Page 35 of Foul Days

Pity Roksana had returned to Chernograd. She’d worked for Karaivanov back in the day, when she’d been younger, stupider, and desperate for quick cash. She probably still knew a few people who could give Kosara more information.…

For a brief second, a gust of wind rushed through the open door, dispersing the stench of death. A terribly familiar smell lingered in the room.

Seer’s sage.

* * *

The coppers crawled over the crime scene like hardworking ants. Anywhere Kosara looked, there were navy-blue uniforms: taking photographs, dusting for fingerprints, filling test tubes, scribbling notes, drawing sketches. The pathologists marked the position of the body with pins and a string. Bakharov exchanged a few words with them, before leaning over Irnik and inspecting the wounds himself.

Kosara let him usher her out of the living room into the hallway. Her stomach was tight as a fist. Irnik had died because of her shadow. Someone wanted it, and the other eleven, badly enough to kill. She could still smell the seer’s sage in the room.

No, it couldn’t be. There had to be some rational explanation. Roksana couldn’t be the only person out there who smoked seer’s sage. Of course, it only grew in Chernograd.…

Kosara realised Bakharov had asked her a question. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, does the name Roksana Tatarova ring any bells?”

Kosara blinked. No, it couldn’t be. “It does. Why?”

“Her fingerprints are all over the crime scene.”

Kosara thought she might be sick right then and there, all over Bakharov’s shiny shoes. She managed to swallow the bile.

“Well, what can you tell me about her?” Bakharov asked.

Kosara knew what she wanted to say, “You’ve made a mistake” or “Roksana can’t be involved in this.” But she’d read enough detective novels. Fingerprints didn’t lie.

She should have known. Even Roksana wasn’t reckless enough to risk crossing the Wall simply for an old friend’s engagement party. The monster hunter had come here chasing the stranger and his necklace of witches’ shadows. The question was, why?

When they’d met at Sevar’s party, Roksana had pretended to be sympathetic to Kosara’s condition. She’d acted as if she didn’t know where the stranger was. And Kosara had believed her, naïve fool that she was.

What could have pushed Roksana to steal her shadow and murder a man? What could Karaivanov possibly have promised her to justify that?

Nothing, Kosara realised. Nothing could justify that.

Perhaps there was some sort of an innocent explanation. There had to be. Roksana was a hot-headed idiot, but she wasn’t a murderer. Kosara had known her for years. She was not a murderer.

Maybe Roksana had come to see the stranger, for a nice glass of rakia and a game of cards, before someone else had barged into the room and committed the murder.

Or maybe you’re being a naïve fool again, a small voice whispered in Kosara’s mind.

In any case, once Kosara found her, Roksana had a lot of explaining to do. And if she was involved in this, Kosara would make her wish she’d refused Karaivanov.

Kosara blinked fast, dispelling the red curtain that had fallen in front of her eyes. She unclenched her fists. Then, she took a deep breath and told Bakharov everything she could remember about meeting Roksana at the party. She had no reason to cover for the monster hunter.

Bakharov wrote it all down in his notebook. “Thank you,” he said, once she’d finished her story. “And when I told you to lie low and do nothing, how exactly did you interpret that to mean ‘go straight to Irnik Ivanov’s house’?”

“I’m not that familiar with the Belogradean dialect. I must have misunderstood.”

She could tell Bakharov wanted to roll his eyes at her, but he kept his face professionally straight. He glanced at the crime scene, winced, and looked away again. “Did you touch anything in there?”

“No, of course not. I phoned you straight away.”

“Good.” Bakharov’s face made it obvious he didn’t believe her. “And there’s nothing else you’d like to tell me? Are you sure?”

“If I knew anything, I’d tell you.” Kosara raised her hands in the air. “I want this solved as badly as you do.”

“I suppose you do.”

---