Once they had completed what seemed like reams of paperwork, giving a decidedly non-Wesen slant to the slaughter and mass executions at the house in the woods, Nick and Hank stopped by Captain Renard’s office.
But before Nick could ask the question that had been bugging him, Sergeant Wu slipped past them and spread several newspapers across Renard’s desk.
“For your reading pleasure,” Wu said, then excused himself, leaving the two detectives alone with the Captain.
The newspapers featured lurid headlines in bold block type: SECRET BANQUETS SERVED HUMAN FLESH; MASS GRAVES EXPOSE CANNIBAL CULT; CAPTIVES FREED FROM “LIVESTOCK” PEN; SURVIVOR: “THEY WERE MONSTERS, WE WERE MEAT”; ROGUE CULT MEMBER SLAUGHTERS REST.
“Who was he?” Nick asked. “The Hundjager?”
“Traveled under a false identity,” Renard said. “Prints came back as belonging to Dominik Koertig, matching a second ID and passport we found in his hotel room safe. Quite the world traveler. Listed occupation is contractor. Let’s assume that’s a euphemism. Best guess? A freelance fixer hired by the Verrat to put an end to the Silver Plate Society. Not that they’ll ever admit it existed. They either found out when word of the flyers circulated or…”
“Ellen Crawford,” Hank guessed. “Never thought she was involved. When I saw her at the banquet, she looked out of place. And upstairs, she and her son must have squared off against the host, Widmark.”
“Blamed the society for her husband’s involvement and premature death,” Renard said, nodding in agreement. “Revenge is a powerful motive.”
“She sent an assassin,” Nick said. “Why go to the banquet?”
“It was personal with Widmark,” Hank surmised. “She wanted to kill him herself.”
“Frankly,” Renard said, “I’m glad none of them survived to get processed through the system. Lets us spin our own narrative. Explaining a cannibal cult is bad enough. And the human survivors, imprisoned in the basement, witnessed little. They believe the butcher wore a fright mask.”
“Might hold up with the press,” Nick said, “but there’s no mask at the site.”
Renard shrugged. “Evidence destroyed during the raid.”
Nick nodded, trying to take comfort in knowing they’d saved some lives, without forgetting all those who had suffered and perished for a barbaric feasting ritual. Some families would get to experience joyful reunions with their missing loved ones. As for the rest, once the remaining bones were identified they would have closure, if nothing else. Maybe they would find solace in that.
* * *
That evening Nick and Hank stopped at a local bar for an after-work drink. When Nick had knocked back the last of his beer, he looked at his partner, sitting on the stool next to him. Hank looked spooked, as if he had just woken from a particularly disturbing nightmare.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Could’ve been worse,” Hank said, taking the last sip of his bourbon and spinning the ice cubes around the bottom of the glass. Smiling, he shook his head. “And my cast made it through in one piece.”
“Ever regret having a Grimm for a partner?”
“Not at all,” Hank said, pushing the glass away and reaching for his crutches. “In this strange new world, who better to have my back?”
* * *
Later, at Monroe’s house, Nick and the Blutbad prepared for a double date with Juliette and Rosalee. Nick checked the time and saw they had a few minutes before they needed to head to Juliette’s place. Monroe came down the stairs, looking less than comfortable in a brown suit, white shirt and jade-green necktie.
“So Juliette managed to snag a reservation for four at Escapade?” he asked as he tugged and adjusted the knot in his tie.
“Yes,” Nick said. “So I’d better recover my appetite in a hurry.”
“Completely understand,” Monroe said, flashing a sympathetic grimace. “I hear they offer an extensive vegetarian menu.”
“That’s what I’m told,” Nick said. “Are you okay with that?”
“Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You weren’t tempted?” Nick asked. “To really fall off the wagon?”
Nick retained some residual guilt over pushing Monroe into a close encounter with the cannibal Wesen. He’d really had no choice—it had been their only chance to save Hank and the other captives. But he knew Monroe sometimes struggled to stay reformed, and Nick had chosen to disregard that for the greater good.
“Tempted, sometimes,” Monroe said seriously. “But not by that naked barbarism. If anything, I’m more dedicated to the reformed lifestyle than ever.”
“Glad to hear it,” Nick said.
“And, believe it or not,” Monroe added, “I actually enjoy Pilates.”