Page 14 of Deadly Deception
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say the blood wasn’t Navarre’s,” I said.
“Not a scratch on him,” Tompkins confirmed. “Old scars, but nothing new that would have caused that much blood. They’re holding him on murder charges.”
“Whose murder?” I asked while thinking this was one of the reasons Tompkins wanted Boone. If we had the body, Boone could call the soul back and ask who the true culprit was.
“That’s the kicker. No one’s sure. So far, a body hasn’t been discovered.”
Boone sucked in a hissed breath. “Then how can they hold him for murder?”
Tompkins frowned. “It was a lot of blood. Local checks of hospitals haven’t turned up anything so the officer in charge is assuming that given that much blood, whoever it was, they’re dead if they didn’t get immediate medical help.”
“Seems like a stretch,” Boone contemplated, sounding like he was talking to himself more than Tompkins.
“It might be, but it’s also reasonable. That blood had to come from someone. They’re also keeping Navarre on grounds that he’s mentally unstable and not fit for release. The only reason they even know his name is that it’s tattooed on his wrist. A little digging found his birth certificate, his deceased human mother, and that his species designation is necromancer. Navarre didn’t have any personal ID on him beyond the tattoo.”
Boone eased back into his seat, his hands loosely clasped within his lap. I didn’t think about my actions or who was in the car with us to see them. I reached across and grasped his hands with my own. “Hey, you okay?” It was a ridiculous question.
Boone shrugged. “Yeah. It’s just… Sometimes I forget how fortunate I am, and then something like this reminds me.”
Releasing his hands, I cupped his cheek and chin within my palm, rubbing my thumb across his soft skin. “We all forget how lucky we are from time to time.”
With a gentle nod, Boone leaned into my hand, twisting his head enough to lay a kiss on my palm. “Thanks, Franklin.”
When I finally released Boone and turned my attention back to Tompkins, I realized my show of affection had an audience. Something in me bristled at the blank look on his face. Hackles up, I asked, “Problem?”
Tompkins didn’t grin or offer any other sign of approval. He simply offered a clipped, “No. None of my business.”
I didn’t stop to worry whether Tompkins was uncomfortable because I was openly gay or because my partner was a necromancer. I thought back to the times we’d worked togetherand couldn’t remember an instance where my orientation had been discussed. Like Tompkins just said, it was none of his business.
Ignoring the elephant suddenly sitting in the car with us, I said, “So, I assume you want us to speak with Navarre.”
Tompkins appeared relieved with the change in topic. “If you can. I mean, I’ve worked it out so you can speak with him. I’m just not sure you’ll get anything coherent. He’s been provided with legal counsel, but from what I understand, his lawyer can’t get anything sane out of him to work with.”
“Human legal counsel?” Boone asked.
“It’s all we could get. The blood typing on Navarre’s clothes came back human. So far, the Magical Usage Council hasn’t been much help.”
“Yeah, we understand that all too well,” I murmured.
Hand on the doorhandle, I said “Come on, light’s a-wastin’.” We didn’t need daylight to interview Navarre, but I was tired and knew Boone was too. I wanted to get us somewhere cozy where we could snuggle in together and forget the rest of the world existed. We’d need to stop somewhere first and get Boone a warmer coat. The promise of under the covers snuggling was too far away for my liking.
Chapter
Five
Erasmus
Shane Tompkins’s niece, Sara, walked us to an interview room where Navarre sat waiting. Tall and lean like her uncle, Sara’s hair was more silvery-gray than blond. She walked with a limp in her right leg that made me wonder if that was the on-the-job injury her uncle spoke of. I didn’t like prying into the living’s lives. I got nosy with the dead, not the living.
We’d had to leave Shane behind, cooling his heels in the lobby. While Shane had gotten a mix of irritated glares and warm welcomes, the glances sent my way were not so forgiving. Most were curiously wary, but some were downright hostile. One officer even plastered himself to the side of the hallway and made the sign of the cross across his chest as I walked by. Anticipating Franklin’s reaction, I grabbed his arm and squeezed tight. Whatever he thought of saying—or, Gaia help us, doing—would only get Franklin in trouble. Nothing he said or did was going to change the officers’ opinions.
Sara offered up an exasperated “really, Jarrod,” accompanied by a dramatic eyeroll. A quiet “idiot” passed her lips as we got farther down the hall. I was glad she didn’t try and apologize for him. It wasn’t her responsibility.
We reached the room Navarre was in and Sara hesitated, her hand on the doorknob and a pinched look to her eyes and mouth. “I’m not sure what Uncle Shane told you, but…” She sighed. “I don’t want you to think I don’t believe this is a good idea. I do. It’s just… I’m not sure how much you’re going to get out of him.”
I studied Sara and asked what I’d been wondering since Tompkins opened his mouth. “What makes you think he didn’t do it?” It was a fair question. While I liked thinking that Navarre wasn’t a murderer, did we really know that?
Sara shrugged and answered, “We don’t. If he’s guilty of a crime, then he needs to be behind bars, although I think a psychiatric prison would be better for him. Unfortunately, that’s not my call.” Looking toward the door, Sara added, “There’s just something about him that… I don’t know, call it a gut feeling. He doesn’t read murderer to me, but I’ve been wrong before. People fool you. I just don’t want him railroaded on something no one’s certain of, especially without a body.”
