Part 5 (1/2)
I held her gaze steadily, letting her know I wasn't afraid, that I was dominant. Or trying to be.
”Luna, you're probably the most unpleasant woman I've ever been around.” Shelby sighed. She came up with a wallet in the dead man's back pocket and tossed it to me. ”But we're both good cops. You're right, I am a b.i.t.c.h. Get used to it or quit and go pump out some kids yourself.”
I realized I had been holding myself on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, ready for Shelby to take a punch at me. A deserved punch. What I had said was unforgivably nasty. I relaxed and shrugged instead. ”I can live with it if you can.”
”Finally, something we agree on,” Shelby said. There was a pounding on the bathroom door and she hollered, ”It's closed!”
”CSU!” the knocker responded. Shelby unbolted the door and let them in. I opened the black canvas wallet and pulled out the usual-credit cards, bus pa.s.s, receipts. No driver's license, but there was an ID from the Liquor Control Board. The sharp-boned face hiding under black hair matched the rictus grin of the dead man at my feet. I read the name off.
”Oh c.r.a.p.”
Shelby left CSU to photograph the body and scan it with a portable ultraviolet light and peered over my shoulder in the dim light. ”What's wrong?”
I handed her the liquor ID. ”The dead guy is Vincent Blackburn.”
Outside, Trevor's music cut off abruptly and I saw patrol officers in their blues corralling the crowd. I turned my back on the chaos and tucked Vincent's ID back into his wallet.
”This is so not good ...” Shelby muttered. She had a gift for understatement. If the O'Hallorans were the squeaky-clean face of caster witches, the Blackburns were the things that went b.u.mp in the night, blood witches whose incredible family fortune had been p.i.s.sed away after the death of their scion's wife.
Nocturne University was built on the grounds of the old Blackburn estate. The family itself was scattered to the four winds. And now one of them was here, dead at my feet, and I was going to be responsible for finding out how it happened.
Freakin' fantastic.
”Detective, we have some marks here,” said a CSU tech, lifting Vincent's arm. Ugly black tracks marched in a row to his elbow, the most recent one still oozing blood droplets.
”That figures,” said Shelby. ”That just figures. Junkie freaks, living in filth. Every one of them is bad.”
”Could we set aside personal and socioeconomic issues for one tiny minute here?” I asked her, crouching next to the tech. The bathroom's lighting was weaker than a guttering candle, but I borrowed the tech's flashlight and examined the tracks. They were stark under my light, deeply bruised from regular use. I flashed over his wrist, hands, the other arm. It was free of marks, but both wrists had circular stains of bruises on the inside.
”Luna, he obviously OD'd,” said Shelby. ”Maybe he got a shot of the same stuff as our other guy. Probably a new mix that some jacka.s.s dealer is making in his bathtub. I'll check with my guy in Narcotics. Let's bag him and get out of here.”
I pulled Vincent's s.h.i.+rt open and noticed similar oblong bruises on his clavicle, as well as nipple rings and diagonal red welts across his pectorals. The welts were healing, but the bruises were fresh and dark.
”Come on,” said Shelby, who was standing as far away from Vincent's body as she could get and still be in the room. ”My s.h.i.+ft is almost over. We can take another look at the morgue tomorrow.”
”No,” I said, seeing another rising bruise on Vincent's jawline. ”No, we're waiting for the medical examiner.”
”He's here,” said Kronen, coming through the door and positioning himself next to me. ”What's so important?”
I showed him the bruises, the tracks, and the welts. Imprints of violence are hard to erase. Vincent would be buried with his bruises. They would never fade. Over Shelby's irritated sigh I said, ”I think he was restrained.”
Kronen swabbed blood from the fresh track in Vincent's arm and nodded. ”By a person. These marks were made by fingers, I believe.”
Shelby blew out a puff of air behind me. ”So he was in a fight. So what?”
I stripped off my gloves and stood. ”So maybe the fight ended with him getting a hot dose shoved in his arm. That's a murder. We're homicide detectives.”
Shelby flipped her hair over her shoulder, gathering it into a nervous ponytail and then letting it fall again. I looked into her eyes. Panic was rising from their depths and it got worse every time she looked at the body. ”I don't think this merits an investigation,” she said desperately.
”Well, I do,” I said. ”And partners listen to each other. We're working the case.”
I touched Kronen lightly on the arm. ”How soon can you have him bagged and autopsied?”
”For you, I'll push him through in the express lane,” said Kronen. ”Ten gunshots or less.”
”Hilarious,” I a.s.sured him when he mistook my silence for disapproval. No matter how long I work in the department, I'll never get used to morgue humor.
”Can we please please go file a report now?” Shelby demanded. On the other hand, cop humor was something I could use a little more of lately. go file a report now?” Shelby demanded. On the other hand, cop humor was something I could use a little more of lately.
”Yeah, yeah, we're going,” I a.s.sured her. Behind her, Trevor pushed through the crowd to the uniforms guarding the door.
”Luna!”
I went over to him, taking his hand and guiding him away from the scene. He stopped me, gripping my shoulders. ”What happened in there? Why did you run out on me?”
I bit my lip. ”Someone died, Trevor.”
He sagged, and then gathered me into his arms, which turned me into a human-sized wooden board. I forced myself to relax and return his embrace.
”Are you okay?”
”I'm fine,” I muttered against his shoulder. ”It's not my first dead guy in a bathroom.”
He let me go and peered at the barricade. ”Who was it?”
”I can't discuss the details of an open case,” I repeated perfunctorily, and then it hit me that Trevor and Blackburn might have run in the same circles. Vincent certainly dressed the part. ”It's Vincent Blackburn. Looks like he might have had an accident.” If the accident was being held down and injected with poison, that is.
”Hex me.” Trevor pa.s.sed a hand over his face. ”That sucks, man. That's really messed up.”
I took his hands in mine. ”Do you know anything anything about Vincent? Could you help me?” about Vincent? Could you help me?”
”He bartended at some fringe place downtown . . . one of those s.h.i.+tty bas.e.m.e.nt venues, whips and chains, you know.”
”Fetish club?” I wasn't surprised. The Blackburn family had a reputation for being into anything that involved blood and pain, preferably a willing victim's.
”Luna,” said Trevor suddenly. ”Did you like my song?”
Shelby came out of the bathroom and motioned toward the door. I waved her ahead and faced Trevor.
”I have to know,” he said. ”I put my heart into it.” And dammitall, he meant it. His eyes searched my face and I forced myself to soften. He was a good guy. He thought he loved me. The song was something totally normal. Sweet, even. I would not think about how it could never, ever close the hole in my heart. Would not, would not, would not.
”It was a very sweet thing, Trevor,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. ”You're sweet.”
”Don't talk like that.” He grinned. ”You'll ruin my reputation.” He kissed me on the lips, for a lot longer than I'd planned on, and then released me. ”Go to work, babe. I'll call you soon.”