3 Time to Steele (3 page)

“Hey Quinto,” I said. “I didn’t see you over there.”

The big guy smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”

“So, Quinto,” said Steele, “based on your comment, I’m guessing this one’s messy.”

“It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” said Quinto. “But it’s far from the best. Come on. I’ll show you. Cairny’s checking out the body as we speak.”

I was an awful whistler, so I settled for nudging Rodgers in the ribs. “Nothing stokes the fires of passion like a murder investigation, wouldn’t you say, pal?”

Quinto glared at me. He and Cairny Moonshadow, the precinct’s coroner, were dating, but it wasn’t common knowledge. Certainly the Captain didn’t know, and Quinto and Cairny intended to keep it that way.

Even though Rodgers had been working on his quip game lately, he kept his mouth shut following my jab. He was stuck with Quinto nearly twenty-four-seven, and he knew better than to piss him off. Instead he shrugged, and we all followed Quinto into the bedroom.

Due to the angle of my entrance into the room, the first thing I noticed was the massive canopy bed, complete with ornamental drapes, padded headboard, plush comforter, and silk sheets. The second thing I noticed was the dead body strapped to a chair at the foot of the bed.

The victim was a man, in his mid to late thirties if I had to guess based on his hairline and complexion. His arms had been strapped to those of his chair, and the tips of several of his fingers ended in twisted, mangled stumps. Bruises marred much of his face, and dried blood covered the majority of his chin and neck. It also matted his light brown hair, and I didn’t have to look hard to spot the source. The entire top right of his skull had imploded, revealing lots of icky bits that nature dictated shouldn’t be visible to the eye.

Cairny poked the body in the midsection with an extended finger, but she popped up as soon as she saw us enter, sending a ripple through her otherwise motionless waterfall of midnight-black hair. “Detective Daggers. And Steele! What a surprise to see you here, bestie.”

Rodgers furrowed his eyebrows. “Um…Cairny, I told you and Quinto I’d find Daggers and Steele and meet you guys here. Right after the runner dropped by the precinct. Remember?”

Cairny blinked her big moon eyes. “Oh. Right. Well…welcome.”

In addition to being a half-faerie, Cairny was a bit of a space cadet, but she was good at her job. Unlike most people, being presented with a dead body had a way of sharpening her focus. Sometimes I thought she’d be an excellent artist, what with all the time she spent daydreaming, but she’d probably only get any real work done in a studio surrounded by cadavers, and that wasn’t something those of us in police employ particularly condoned.

A grin crept onto Quinto’s face as he gazed at the coroner, probably without his knowledge. I think he still couldn’t quite believe he and Cairny were dating, and with good reason. With her ivory skin and soft features, she was far too pretty for him. Not that she was a ten by any means—she was too gangly and mooncalfish for my tastes—more that Quinto was that ugly. I’d mentioned his luck to him before, and he’d been quick to remind me of my own limitations in the physical appearances department. I’m not sure if he’d meant it as an insult or as a way of giving me hope.

“Alright, gang,” I said. “Give us the rundown. What do we know so far?”

“Well,” said Quinto, getting serious, “as far as we can tell, this man was murdered.”

“Oh, wait. Hold on.” I held up a finger, then reached into my coat pocket and extracted Daisy, which I held out to Quinto. “Here you go.”

Quinto lifted an eyebrow. “Um…why would I want your truncheon, Daggers?”

“First, refer to Daisy by name,” I said. “And second, this isn’t a truncheon. For the purposes of this exercise, this is the Captain of the Obvious baton. Go on. You’ve earned it.” I waggled the steel headknocker at Quinto again.

He reluctantly took it, scowling at me as he did so.

“Why don’t I begin?” Cairny smiled. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to defuse the situation or wasn’t even aware of her boyfriend’s lack of mirth. She pointed out various body parts as she provided her diagnosis. “As you can see, our victim was tied to this chair and tortured. Given the facial bruising and missing teeth, I assume the victim was punched repeatedly before having his fingers smashed with a hammer, as you can see here.” Cairny drew her hand down to the armrest. “Eventually, said hammer was used to provide the killing blow to the victim, as you can see by the fractured cranium. The head of the hammer appears to have impacted right at the front of the parietal bone.”

“Did you find the murder weapon?” I asked.

Cairny shook her head.

“And when did he die?” asked Steele.

“Based on lividity?” said Cairny. “Early this morning. Maybe between five and eight. I’ll need to get him back to the lab to give you a better answer.”

“Alright,” I said. “What else do we know about the victim?”

Quinto maintained his vexed expression, but he responded. “His name’s Darryl Gill. He owns a repossessions business smartly titled Gill’s Repossessions. We found some files of his with business info. Tax records, bank notices, that sort of thing.”

“Repossessions?” I said. “As in take stuff from people and give it back to the bank sort of repossessions?”

Quinto held out Daisy. “Here you go. You’ve earned this back.”

“Thank the gods,” I said, retrieving my nightstick. “I’m the king of
something
again.”

That earned a smile from Quinto. Good. I hadn’t meant to actually anger the big guy.

“What about his personal life?” asked Shay.

“I talked to some neighbors,” said Quinto. “They said Gill wasn’t married, nor do they think he was seeing anyone on a regular basis. No kids. And nobody recalled seeing anyone out of the ordinary late last night or early this morning.”

“Really?”
I said with a raised eyebrow. “This guy got tortured and beaten to death with a hammer and nobody heard anything?”

“I should note the victim was gagged when we found him,” said Cairny. “You can see some of the bruising at the sides of his lips from where the muffle was placed.”

“To be fair, one neighbor did hear some thumping,” said Quinto. “She thought Gill was rearranging furniture.”

“At five in the morning?” I rolled my eyes. “Sheesh. Apparently we won’t be able to count on the neighbors for much assistance. You guys get anything else useful so far?”

Quinto shrugged. “We found some assorted cash and valuables around the apartment, so it doesn’t appear to have been a robbery. Lab techs are working on getting prints from surfaces.”

I drummed my fingers on my chin, scraping them against my stubble. “Ok, so we have a torture and murder—possibly a crime of passion. I’m guessing it might’ve had something to do with his profession.” I gave Shay a look. “You want to make a trip out to Gill’s place of business?”

“Seems as good a place as any to start,” she said.

“Quinto, you said you found bank statements,” I said. “You mind swinging by his branch office and seeing if you can spot any red flags on Gill’s finances?”

The big guy groaned. “Why me? I always do the bank runs.”

“Because you’re so good at it,” I said. “I’m honestly not sure how you get in and out so fast. You must sweet talk the tellers.”

I flashed Quinto my best smile, but I think it was Cairny’s giggle that convinced him to abandon his resistance.

“You ready?” I said to Steele.

“Wait,” said Rodgers. “What about me?”

I shrugged. “Pick your poison. Gill’s Repossessions, the bank, or stay here and help out the lab boys.”

Rodgers and Quinto went way back. They’d been partners for the better part of a decade, but no amount of brotherly camaraderie could convince Rodgers to voluntarily take part in a bank run. He came with us.

4

Shay and I caught a rickshaw outside Gill’s apartment, but since there was only room for two, Rodgers was forced to commandeer his own unit. Apparently, Rodgers’ driver had eaten a few too many pancakes for breakfast, because we quickly outpaced him and his slow-footed chauffeur. By the time we reached Gill’s Repossessions, my old detective pal and his human-powered transport were nowhere to be seen.

As we waited for him to arrive, I studied the façade of Gill’s business venture. The place was little more than a shack attached to the exterior of a warehouse, with a sign hanging over the front of the hut that read, simply, ‘Gill’s.’ An indeterminate half-breed equipped with a mop and bucket worked at the side of the warehouse, scrubbing graffiti painted upon the wall in bright green ink, graffiti that currently read ‘VAGES.’ I dearly hoped some of the word had already been washed away.

I turned my eyes back to the street as I heard the distant pattering of footsteps and clattering of rickshaw wheels upon cobblestones.

“Something on your mind?” said Steele.

I glanced at her and blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got that blank look on your face again,” she said. “You wore it most of the ride over.”

Rodgers’ rickshaw appeared from behind a bend. “You wonder what’s going to happen to all these rickshaw drivers?”

Shay tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“The expo this morning,” I said. “That machine was second to none at spinning wheels. It’s only a matter of time before it replaces rickshaws.”

Shay gave me a dubious look. “Daggers, that Bock Industries steam engine was roughly the size of a skiff and certainly weighed far more than one. I don’t think it’s going to replace rickshaws any time soon.”

I snorted. “Now who’s the one without any vision. I bet the horses didn’t think they’d get displaced either.”

“Probably because horses don’t spend much time thinking about their job security.”

I neglected to follow that comment with a response. I knew from personal experience horses were deceitful, malevolent creatures that knew far more than us sentient races gave them credit for, but I didn’t think it was worth arguing that point with Shay.

Once Rodgers arrived and paid his driver, the three of us walked over to Gill’s and tried to make ourselves obvious. After a few moments of warming our pockets with our hands, a guy emerged from the shack, clipboard in hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear—his pointed, furry, wart-infested, greenish-blackish atrocity of an ear.

I tried to convert my slack-jawed expression into some facsimile of a yawn to avoid appearing rude. The guy must’ve fallen off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. A squatty, smashed nose dominated the center of his face, sitting underneath sunken eyes and brows in desperate need of trimming. A thick, golden hoop hung from his jutting lower lip, and his pock-marked skin was the color of gangrene—perhaps an indication of mixed goblin and ogre heritage?

“You guys need something?” he asked in a voice reminiscent of rocks being ground into sand.

I cleared my throat. “Um…yes. Is this Gill’s Repossessions?”

Green, Black, and Terrifying pointed up. “I feel like the sign’s pretty descriptive.”

“You work for Gill?” I asked.

“No, I’m robbing the place,” he said. “This clipboard and pencil is the best loot I could find.”

“A sense of humor, eh?” I said. “Good. That’ll come in handy once I break the news to you.”

“News?” he said. “What news?”

I reached into my jacket to extract my badge. “I’m Detective Daggers. These are Detectives Steele and Rodgers. We’re with homicide.”

The goblin ogre—gogre?—scrunched his face up, more so than normal. I feared it might soon collapse under its own weight. “Um…ok.”

Steele took over. Her feminine charm made her better at delivering sour news than me. “I hate to tell you this, but your boss, Gill? He’s dead. Murdered this morning in his apartment.”

The gogre’s face fell. “What…?”

I’d expected any number of reactions from the tough guy—confusion, stoic indifference, possibly even tight-lipped denial—but I certainly didn’t expect to break the dam holding back the dude’s emotional reservoir.

Tears welled in the gogre’s eyes, and he stumbled backwards, his legs wobbly. Rodgers had to step in and help him before he fell. As he sagged into Rodgers’ shoulder, he started babbling. “Darryl… No, no, not Darryl. This can’t be happening. He was such a good guy. He didn’t deserve this. Oh, gods…”

Steele again came to the rescue. “Look, it’ll be alright. Here, let’s find you a seat.” She turned to me. “Daggers, go see if you can find this man a hot beverage.”

“A what now?” I said.

“A hot beverage,” said Steele. “They’re very soothing to people in distress. Now go!”

“But…”

Steele glared at me. I gulped and made myself scarce.

I returned a few minutes later with a cup of steaming hot chai tea I’d purchased at a bodega down the street. Steele and Rodgers had settled the unpleasantly-skinned repo employee in a chair up against the side of the shack in front. Tears dripped down his cheeks, but his breathing had returned to normal.

“I, uh…got you some tea,” I said.

The gogre accepted it with his warty hands. “Thank you. Thanks. This means a lot.”

As he sipped the beverage, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, I pulled Rodgers to the side. “So, did you two learn anything useful while I went on my spiced tea run?”

“His name’s Gronk Turbot,” said Rodgers. “He’s the manager here. Apparently he was pretty close to Gill.”

“Apparently,” I said, glancing at the emotional wreck. “That it?”

“Steele didn’t want to press him too much until he’d calmed down,” said Rodgers. “Probably a good idea. Most of what I told you was deciphered through a wall of blubbering and sobs.”

Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about being relegated to the role of beverage jockey. I joined Steele at the gogre’s side. She knelt by the chair, her hand resting gently on the guy’s knee. I suppressed a shudder, telling myself it was simply a show of concern. At least the dude was wearing pants.

“So tell me, Mr. Turbot,” said Shay, “did Gill have any enemies? Anyone who might want to make him suffer?”

The green and black guy shook his head. “No. Not at all. He was a lover, not a fighter. People liked him.”