Page 11 of Deadly Avarice
When I was silent, Tenzen added, “However, I believe I personally might have some influence. Why do you ask?”
I gave Tenzen my spiel, finishing with why I needed the names of recent necromancer mothers.
“I see. And how far back would you like to go?” Tenzen asked.
I’d been considering that and said, “Thirty years. Anyone older than thirty and I figure they’ve managed to stay alive this long that they’ve got shit figured out well enough. Eventually I’d like to find them, but they’re not priority. It’s the younger ones I’m after.” The sad truth was that an unstable necromancer would be lucky to live past the age of thirty. If they hadn’t figured it out, then they were dead.
“Sensible,” Tenzen easily agreed. “I will see what I can do and get back with you soon. In the interim, is there anything else I can do for you?”
I shook my head before realizing Tenzen couldn’t see it. “No, thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. That is what the council is here for. We are at your disposal. Please do not forget that.”
I swallowed hard and answered a hesitant “th-thanks.”
“Again, it is my pleasure. Please stay safe, Necromancer Boone. It is possible that you truly are one of a kind. We would hate to lose you. I will contact you when I have the information you require.”
I barely had the time to utter a brief goodbye before the line went silent and I was once more staring at my darkened phone. The sigh that escaped this time was the heaviest of all.
Chapter
Four
Franklin
“What have we got, Johns?” I’d worked several cases with Officer Albert Johns. He was good at his job and most of all, he was succinct and efficient while still managing to be thorough.
Johns let loose a weighty sigh. He was currently crouched by the body, careful not to touch anything while we waited for the ME to get to the scene. Using a pen, Johns lifted the edge of the victim’s shirt. “As far as I can tell, one shot to the abdomen and two in the chest. The guy was probably dead before he hit the ground, but I’ll let the doc make that determination.” Standing, Johns arched his back and cracked his neck. “Damn, squatting down like that used to be easy.”
I patted him on the back. “We all reach that point.”
Johns’s deep brown eyes glared down on me. The man had a good three inches on me. I’d never known Johns to use his height in an intimidating way and now was no different. “Thanks, old man.”
I scoffed. “Not that old.” I was on the downward slide of my thirties, but I wasn’t ancient. Johns was a good ten years younger.
There was a small scuffle in the background and the sound of a woman crying. She was flailing her arms and pointing at the body lying at my feet. Her face was splotchy red from crying, but that wasn’t the discoloration that bothered me.
“I hate the domestic cases,” Johns said.
“Me too.” Homicide was always bad, but some were worse than others and most of the time, there were more victims than the one I was there to investigate. “Is that the wife?”
Johns nodded, his hands fisted on his hips. “Mrs. Cecilia DeVane.” Johns ran a hand over his shorn hair. The man barely had a covering of dark black/brown over his head. “According to Mrs. DeVane, she’s been married to her husband”—Johns pointed at the body on the ground—“for fourteen years. Thirteen too many by her account. Mrs. DeVane claims the murder was self-defense, and by the look of her face and neck, I have to say she might have a point. Mrs. DeVane claims her husband’s been abusing her for years and she finally had enough.” Johns blew out a breath. “I’m not the only officer who’s been called out to the house before. Mrs. DeVane’s made numerous 911 calls. Neighbors over the years have too. But the woman never followed through on pressing charges, and she never filed for divorce or left him.” Johns shook his head. “I know what the shrinks say, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand all the ins and outs of domestic violence.”
I patted the man on his shoulder. “Me either.” I hopefully understood well enough to do my job, but that’s where it ended. Besides, my experience wasn’t dealing with the abuse while it was happening. I was the clean-up crew. I was the guy that came in after things had truly gone to shit, when the violence escalated to the point of no return. That’s what had happened to Mr. DeVane.
This wasn’t a “whodunit” case. We knew the perpetrator and she wasn’t denying what she’d done. Mrs. DeVane fully admittedshe killed her husband. The heart of the case was in the motive and if Mr. DeVane’s murder had truly been self-defense.
“We need medical to check out Mrs. DeVane. She needs a thorough checkup and photo documentation,” I said.
“Already on it. That’s what Smalls is trying to do right now. Unfortunately, Mrs. DeVane is reticent to go to the hospital.”
I raised an eyebrow while looking at Smalls. Smalls was actually Officer Leroy Smalls’s name, but it was an ironic one considering the man was a hulking giant. He was also a tenderfoot. I didn’t think Mrs. DeVane was too chuffed about his size. What I did think was that we needed a more feminine touch here.
“We need a female officer on the scene.”
“Becks is on her way,” Johns answered. “She was the only one available on short notice.” Ebony Becks’s skills on the computer made her a more valuable asset inside the precinct verses outside of it.
“Okay. We’ll see if she has any more luck with Mrs. DeVane.” I didn’t want to force her into the police car, but I would if need be. Right now, I was the senior officer on scene, and if things couldn’t be resolved in an amicable way, then I’d be the one to make the decision to move onto more forceful tactics.
