Dark Currents (13 page)

“Yes.” She smiled ruefully. “They’re too young to shift, of course. In some ways, it will be easier when they are older. When they are able to give true voice to the wildness inside them. But of course, that brings its own dangers.” She glanced in the direction of the grill. “The clan is lucky to have Cody in a position to protect us.”

“No doubt.” I racked my brains for a topic of discussion. “So, how do you like living in Pemkowet? It must seem awfully small after Montreal.”

“I like it,” Jeanne said. “I find it peaceful here. I like the seclusion.”

Beside her, Caleb nodded. “City’s too big. Too busy.” He shuddered. “Too many eyes watching.”

Oh-kay.

“Are the boys in school yet?” I asked.

“Oh, no!” Jeanne gave me a startled look, green glimmering behind her eyes. “No, I do not think that is advisable. We will homeschool them.”

“Pemkowet’s school system isn’t so bad,” I said. “Look at Caleb and Cody. They turned out okay.”

“Boys’ll be safer at home,” Caleb said briefly.

Okay, point taken; that was the end of that discussion. Even though it was none of my business, I was just trying to make polite conversation. I tried and failed to suppress a returning surge of irritation. “Did Cody tell you we ran into an old girlfriend of yours, Caleb?” I asked. “Rosalind says hi.”

“Rosalind?” He looked blank.

“Rosalind Meeks,” Cody supplied. He was in the process of placing six obscenely large T-bone steaks on the grill. “I think you dated her toward the end of your senior year. She’s tending bar at Bazooka Joe’s.”

“Oh.” Caleb shrugged. He and his wife held an unspoken exchange that consisted of a faint glance of inquiry on her part and a slight, dismissive headshake on his.

I sighed inwardly.

No matter what Jen said, the rules and codes of the eldritch community were rigid and ingrained, and it was evident that the Fairfax clan was a closed society, even to other members of the community.

A little later, we dined on the ridiculously oversize steaks, cooked rare and bloody, the Fairfaxes holding them with both hands to gnaw on them. Steaks, and nothing but steaks.

“Would it have killed you to serve a little potato salad?” I asked Cody. “Or maybe a green vegetable?”

He grinned. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

I felt guilty. “It’s okay. I’m being an ungracious guest.”

“I don’t usually have guests,” he admitted. “I guess the lack of practice makes me a thoughtless host.”

It made me feel better. “So we’re even?”

Cody nodded. “Definitely.”

His brother and sister-in-law glanced back and forth between us, silent and watchful. Disapproval might be too strong a word, but I got a distinct feeling of discomfort and uneasiness from them. Whether it was because I was a hell-spawn or merely an outsider, I couldn’t say, but I have to admit it was a relief when they said their good-byes as the sun was sinking low, taking their rambunctious wolf-cub boys with them.

I helped Cody carry the dishes, which basically consisted of six plates swimming in bloodred juice, into the kitchen. “Can I help you wash up?”

He shook his head. “No need. Go home; get some sleep. After yesterday and today, you must be tired.”

Actually, I was. It was hard to believe it was only last night that Hel had summoned me. “Okay.” I hesitated. “Thanks, Cody. This was really nice.”

His mouth quirked. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It was a nice
idea
.”

“Look.” Cody laid his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t take it personally, Daisy. My family is very . . . insular.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t say?”

“I’m glad you came.” He let go of me. “This investigation’s been tough on all of us. I know I had reservations at the outset, but I wanted you to know that I’m glad we’re working together.”

It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I’d take it. “Me, too.”

Cody showed me to the door. “Tim Wilkes has called another conference for tomorrow morning. See you there?”

I made myself smile. “Bright and early.”

I drove home to my empty apartment. My neighbors across the hall were engaging in another bout of noisy lovemaking. Mogwai was nowhere to be found. On the plus side, at least I didn’t have to worry about any ravening ghouls lurking around the Dumpster or in my stairway. I had to say, Stefan had come through on that score.

I thought about Stefan and his oh-so-tempting offer.

Cody, too.

And I thought about calling Jen to talk about both of them, or my mom, just to hear her voice, but I
was
tired.

Instead, I poured myself a couple inches of scotch and put on some music. Sometimes you have to go old-school and let a genuine queen of the blues give voice to your melancholy. I put on a scratchy old recording of Bessie Smith singing “Salt Water Blues,” her world-weary voice accompanied by the spare, droning wail of a muted trumpet, and opened my case file to study Thad Vanderhei’s photo.

Thad’s bland, ordinary face gazed back at me. His hair still bore the impression of a ubiquitous baseball cap. Tomorrow I would attend his funeral. And I still didn’t have the first idea why he was dead.

“That doggone salty water,” I mused, echoing Bessie. “Why salt water? What the
hell
were you up to?”

Not drugs.

Something else.

But I didn’t know what.

Twenty-two

W
hen I reported to the station in the morning, there were protestors outside it. Not many, only three or four, but it gave me shivers to see the signs and hear their chants.

“No more lies, no more evasion!” the protestors called in unison, marching in a circle and hoisting homemade placards. “No more sanctuary for Satanism!”

I slipped past them.

The mood in the station was grim. In the conference room, the chief slammed both hands down on the table. “Tell me we know something,” he said. “Tell me we’re making progress.”

Detective Wilkes cleared his throat. “Let me give you a rundown. Thad Vanderhei, Mike Huizenga, and Kyle Middleton are clean, no priors, no red flags. Ditto for Matthew Mollenkamp, the Triton House alum the brother cited. We’ve got no references on the Masters of the Universe. As far as anyone knows, it’s nothing but an old cartoon. We also ran the number Miss Johanssen gave us for Ray D, but it’s a dead end. Prepaid disposable cell phone, no longer in service.”

“Sounds like it’s time to bring the vic’s friends back in for another chat,” Chief Bryant observed. “We’ve got enough leverage to make them sweat.”

“It’s not going to be easy.” The detective looked disgruntled. “The Middleton boy’s parents picked him up and took him home to Indiana. The Huizenga boy’s been sent off on a church retreat.” He slid a piece of paper from a file. “And the Vanderheis have lawyered up on behalf of both of them. They’ve already given sworn statements. Looks like anything further’s going to take a subpoena. And given the fact that our key eyewitnesses are, um, undines, that could be a problem.”

“What the hell is wrong with these people?” the chief said in frustration.

“I don’t think they
want
to know the truth,” I said quietly. “Parental instincts are telling them they’re not going to like it. And I have a feeling they’re right.”

Chief Bryant heaved a sigh. “Despite the collegiate culture of prolonged adolescence, in the eyes of the law, those so-called boys are grown men. One way or another, they will be held accountable. What else have you got, Tim?”

The detective ran a finger over his tidy mustache. “A possible lead on another known associate of the elusive Ray D. According to one Bruce ‘Red’ Henderson, a member of the Outcasts currently enjoying a stay in the county correctional facility, Ray D had recently acquired an unusual lady friend, a fellow ghoul by the name of Mary Sudbury. Where you find one, you’ll find the other. Red was quite adamant on that score.”

“Ring any bells?” I asked Cody.

“No,” he said. “My contacts weren’t as forthcoming. But it’s definitely worth checking out. Your undines did say there was a man and a woman in that boat. What about the bartender? Jerry Dunham?”

“Now, there’s an interesting character.” Tim Wilkes laid a file on the table. “A bit of a drifter, it seems, and he’s fairly new in town. A handful of priors, six months served on an assault charge four years ago in Seattle. Here’s the interesting part: Until it closed, he was a carny with Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow.”

Cody frowned. “Now, that
does
ring a bell.”

“They applied for a permit to hold a performance here a couple of years ago,” the chief said. “The town council turned them down. It wasn’t exactly, ah, family-friendly entertainment.”

I was intrigued.

Detective Wilkes nodded. “It was billed as an old-fashioned sideshow with live freaks and geeks. They traveled on a national circuit, but they were based in Seattle. Late last fall, the Seattle authorities shut them down on charges of abusing and exploiting the performers.”

“Whereupon this Dunham decided to move to Pemkowet and begin consorting with ghouls?” Chief Bryant said sourly. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Seattle has an underworld,” I said. “Where else did Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow perform?”

Wilkes checked his notes. “Larger venues, mostly. Chicago, New York, Denver . . . a few oddities, too. Fresno, Leavenworth. Nothing as small as Pemkowet.”

Cody and I exchanged a glance. “They’re all sites in the U.S. with functioning underworlds,” he said.

My skin prickled. “So there’s an eldritch connection. I bet there was something in that sideshow that wasn’t human. Oh, hell! I’m sure there was. It’s right there in the name.”

Everyone looked blank.

“Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow?” I said impatiently. “It’s a reference to
The Last Unicorn
.”

“Let me guess,” Cody said. “A movie?”

I successfully fought the urge to glare at him. “As a matter of fact, yes, but it was a book first. My mom read it to me when I was a kid. The Midnight Carnival was a traveling sideshow full of illusion, but it had one true thing in it.”

“What was it?” he asked.

“A harpy,” I said.

He raised his brows. “Now we’re looking for a harpy?”

“No. I don’t know. We’re looking for
something
.” Glancing around the conference room, I could see I was losing the crowd. “I’m just speculating, okay?”

The chief propped his chin on one meaty fist. “All right. Where are we on the aquarium angle, Tim?”

“Still tracking down leads,” the detective said. “We’ve got a possibility or two, but we’re waiting on the ichthyologist’s report on the scales found under the Vanderhei boy’s fingernails. That will help us narrow it down.”

“Okay.” Chief Bryant dislodged his fist from beneath his chin and looked at his watch. “Let’s run with what we have. Cody, Daisy, I want you to shake down this Dunham character, see what comes loose. Just be back in time for the funeral.”

Cody nodded. “Both of us?”

“No, just Daisy.” The chief leaned back in his chair. “Cody, Bart’s out with the flu, and I’m going to need you back on patrol tonight. But see if you can’t chase down a lead on Mary Sudbury. Have the two of you looked into this Masters of the Universe business yet?”

“No,” Cody admitted. “Sorry, Chief. We still haven’t had time.”

Chief Bryant leaned forward, his chair creaking beneath the shift in bulk. “Let’s make it a priority. Might be something more substantial if we need to subpoena the witnesses for further questioning. In fact . . .” His deceptively sleepy gaze slewed my way. “Daisy, maybe it’s best we don’t go to the funeral together. Let’s keep your options open.”

“So you don’t want me to go?” I asked hopefully.

He dashed my hopes. “Oh, I want you to go. Just not with me. If we need to go nosing around Triton House later, it might come in handy to have a pretty girl who can pass for a college student.”

“The family’s already seen me,” I reminded him. “Huizenga and Middleton, too.”

“Since the vic’s friends are under wraps, I’m assuming they won’t attend. The Vanderhei family will have bigger things on their minds. That leaves plenty of others who couldn’t ID you, including this Matthew Mollenkamp. It’s worth a shot.” He levered himself to his feet. “Cuypers and Sons, two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

I sighed. “I won’t.”

Dismissed from the conference, Cody and I exited past the protestors and drove to the address for Jerry Dunham that Stefan had provided us.

It was a run-down little rental property a few miles north of town. Not only was Jerry Dunham in residence, he was in the driveway doing something mechanical to one of the most beautiful motorcycles I’d ever seen. It was a vibrant, glossy red, the color deep and saturated, with a teardrop-shaped gas tank, sweeping oversize fenders, and a black leather seat with rivets around it. I actually felt a pang of regret when Jerry scowled at the sight of us and dragged a cover over it.

“Jerry Dunham.” Cody peered past him into the garage, where the covered forms of two more bikes lurked, along with a third that was uncovered, a gleaming black number. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Jerry picked up a remote and closed the garage door. “Yeah, Ossifer. I do.”

“Got a reason to?” Cody asked.

“No.” He wiped his hands with a greasy rag. “Don’t need one.”

“Stefan Ludovic said you gave the Vanderhei boy Ray D’s phone number.”

“So?”

“When I showed you the boy’s photo, you said you hadn’t seen him,” Cody said mildly. “Why’d you lie?”

Jerry shrugged and tossed the rag onto the driveway. “I must’ve forgot. All them college boys look alike.”

“You get a lot of college boys in the Wheelhouse?”

“Some.”

Wow, this was a scintillating exchange. Since it didn’t seem to be going anywhere, I decided to try blindsiding Jerry. “Hey, I’m curious. What was the star attraction in Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow?”

There was the slightest of pauses before he turned his flat, dead gaze on me. “A headless chicken.” Somehow, the casual lack of menace in his tone made it all the more menacing. He made a slicing motion across his throat. “Little fucker got the ax, but it was still alive. Used to run around and flap its wings, trying to peck at shit without a head. We fed it through its gullet with an eyedropper. You should’ve seen it, blondie. You’d have loved it.”

Okay, ew!

“So the circus closed down and you lost your chicken,” Cody said. “What made you decide to move to Pemkowet?”

The bartender gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s say I had a taste for some wholesome small-town living.”

“Including acting as a go-between for a known meth dealer?” Cody pressed him.

Jerry shrugged again. “Some boys were looking for a man; I gave them a man’s phone number. None of my business what they did with it.” His face tightened. “Got ’em off the premises, didn’t it? So they wouldn’t offend Mister High Lord Muckety-Muck’s delicate sensitivities. A lot of thanks I got for it.”

“See, here’s the thing, Jerry.” Cody rested his hands on his utility belt, his tone taking on a harder edge. “I’m pretty sure you’re lying. And I’m pretty sure those boys weren’t looking for drugs.”

“See, here’s the thing, Ossifer.” Jerry mimicked his pose, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “I’m pretty sure I don’t give a flying fuck.”

I glanced at the windows of his rented house, slatted blinds drawn. “Have you got any houseguests, Jerry?”

“Nope.”

I cocked my head. “How about an aquarium? Do you keep fish?”

Another infinitesimal beat passed before Jerry unhooked one hand and scratched his opposite shoulder, the spiderweb shoulder. “No. Why would I? What the fuck would I want with
fish
?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What did you want with a headless chicken?”

He gave me his flat stare. “It was a job. That stupid fucking headless chicken made money for us.”

“What happened to it?” I asked.

Jerry smiled, and this time it was genuine. Creepy, but genuine. “It died. Everything does, blondie. Eventually.”

Ew and double ew.
My skin crawled.

“About Ray D—” Cody began.

“I don’t know nothing more about Ray D, Ossifer.” Jerry Dunham dusted his grease-stained hands together. “Look, I did my part. I gave Lord Muckety-Muck the only number I had, the same number I gave those boys. If it’s no good . . .” He spread his hands. “Not my problem.”

“So you knew—”

“Bye-bye, Ossifer.” Jerry waved to us, turning for the front door. “Unless you have a warrant, I think we’re done here.”

In the patrol car, Cody let out a growl of pent-up frustration, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. “He’s lying, Daisy. And he’s involved in this somehow. I feel it in my gut. Did you see those bikes?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That red one was beautiful. But I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, that
red one
is a 1940s-era Indian Chief,” he said grimly. “I went through a bike-worshiping phase when I was in high school. And I don’t know if you caught a glimpse of the black one, but I’m pretty sure it’s a Vincent Black Shadow. No telling what he had under the other two covers.”

“Still not following,” I admitted.

Cody shot me a glance. “Those are some very, very expensive and highly collectible bikes. No way he came by those on a bartender’s or a carny’s wages.”

“You think he stole them?”

“It’s possible.” Cody’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “It’s certainly a popular activity among outlaw motorcycle clubs. But the odds of his finding a Vincent Black Shadow out on the street . . .” He shook his head. “There were only seventeen hundred of them made, every one assembled by hand.”

“So he’s a collector,” I said slowly. “That’s his passion. That’s the one thing he cares about.”

“Right.” Cody nodded. “We can check out the registration. Assuming it’s legit, where the hell did he get the money?”

“Which brings us back to drugs,” I said. “Except neither of us thinks it was drugs the boys were after.”

“Lot of coincidences going on here,” Cody said. “Jerry Dunham and Lord Stefan Muckety-Muck turn up in town right around the same time Ray D disappears? I don’t like it. Not a big believer in coincidence.”

“There’s no love lost between those two,” I said. “Did you see Dunham’s face when he talked about Stefan? It’s the only time he showed emotion.” I shuddered. “Except for the part about the headless chicken dying.”

Cody looked skeptical. “He was just trying to get under your skin. You didn’t believe that bit about the chicken, did you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Actually, I did. Not that it was the star attraction, no. That, I’d like to know.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Call it a hunch. I’m interested in knowing what Dr. Midnight’s one true thing was.”

Cody drove across the bridge that divided Pemkowet and East Pemkowet. The river was sparkling in the sunlight, its surface ruffled with little waves. Sailboats scudded along before the breeze. Darting Jet Skis dodged the more graceful vessels, throwing up rooster tails of water behind them. Seagulls wheeled and squalled overhead. The massive form of the SS
Osikiyas
, once a passenger steamship that plied the Great Lakes, now a tourist attraction, maritime museum, and a venue for private functions, sat in its permanent berth, its keel resting on the riverbed, presiding benevolently over them all.