Page 7 of Goblins Don't Count
“Well,” I said, slowly standing up, and noticed that I’d gotten a bit of blood on the hem of my pants. “His aura is afraid, terrified really, but not depressed. Do people kill themselves when they’re scared? Also, the gun is in the wrong hand. He was left-handed.”
Brannigan chuckled. “Seriously? You think that Judge Stevens was murdered? This office was sealed. No one came in or out other than security. The cameras were all rolling in the hall outside the office. It was just him in here. No signs of struggle. And you said earlier that you can’t read a dead man’s aura.” He raised a brow and gave me a pointed look.
I scowled back at him. No one had mentioned the cameras, and I’d never wanted to come here on a Sunday in the first place. I’d much rather be walking down long aisles of books with my dad. I shrugged and met Lieutenant Joss’s gaze. “You asked for another set of eyes. I’m telling you what I see. I’d definitely do some more digging if I were you. Whoever or whatever killed the judge needs to be stopped.” I straightened up. “Is there anything else you need?”
Lieutenant Joss nodded. “Yeah. Take notes. You’re going to write up the report for this case in meticulous detail. Who else could possibly capture your mystical vision as well as you?”
Brannigan snorted.
I shot him a glare, then refocused on the Lieutenant. “Of course. Are there any witnesses? I imagine you already have the report from the person who found the body.”
“Yes, but you go ahead and interview her again. Maybe Ron missed something, like everyone else missed the obvious murder aura around the judge. Then you can interview everyone else who works here to make sure the report is thorough.” He walked off to talk to the guy taking fingerprints while I stood there, feeling my life wane out of me as surely as if I were being drained by an ancient goblin. More paperwork? How was this justice? How was this for the greater good?
Brannigan patted my shoulder. “Tough luck. Guess I’ll leave you to it, Sato. I’ve got a golf game to get to.”
Golf? He played golf on his weekends? Why was life so unfair? Not that I wanted to play golf, but I’d been looking forward to the book fair. A few years ago I’d found a scrap of parchment written in Goblin at one of them. It had been a list of groceries and prices, but I’d been so excited when I found it. Goblin was not a common language, particularly anything written.
I straightened my spine and nodded at Brannigan. “See you Monday.” I headed towards the corner Lieutenant Joss had nodded where I found the witness who had discovered the judge. Hopefully she got a raise after that experience.
She was old, tired, and in no mood to tell some young foolish girl what she’d already told another officer. It took all of my tact and diplomacy learned from years of waiting tables to get her to repeat the story. She’d come in, found the judge, and then went to the desk downstairs to report it.
“Did you step into the room?”
“Maybe a few steps. Why?”
I smiled. “Just trying to get a clear view of the scene. Did you have a lot of interactions with the judge?”
“No.”
“Did you ever clean up his coffee mugs?”
She shrugged. “Not coffee. Sometimes a glass of scotch.”
“And were they on the right or the left side of his desk?”
She frowned at me. “How could I remember…The left. On the side with the lamp. Not that he had a glass that day. Good. Scotch is bad for nerves, and he seemed nervous the last time I saw him.”
“Did he? How could you tell?”
She shrugged, scowling. “Nervous means he wouldn’t let anyone in his office after dark when he was here. Nervous as in, he had his clerk go into his office before he’d go in. When he worked late, he wouldn’t let the cleaning crews in, and he had two more locks put on the door, solid ones, and he had bars put on the windows. I mean, he’s a judge. He’s got his share of enemies. That’s why I take out the garbage instead of working like you. You’re going to get yourself killed if you aren’t careful.”
I gave her a slightly less pleasant smile. “And that’s why I’m so careful. Thank you so much for your time. Give me your contact information, and you can go.”
She nodded, wrote it down for me, and with that, I was left with the rest of the court’s inhabitants to interview.
On a Sunday, only the guards were there, but none of them had anything insightful to say. I finally wrapped everything up and headed to the station to write up my report. It was late, and the words were sticking in my brain like glue in a bottle with the lid off. Gooey words stuck as I tried to ascribe some kind of motive to the killer. The motive wasn’t the sticky point, not when judges did put away criminals who could be incredibly resentful, but the entrance. No one had gone into the judge’s office. I’d seen the footage. I’d talked to the guard. The cleaning crew had talked to him through the door at one thirty AM and no one else had gone near it. They hadn’t gone inside, and there had been three people on the crew. The guards had switched out at two-thirty, and neither of them had seen or heard anything. That was another thing. No one had heard the gunshot.
I rubbed my forehead and tried to focus on my computer screen, filling in every line, wishing we had a more up-to-date program to use that would do all this work for me. With magic and technology, why did I have to enter in all of this stuff until my eyes went fuzzy?
I leaned back, closing my eyes for just a second, but I must have drifted off. I heard the slightest scrape of a window across the hall from me, a sound that was impossible for me to hear, like it was impossible for me to smell fear, but it woke me all the way up. Someone was in the police station with me, in the dark of the night, and I had no backup.
ChapterThree
Iheld perfectly still as I listened, stretching out my senses until I heard another sound, the barest brush of shoe against floor. It was two rooms away, though. How could I hear a footstep two offices away? Impossible. Still, I’d heard it.
I slipped off my shoes soundlessly and grabbed the fuzzy handcuffs off the desk, able to see an outline of them in spite of the lack of light. I’d fallen asleep when it was still light, and slept for who knew how long. I should be home by now, sleeping in my bed, but instead, I was in the police station by myself, with an intruder who was very likely armed and dangerous.
The handcuffs were my own work, steeped and spelled with every stitch I’d made on them, until they were capable of securing my brother. He didn’t volunteer to test them, but he shouldn’t have double-parked behind me when I had to go to work.
