Page 33 of Deadly Lineage
“Is this guy for real?” she asked, her deep-brown eyes wide, the brilliant whites of her sclerae bright. “Smart criminals don’t leave this kind of evidence. Talk about low-hanging fruit.” She shook her head. “I swear, the state of the criminal mind is sometimes terribly discouraging.” She shot me a mischievous grin.
Given my feelings for Boone, I struggled to find the humor.
“Oh, come on, O’Hare.” She slapped my shoulder before interlacing her fingers and cracking her knuckles. “Give me some time and I’ll find out all the nitty-gritty on this dirtbag. Don’t worry, we’ll dig up all his nasty secrets and find some ammunition to go after this asshole with.”
Nowthatwas what I wanted to hear. “Thanks, Becks.”
“No worries.” She waved me off. “You know I enjoy a deep background dive.Ishould be thankingyou.” For some reason, Becks’s accompanying wink didn’t so much as make my heartflutter, not like Boone’s twitchy eyes. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got something.”
I thanked her again. At least I had a name to go with this perpetrator, which was a hell of a lot more than I had to go on with the Mosely and Noland cases.
Heading back to my desk, I picked up Phineas Noland’s final autopsy results.Heart failure. The damn thing was basically Rebecca Mosley’s report, nearly verbatim. It was like all Dr. McCallister did was change the name, gender, species, and date of death.
I tossed it onto my desk. I had half a mind to storm back down to the morgue and grill Dr. McCallister until he gave me more. But that would be futile, and in the end, would sour relations. Besides, there was a good chance there really wasn’t anything more to find. Toxicology was still pending on both cases, or at least some of the tox screening. We’d gotten the preliminary back and it wasn’t any more helpful.
I twisted my chair, turning it until I faced the wall. I didn’t have a board there, nothing but scuffed, off-white paint that had seen better days. Despite that, I needed the blankness. I’d spoken with Captain Cicely. She’d taken over interviewing Rebecca Mosely’s coven sisters. She hadn’t come back with much. So far, there didn’t appear to be a connection between our two victims. With one exception, neither one of them led lives where they’d be immediately missed.
Rebecca Mosely was a witch, but she wasn’t a very active coven member. Her abilities could barely be considered common, and she didn’t have a lot of interest in expanding her horizons. Mosely had joined a local coven for occasional comradery but wasn’t very involved. It wasn’t unusual for her to go weeks in between coven meetings. Her coven hadn’t even known she was missing, let alone that she was deceased.
If possible, I believe Captain Cicely was more upset than me. She’d held out hope that something would come from her interviews. But it wasn’t a total waste. While our two victims were different species, they shared a common connection in that they were fringe presences on the edge of their communities. Whoever our killer was, they hunted their prey with intention. It was highly doubtful our victims were random.
Both of our victims appeared to be dead ends. However, Noland had a thread. It was weak, but given how little I had to go on, I thought it was worth pulling.
With that in mind, I sucked in a deep breath, pulled on my big boy pants, and texted Boone’s father. I was setting my phone down when it rang.
“Shit,” I cursed. I hadn’t expected an actual call. My hand barely quivered when I picked up the phone and answered, “O’Hare.”
“Detective.” Warlocks usually had the deepest voices of any of the species, and Nikodemus Holland fit that stereotype perfectly.
“Warlock Holland,” I answered in kind.
“For now,” he cryptically answered. “What is it you require?”
Holland’s tone was clipped but not mean. It was maybe a little impatient, but I suspected he was a busy individual.
“I spoke with Boone. He—”
“How is my son? Well, I hope.” The way he asked made it clear that if Boone wasn’t well, heads would roll. I had no doubt mine would be first on the chopping block.
I debated how to answer. Lying felt like a poor life choice, and so I answered, “He is physically well enough. However, I do have concerns.”
“I would be troubled if you did not. I believe we can both agree that it is not wise to trouble me.”
“Easily,” I answered.
“Hmm… Against my better judgement, you seem tolerable for a human. That is fortunate. For you. Now, how may I be of assistance?”
Christ.I wiped the sweat from my brow. I should have downed another cup of coffee before having this conversation. I made a mental note never to speak with Holland if I wasn’t at my mental finest.
“Boone said you looked into Phineas Noland’s background.”
Holland huffed. “What little there was to find.” Sadness softened the frustration in his tone.
“I appreciate you taking responsibility for his remains.” I truly was appreciative.
“It was no less than should be done. Now, is that all you wished to tell me? If so, future conversations will be unnecessary.”
My eyelids slid closed as I dredged my well of patience. “No. Boone also told me that Noland’s father had children who were necromancers.”
