Page 80 of Deadly Lineage
Franklin
I glanced at my phone. It was sitting in the cup holder, ringing like a banshee at 3:43 a.m. Nothing good came from calls that time of morning.
“O’Hare,” I answered.
Detective Harrison’s tired voice rippled across the line. “Sorry to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” I answered immediately. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a body, definitely homicide, one that I think you’ll want to be a part of.”
My curse was muffled as I ran my hand over my face. “Another shredded soul case?”
“I…I don’t think so. The bullet in the forehead doesn’t exactly fit the MO of the others. Plus, this guy’s human.”
I was confused. “So why are you calling me?” A thought occurred, since I was the closest one to Boone, maybe this was a case Harrison wanted Boone’s expertise on. “You want me to bring Boone?”
“No.” That singular word jumped through the call. Harrison softened her voice and said, “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Not on this one.”
A tingle of unease settled in my gut. “Why not? What’s so special about this victim?”
Harrison sighed. “Mostly the name. Bart Livingston ring any bells?”
“Christ on a cracker. Bartholomew Livingston?”
“The one and only. Two late-night lovebirds found him. His body was tossed in the woods, not far from a common walking trail. Someone wanted this guy found, or at least they didn’t go to a lot of effort to hide the body.”
I stared at Boone’s house, the lights off and the place serenely quiet. No one had tried anything since I’d curled up in my car and hunkered down for surveillance duty.
“Sorry, O’Hare. I know you were due for a day off.”
Any alcohol from the one beer I’d had over six hours ago was gone. “Text me the details and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“On it,” Harrison said before ending the call.
I stared at the ceiling and wondered what the hell was going on now.
The body was fresh—maybe two, three hours old. It looked like Bartholomew Livingston went a few rounds with his attacker before the metal slug in his brainpan ended his life.
Crouched beside the body, I used my pen to lift Livingston’s shirt, staring at what Harrison’s phone light revealed. “Are those claw marks?”
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“Shifter?” We didn’t get a lot of shifter attacks and when we did, the Magical Usage Council typically took over the case. Either that or the shifter community doled out their version of justice. Fairy law supported individual communities policingthemselves. Some species took more policing than others. With the exception of weres, the Vampire Council probably saw more activity than most.
I frowned. I’d never seen a shifter murder where a bullet was involved. I pointed to the obvious hole in Livingston’s head. “That doesn’t square with shifter violence. Plus, Livingston’s a human, or at least he was.” Bart Livingston wasn’t one of those individuals I was eager to claim within the human species, but it was what it was.
“That’s what I thought. Hell, that’s what any detective with a month of training would think.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
“Beats me. This is one for the coroner.”
I started to suggest we get Boone out here to haul this asshole’s soul back, but then I remembered how vehemently Harrison had declined the offer.
“You don’t think Boone did this, do you?” It was the only reason I could think of that Harrison wouldn’t request his services.
“Not really, but think about the way it looks. The guy who’s been leaving threatening messages on Boone’s phone, possibly trying to break into his house, and also possibly following him on the freeway winds up dead. You’ve got to admit that seems a bit sketchy.”
