Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) (8 page)

Based on the bulldog’s smirk, I knew he directed that last bit toward me, but it was an unneeded jab. I was a master of efficiency—mostly because I delegated as much of the grunt work to others as I could. But I don’t think that’s what he meant…

12

Shay and I headed downstairs to the dungeon, which, despite persistent rumors to the contrary, wasn’t a
real
dungeon, populated with the emaciated remains of poor saps who’d never made bail and the Captain’s own staunchest adversaries. Not that I’d explored the underground portions of the precinct to their fullest, mind you, but if the rumors held even a shred of truth, surely I would’ve been one of the first to be shackled and imprisoned for my gross insubordination.

Rather, ‘the dungeon’ encompassed the precinct’s morgue, so named for its complete lack of natural light, musty smell, and overall cheery atmosphere. Oh, and the dead people. There were lots of dead people.

I shivered as we reached the bottom of the steps and gave my head a shake. “I don’t know how Cairny manages. Especially in the winter.”

“Well,” said Steele, “there are these things called sweaters…”

“Oh, come off it,” I said. “If it were you down here, you could throw on a half-dozen layers, and you’d still turn into a half-elf popsicle. Chances are they’d send me down with an ice pick to free you from the frost.”

We stepped into the morgue proper, a cavernous room sparsely filled with examination tables, surgical instruments, and coat racks pre-supplied with long, white coats. Cadaver vaults with shiny steel handles, stacked three high, lined the far wall—dozens of temporary homes for the recently living. The room smelled of lemon and industrial solvents, and the floors seemed shinier than I remembered. Either the janitor had just completed his bi-monthly visit, or Cairny had gotten bored and stooped to tasks far beneath her pay grade. Well…not
that
far. None of us public servants earned much.

Only one of the exam tables was currently in use, its occupant’s form shrouded by a pristine white sheet. I guessed it had to be Lanky, based on the size of the body. Of Cairny, however, I saw neither hide nor hair. I’d hoped to inquire if she’d had time to examine the corpse yet. Our leads were limited, but a confirmation of blunt force trauma as the method by which Lanky had been slain would go a long way toward confirming our theory involving Private Delvesdeep and Sergeant Timmy.

I glanced at Shay. “So…where’s Cairny, I wonder?”

“Why do you assume I know?” she said. “I came down with you, remember?”

“Well, you’re friends and all,” I offered. “Plus there’s that prescient insight of yours.”

“That’ll never get old, will it?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe she’s warming her hands by a roaring fire?” said Steele.

I grunted, doubtful. The Captain would never spring for firewood.

After a lengthy circuit of the precinct that had us visit the lonelier portions of the dungeon and the holding cells, not to mention the building’s second and third floors, Shay and I eventually returned to the pit, whereupon we spotted Cairny lounging on a couch in the break room, Quinto’s wide frame and smiling, brick-toothed mug at her side.

“There you are,” I said as I walked through the doorway.

“Hey Daggers,” she said, and then as she eyed Steele, “Looking good, bestie. I like the jacket.”

“Thanks,” said Shay. “The color’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

Cairny nodded, which I found amusing given her own closet probably resembled a mortician’s. She rarely wore anything other than black, likely because the color paired so well with her long, jet-black hair and ivory skin, but today she’d decided to get
crazy
and wear a grey cowl neck sweater—points to Shay for calling that—which she’d matched with a pair of voluminous charcoal-colored pants that helped disguise her gangly legs. In the delicate fingers of her right hand she held a few thin cuts of deli meat sandwiched between slices of bread that appeared to have been trampled by a herd of large ruminating mammals.

“What in the world are you eating?” I asked.

Cairny stared at me with those large, vacant eyes of hers. “Roast beef. On white.”

“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “But what in the world happened to it? It looks so…sad.”

Shay pressed a hand against my arm and pointed at Cairny and Quinto. “Hold on. You guys heard that, right?”

“Heard what?” I asked.

“You,” she said, a look of triumph on her face. “You condemned a sandwich…
for its simplicity.”

I felt the heat rise in my face. “No, no, no. That’s not—”

“It’s true,” said Quinto. “I heard it. Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Was the big guy calling me horse-faced? “That’s not what I meant. I—”

“Oh, admit it,” said Shay with a smile. “Try as you might to fight it, your culinary tastes are changing. Soon enough you won’t even look twice at a sandwich unless it’s topped with melted cheese, crisp lettuce, and a housemade aioli.”

I wasn’t even sure what that last word meant, but I was too flustered to argue. Was Shay right? Were my tastes actually changing? And by
her
influence? By the gods, we weren’t even officially dating. What sorts of transformations could I expect if our relationship progressed to a more serious level?

I changed the subject. “Never you mind about that. The important question is, where have the two of you been?” I gestured at Cairny and Quinto and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, trying to make the action look risqué. “We looked all over for you.”

Cairny blinked. “And? You found us.”

I sighed and wiped a hand across my face. The subtleties of speech—and, in fact, regular humanoid interaction—were often lost on her. “Never mind. Have you had a chance to look at the body yet?”

“What body?” she asked.

I glanced at Quinto. “Didn’t you fill her in?”

The big guy nodded. “Yeah. It’s this case I was telling you about, Cairny. You remember, right? The one in the Delta district, with the dead hobo?”

“Oh. Right.” Cairny blinked. “Yes, well, I haven’t been around the crypt much today.”

“Too cold?” Shay gave me a sideways glance as she asked that.

Cairny shook her head. “I’ve simply had other things to attend to.”

“I’m sure you did.” I eyed Quinto and tried my eyebrow trick again, leaning in so that Cairny would be sure to notice.

She blinked and squinted at me, head slightly tilted to the side. “Pardon?”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know why I try. Look, do you mind accompanying us to the morgue to take a look at Lanky? We’re not exactly overflowing with leads, and your expertise could help clear up who committed the murder.”

Cairny glanced at Steele. “Lanky?”

“You know Daggers’ proclivity for witty nicknames,” she said. “Admittedly, this one’s not as inspired as most, but I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Cairny gave Quinto a pat on the shoulder. “Well…duty calls.”

“Oh, I’ll come,” said Quinto. “Not like I have anything else to do. But don’t tell the Captain that.”

The awkward pair stood, Cairny with sandwich still in hand.

“Wait,” I said. “You’re bringing that?”

“Why not?” The pale-skinned, fae-blooded coroner waved the layers of meat and bread in my face before taking a bite. “Does it bother you that I’d eat while inspecting cadavers?”

“Me?” I said. “I was thinking more him.”

I gestured at Quinto. He peered back at me quizzically.

“You know, because she might get cadaver breath,” I said.

More quizzical looks, from all present.

“Like, it might waft off the corpse. Or the smell of the room maybe. Get caught in the bread…”

Steele crossed her arms. “You’re really off today. Is there something going on I should know about?”

Apparently my encounter with Blue had rattled me more than I’d realized. Even my quips were falling flat. One more reason to dislike the guy.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get to the exam room before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

Nobody argued, and we headed down the stairs into the dungeon. As we reached Cairny’s workspace, I led the congregation toward the body.

“So, Cairny,” I said. “What we’re trying to confirm is whether our dead guy, Lanky, died of blunt force trauma or not. It seems pretty obvious he did, but that’s why we’ve got you around. Now, beyond that, the real question is, was there a murder weapon?”

Cairny stuck out the index finger of her sandwich-free hand. “Um, Daggers…”

“Now, now,” I said as I reached the side of the white sheet-draped body. “I know what you’re going to say. You need time to perform your investigation. I get it. But we don’t need a full report. If you could just tell us whether the guy was beaten to death by hand or with a murder weapon, that’ll do. If the latter, then better if you can give us some idea of the weapon, but you know.” I shrugged.

“No, Daggers,” said Cairny. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. It’s that—”

I ignored our coroner’s protests and flipped up the sheet. Then I blinked a few times.

13

A guy with a bloated, black and blue face, long sandy blond hair, and a thin moustache stared at the ceiling with dead eyes.

“Who the hell is this?” I asked.

Cairny joined me at my side. “A narc. A good one, by all accounts. Morales found him in his apartment yesterday afternoon, along with quite a bit of drug paraphernalia. Looks like he relapsed without anyone knowing. The evidence in his place was pretty damning, but Morales asked me to take a look at him. Make sure his death was an overdose and not something more nefarious disguised to look as such.”

“Ok…” I said slowly. “That’s a nice story. But what I meant was, where the hell is our stiff? Where’s Lanky?”

I glanced around the examination room, which stubbornly remained as empty as when I’d first entered it thirty minutes ago.

Cairny shrugged. “Beats me. As I said, I’ve been out most of the day.”

I glanced at Quinto, who stood next to Shay with his hands in his pockets and a puzzled expression on his face.

“Well?” I asked.

The big guy met my eyes. “You talking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to the enormous lug behind you who’s also wearing an oversized purple duster,” I said. “Didn’t you help Phillips bring Lanky back to the precinct?”

“Well, yes and no,” he said.

I rolled my fingers in the air. “The no part being?”

“I accompanied Phillips and the stiff back to the station,” said Quinto, “but I didn’t help bring the body to the morgue. I let Phillips and those other beat cops take care of it. I figured they would.” He scratched his head.

“Really?” I said. “You’re the size of a small barge, and you made other people do the heavy lifting?”

“Just because I
can
do something doesn’t mean I relish it,” he said. “Honestly, do you have any idea how often people ask me to help them move?”

I planted my hands on my hips and shook my head. “I can’t believe that Phillips character…”

Steele pointed a stern finger in my direction. “You be nice to him, now.”

“What?” I said. “What did I do?”

“You were unnecessarily mean to him back at the crime scene,” said Shay. “You know as well as I do there was nothing he could’ve done to prevent that sergeant major from taking charge of the army enlistees. I’m sure whatever happened here, he’s not to blame.”

I grunted. Steele was far more trusting than I. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll do my best to be nice.” Which was a clever way of hedging my bets in case the eager beaver had done something
really
stupid. “Now why don’t we find Phillips to see what exactly
did
happen.”

Cairny stayed behind, citing the need to get back to work on the ragged narc, but Quinto joined us as we embarked on our second straight tour of the precinct grounds. After not finding Phillips anywhere, I stopped by the Captain’s office and asked the bulldog for his beat. With the information in hand, I grudgingly stepped back outside, mentally preparing my feet for the long journey that was sure to follow. Before I’d even taken three steps up 5
^th
Street, however, I heard a few chuckles and guffaws, as well as a voice: Phillips’, coming from nearby.

We found our prey in the alley adjacent to the station, chatting with a pair of other bluecoats, one of whom took a long draught from a briar pipe and puffed the smoke out of the corner of his lips.

“Phillips!” I said. “Where the hell have you been!”

Thankfully for Phillips, he wasn’t the one sucking on the pipe, otherwise the thing might’ve gone flying.

“Daggers! Sir,” he said as he came to attention. “What can I do for you?”

Steele dug her fingers into my side and whispered in my ear. “Remember. Be nice.”

I forced myself to take a deep breath before continuing. “The body, Phillips. What happened to it?”

“The body, sir?”

“Yes,” I said. “Lanky. The corpse from the crime scene this morning. With the hair and the beard and the noticeable funk. I understand you brought it back to the precinct alongside Detective Quinto.” I jerked my thumb in the big guy’s direction, who did his best to block out the sun at the alley’s mouth. “Where is it?”

“I…delivered it,” said Phillips.

“Where?” I asked.

“To the morgue.”

“Our
morgue?”

“Of course.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you
sure
about that?”

I flinched as Steele’s claws dug into my ribcage.

Phillips’ lips flattened as he pushed them together, but other than that he did a good job of hiding his displeasure. “Absolutely. Ask Poundstone, or the other beat cop who helped us out. Whatever his name is. Ferguson, I think.”

I frowned, but I also kept my composure—thanks in large part to Shay and her needlelike fingers. “Perhaps you could show us exactly where you left it?”

Phillips nodded and pushed his way past me and the living wall of muscle that constituted Quinto. We followed him back inside the precinct, down the stairs, and into the morgue, where we found Cairny slicing into the narc’s throat with a wicked-looking scalpel.