog and rain like a lighthouse through sea mist. Cresting a hill, he found the scene cordoned off by crime scene tape and guarded by street officers. Forensics were canvassing the scene carefully despite the rain, scouring for any clues before mother nature washed the evidence away. The main area of the scene was obscured by a hastily pitched pavilion, where officers from twenty-fourth and twenty-ninth were convening over the murder victim.

Morgan ducked quietly inside. Orlov was one of the detectives on the case and noticed Morgan first. He gestured him over to the side, away from the other detectives surrounding the victim Morgan could not yet see.

‘That was fast,’ said Orlov once Morgan joined him. He had a kerchief pressed to his nose and his face was pale.

‘I was in the area. What’s going on?’

‘Murder victim was a woman, late-twenties. Alyssa Charleston. Ring a bell?’

‘…No? Should it?’

Orlov shook his head. ‘I didn’t think so.’

‘Think what – Orlov, what the hell is going on?’

One of the detectives from twelfth noticed them then. She was an orcish woman, not because she had a terrible temperament but because she looked almost identical to the orcs in movies Morgan had seen when he was a child. He had only been on a case with her once before, since their precincts were on opposite sides of the city from one another, but could not recall her name.

‘Star of the show, finally,’ she growled. She was a foot taller than he was and her name badge was almost level with his eyes: Lt. Blanche.

‘Huh?’

‘Don’t “huh” me.’ Blanche grabbed him by the elbow and steered him toward the victim. Morgan wanted to argue that he let her, but really the grip she had one him was terrifyingly strong. Officers saw her coming and quickly moved out of the way. ‘What does that look like to you?’ she asked.

Orlov wasn’t kidding about the lunch. The victim was lit by a pair of harsh fluorescent floodlights that sparred no detail as to how she died. Her throat had been torn out, her chest cavity and ribs peeled open – not by mechanical means, but by something that had been monstrously strong – and her heart was missing. Most telling of all were the burns covering her flesh. Every exposed patch of skin along her throat and chest had been singed and subsequently peeled. Whatever had torn her open had burned her severely first. It would have been a horrific way to die.

As always, the scent was the worst. Morgan pulled out of Blanche’s iron-hard grip – she let him after she saw his face – and retched into a nearby and conveniently placed bucket. The plastic was stained red, and blood dripped from his mouth when Morgan croaked, ‘You – you think I did that?’

Blanche did not spare him a disgusted glare. ‘Who else? Burning Butcher himself? It fits your M.O.’

Orlov offered him a handkerchief and Morgan took it gratefully. As he wiped his mouth, he glanced around at the other officers on the scene. Cat and Kairon, from his own precinct, wouldn’t meet his eyes and the other detectives from twelfth were glaring at him with open hostility.

‘You’ve already made up your mind, then.’

Orlov placed a placating hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s just for now, lieutenant. Then we’ll get everything sorted out and –’

‘You wanted me here so you could arrest me?’

Orlov took his hand away quickly. ‘I just wanted to make sure…’

‘Make sure it wasn’t me.’

Blanche produced a pair of cuffs off her belt. ‘If you didn’t do it then you have nothing to fear.’

Morgan bit his lip, willing his canines to stay beneath his gums. ‘You know that’s bullshit. If you wanted me to do it, then I did it.’ But he turned around compliantly so Blanche could clamp the cuffs onto his wrists.

As she did, she rasped into his ear so low only he could hear, ‘I never trusted you. Tapes are all the same. Murderers too. Once they have the taste for blood, they’ll always be animals looking for their next kill.’

‘You look comfortable, lieutenant.’

Morgan didn’t open his eyes. He had just managed to convince himself he wasn’t lying on a cot inside a cell in the twenty-fourth precinct and was simply taking a nap in his apartment up until the moment Corporal Balmaris’s voice broke the illusion. Wearily, he said, ‘I’m reminiscing.’

‘About?’

‘The good old days.’

‘I don’t know how to reply to that, sir.’

He got up, squinting into the harsh fluorescents. ‘Sorry. Bad mood.’

Shalia crossed her arms. She was wearing gym clothes today, and the sight was strange enough to shake Morgan out of his stupor.

‘You hit the gym or something?’

‘Or something. I got caught in the rain.’

‘That isn’t like you.’

She frowned. ‘I was worried, sir. When the department called me to tell me my newly assigned partner had been arrested, of all things…’

Morgan grinned. ‘So you do care.’

‘I care about justice. I looked over the case while I came to get you and, sure enough, the predicted time of death was sometime last night when…’

‘You were getting smashed on booze.’

The corporal leaned in close to the bars and hissed, ‘I was not smashed. I was intoxicated on a perfectly normal amount of alcohol.’

‘Half a beer. Which you didn’t even like.’

She swung her arms in the air in an exasperated gesture. ‘I don’t understand how humans enjoy the stuff! It’s bitter and unappetising. Like drinking pi – never mind.’

‘No, I agree. It does taste like shit.’

Shalia shook her head. ‘You had, what? Five? Ten drinks? And not a thing. I can’t say I’m envious but…’

‘I can’t get drunk, corporal. Not for lack of trying, mind you.’

‘I guess...you should try a drinking contest with the chief sometime.’

Morgan laughed. ‘I don’t think so. She’ll find some way to win, trust me.’

Shalia’s smile deflated and she glanced at the ground. Morgan had no choice but to wait for her to spit it out. Even without hearing her thoughts, he had a good idea as to what she was about to say.

‘Lieutenant. I have to ask. The time of death may be wrong, and I don’t want to believe it but…you didn’t have anything to do with this, did you? And you don’t know someone that did?’

He got up, went to the cell door and leaned in close. He tempered his voice into something earnest and placating. ‘I swear, corporal. I had nothing to do with this.’

She stared quite deeply into his eyes. It was strange – he doubted she could read his mind, but his soul on the other hand…

After a moment, she nodded. ‘Alright. I believe you. I don’t know if the chief will let you in on the case seeing as you’re a suspect, but you have specialised knowledge she can’t ignore. If it’s what you want, we can try to catch this guy together and clear your name. Sir.’

The image of the victim’s torn throat and chest leapt to his mind, unbidden. Not just her – he owed it to all the Burning Butcher’s victims to find this killer. He felt his past in that moment weighing on him like a ball and chain.

‘I think…yeah. I’d like that.’

The corporal smiled as she fiddled with the keypad next to the cell door, and after a warning beep the steel and plexiglass gate retreated into the wall and Morgan was free.

‘Is the chief here?’ he asked as the pair left the jail area.

‘Yes. She’s pissed though, sir.’

‘You can drop the sir, y’know.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Morgan grinned. The pair eventually found the chief’s corner office. Her blinds were closed, leaving the room in obscrutiy, so Morgan left it to Shalia to knock. The chief easily favoured the corporal over Morgan, despite the fact that she had only been working at the precinct for just two weeks.

‘May we come in, ma’am?’

A rough growl, ‘Enter!’

Shalia and Morgan shared a glance as they went inside, where the chief was hastily stamping out the butt of a cigarrete into an ashtray.

‘I was waiting for you, lieutenant,’ said the chief as she quickly put the ashtray into the top draw of her desk.

The chief – Commissioner Elizabeth Costales – was a human woman in her mid-forties, with a shock of red hair that reached the base of her spine yet untouched by grey. Crow’s feet lined the edges of her stern blue eyes. They had not so pronounced the last time Morgan had seen them. Neither had the frown lines at the side of her mouth.

‘Lieutenant!’ she barked. ‘Is there something on my face, or what?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘Then stop gawking.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Shalia cleared her throat. ‘Chief, about the Bones case –’

‘My answer is yes.’

‘But the lieutenant has specialised knowledge and connections in this field – yes?’

‘I agree with you, corporal.’ Costales sat back into her chair and steepled her hands. ‘The lieutenant has connections to the underground and gang-related activities that we simply don’t have. He’d be an asset on this case, especially since he’d be in a position where we can keep an eye on him.’

‘That’s…oh. Well. Do you have any further orders?’

Her gaze met Morgan’s. ‘Takashima. Orlov told me it was Blanche that accused you first and had you arrested. I never really cared for her methods, and those bastards in twelfth have been breathing down my neck ever since you were assigned here. I think it’d be pretty damn interesting if it were you that caught the killer first. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes ma’am, I sure do.’

‘Then do our precinct proud.’

He gave her a mock salute. The pair was dismissed and Shalia went on ahead, but before Morgan closed the door he said, ‘Chief, y’know you should really quit those things, yeah?’

The chief redirected her guilty glare outside the window. ‘I know, Takashima, I don’t need you telling me that. Humans get old, y’know. And I think I look good for my age and habits – and work environment.’

Morgan grimaced. ‘Sorry.’

‘Something on your mind, sir?’ asked Shalia as the pair made their way back to the changing rooms.

‘Not really. Well actually – corporal, how old are you?’

The corporal’s green skin darkened considerably. ‘H-how rude! You can’t just ask a woman her age out of the blue like that.’

Morgan frowned.

‘…You were just thinking I’m not really a woman, weren’t you?’

‘W-What? No, I was thinking that you aren’t human. So you probably don’t age like one either.’

‘Oh…’ Shalia’s skin returned to her usual leafiness. ‘Is that all. In that case, in human years I suppose I’m somewhere around…forty-five, perhaps?’

‘What, really? I’d say you were closer to your mid-twenties, max.’

Shalia laughed rather girlishly. ‘I’d take that as a compliment, I suppose. Fae don’t age quite the same as humans – actually, not the same at all, really. I suppose we have that in common.’

“We’?’

‘Lieutenant, you’re immortal, aren’t you?’

Morgan’s voice wavered. ‘I…well, yeah. I guess so. I never thought about it much before but yeah, of course.’

It was Shalia’s turn to frown, this time with concern. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘It used to. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest. That everyone around me will age and I…won’t.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Shalia offered sagely as the changing rooms came into view. ‘It happens all the time to young fae that spend a lot of time around mortals. Eventually their friends pass on and leave them behind, but it’s something one gets used to with age and experience.’

‘Corporal, you do see how that isn’t helping? Like, you know what you just said is making it worse?’

‘Is it? I’m sorry then, sir. I forget you weren’t born the way you are either –’

‘I’m gonna get changed now.’

‘That’s probably for the best.’

As the pair broke off, Morgan threw over his shoulder, ‘Civvies this time, Balmaris.’

‘You have a plan then, sir?’

‘Not exactly.’