Erin closed the door to the office behind her and leaned against it. She let out a long breath of air, the tightness in her chest easing.
It had happened again. Matt going off the rails, moving in scary and inhuman ways, losing himself to his berserker side. He’d hauled himself out of it by his bootstraps before it went too far, but that didn’t really help Erin feel any better about the situation. Usually, at least in her experience, when he went to the dark side, it was because something extraordinary pushed him over. Mercy’s vampire nature overwhelming him, or a personal threat to him or Mercy, or some big Old World—or other world—creature attack. Never had she seen him lose it because of something so mundane, so human, as one guy punching another.
Was tonight an anomaly? Perhaps brought on by taking over Mercy’s body? Or was it a side of him she’d not seen before?
Wearily, Erin pushed off the door and walked past Ivan’s empty desk, trailing a finger over its edge. It was too late for him to have been in the office, even if he’d been in the country. After the murder of his partner’s cousin a couple of months back, Ivan had wanted to take Brad on a holiday. So, finally, they were off on a South Pacific cruise. They’d been gone a week already, and weren’t due home for another week. Erin received emails every day, though. The cruise was doing its trick, letting them unwind and get over the trauma. At least that was what the photos Ivan sent showed.
Erin was happy they were having a great time, but she missed Ivan. She missed his sleepy-eyed presence in the morning, the lunchtime excitement and the beer-o’clock jitters. Missed him screening her calls to weed out the weird and fanciful. Really missed his attention to the paperwork and filing. Most of all, though, she just missed him. Having someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off, to offer up occasionally ludicrous theories on whatever case they had.
It was lonely in the office without him.
Erin sat at her desk and turned the computer on. While she was waiting for it to fire up, she called Courey back.
“Tell me you weren’t involved in that mess on Queen Street,” he greeted her with.
Hedging, Erin said, “I was at least a hundred feet away.”
Detective Miles Courey, her contact with the police and a possible friend, if they could ever have a conversation that didn’t deteriorate into name calling or angry demands for information, growled low in his throat. “You’ll be the death of me, McRea. I swear. What the hell were you doing there?”
“It’s a job, Courey. The victim was my mark. I had a watch on him.”
The less she said about Matt and Mercy’s involvement the better. Courey had encountered them on the investigation into Gerry Davis’ murder and hadn’t formed a good impression. Hindered by his assumption Matt was to blame for every weird thing that happened in Brisbane—which, to be fair, was a not entirely baseless hypothesis—Courey was always about two eye-twitches away from hauling Matt off to jail.
After a few inarticulate mutters, Courey asked, “What’s your client’s interest in the vic? I’m not actually on the case so I only know the bare minimum, which is he got his head caved in.”
“His name’s Sean Carey,” Erin explained as she brought up the active case file on her computer. “He works at the Centenary Park Zoo. They had a break in a week ago.”
“Right.” Courey snorted. “The monkey caper.”
Erin grimaced. “Yeah, the monkey caper. He was an initial suspect but the police cleared him. The zoo owner, however, has ongoing suspicions. Mr Thistlethwaite hired me to look into him further.”
“Okay, your interest seems legit.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Erin said dryly.
“Is Thistlethwaite a contender for tonight’s splatter fest?”
The gallows humour was one of the things Erin didn’t miss from the police force. “I don’t believe so. He doesn’t strike me as homicidal and seems genuinely dedicated to discovering who stole the monkeys. I doubt he’d act on his suspicions without proof, and if he did, he wouldn’t be so violent about it.”
“We’ll check him all the same.” He said it with a tone that suggested he trusted Erin’s impression, regardless. “I’m guessing you’re going to bug me about this case.”
“Miles,” she said with mild shock. “Do I ever bother you? Unnecessarily?”
She could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Every day, darl. Every bloody day. All right, if you have more questions, I’ll see what I can do for you. Not promising anything, mind.”
“You’re a doll, Courey.”
He chuckled. “Isn’t that my line?” He hung up before she could retort.
Smiling, Erin put down the phone and entered tonight’s events into the case file. As she typed up Sean’s death, she had to wonder how she was going to proceed from this point forward. From what Matt had relayed, Sean had definitely stolen the nine squirrel monkeys from the zoo. A couple more minutes and Erin would have learned the identity of ‘this guy’ who’d paid Sean to do it. That man would be suspect number one. Of course, Courey was also right. Thistlethwaite would have to be ruled out as well. He was passionate about finding his monkeys, and despite Erin’s feeling he wouldn’t resort to murder, he had motive.
She was lost in thought when the phone rang again. Idly thinking it might be Matt, she answered with a distracted, “Find anything?”
There was a protracted pause, and then, “McRea.”
A shiver went down Erin’s spine. “Sol,” she said.
Angelo Sol, owner and CEO of Sol Investigations, her nominal boss, didn’t call all that often. He was in the habit of trusting his local investigators in each of his branch offices, often stating he hired the best and expected nothing but the best from them. Usually, he was a good boss, meaning he kept his nose out of Erin’s methods and dispensed pay cheques and bonuses with a minimum of fuss. At other times, he scared her to the point of making her want to quit. One of those times had been the Veilchen case, the one that had thrown her head first into the dark, deadly world of vampires, werewolves, demons, ghouls and whatever other nasties were out there. Sol had been quiet since then, leaving her alone. She only supposed it was time he interfere again.
Mind skipping over all the potential jobs she’d rejected lately, looking for one he could pull her up over, Erin asked, “To what pleasure do I owe the call?”
“Don’t fear, McRea,” he said in a tone as far from reassuring as it could get and not venture into the realms of downright threat. “I’m not calling for anything bad.”
Then why call and scare the hell out of her at this time of night?
She carefully didn’t say that, however. “Oh?” Could it be a bonus? For what, though? Every case lately had been minor and about as exciting as snapping shots of adultering husbands with their mistresses.
“I just wished to pass on a name for you to keep in mind.” His accent wandered across a lot of southern Europe from one word to the next. Erin had long since given up trying to pinpoint him to one locale, settling on ‘Mediterranean’. “If you come across this person in your city, I’d like to be informed.”
“Okay,” Erin said, grabbing a pen and notebook. Of all of Sol’s odd requests, this was a first. “Is it someone of interest to another branch’s investigation?”
“Not precisely,” Sol said smoothly. “This is more of a… personal matter. I’m simply interested in this particular person’s movements. I have every branch on the lookout for him. Can I rely on you, McRea?”
An otherwise innocuous question, but said with a weight that was palpable on Erin’s shoulders. This was why she didn’t like it when Sol intruded on her work. How a man half a world away could make her want to hide under her bed was beyond her, and yet it happened every single time—usually instigated with an innocent question like ‘how are you?’ or ‘how’s your husband?’, or ‘can I rely on you?’. Sol had the ability to load a question so heavily it cut through her head like a lead projectile fired point-blank.
Swallowing the lump of dread in her throat, Erin croaked out, “Of course. What’s the name?”
“Randy Devantier.” He spelled the surname for her.
“Any distinguishing features?” she asked, falling into the old routine.
“None. Six feet four, dark hair, blue eyes, Texan.”
Erin jotted it all down. “Right. Any known associates in town? Hobbies? Reason he might come here?”
“No known associates, no hobbies and as for why he might go there, you don’t need to know that. Just keep an eye out for him. If he’s going to show up, it’ll be in the next couple of days.”
Frowning at the phone, Erin said, “Brisbane’s not exactly a small town, Sol. There’s a lot of people here. If I have no idea about why he might come here how do I have any chance of learning if he does show up?”
Sol laughed and Erin’s stomach clenched in sudden anxiety.
“If Devantier arrives, you won’t need to look for him. I’m sure you will end up running into him one way or another. Just let me know if he does appear.”
Before she could question that, even if she had the mental wherewithal to phrase it, Sol hung up.
For several minutes, Erin wasn’t sure what had made her stomach churn more. The sight of Sean’s head exploding, or Sol’s phone call.
She wouldn’t be any sort of investigator if she didn’t have questions about her employer’s strangeness. It wasn’t just that he could deliver a dose of the heebie-jeebies over a long distance call, or that he had an almost preternatural sense for knowing when she was having a good run and exactly how to disrupt it. No, it was more than that.
Eight months ago, he’d forced her to take Heather Veilchen’s case after Erin had sent the aloof woman and her quest for a violent thief packing. That case had introduced her to Matt Hawkins, Mercy Belique and the grim reality of vampires and other supernatural monsters. The report she’d filed on the resultant mess should have seen her fired. Well, in fact, it had. But moments later, she’d been rehired and given a pay rise. But Sol had never questioned her about the half-arsed explanations she’d given for all the weird crap that had happened. No police captain she’d ever known would have accepted ‘diseased dog’ as a suitable excuse for the mangled remains of a werewolf, or ‘discharged myself without supervising physician’s knowledge’ as for why she’d disappeared from a hospital bed hours after a traumatic fight with said ‘diseased dog’. If he’d been that keen on Veilchen as a returning client, Sol should never have been silent when she said ‘the client refused contact and left town without paying her account’, code for ‘decapitated on a mountain top’.
If Sol was any sort of normal boss, he should have demanded a more thorough report. He hadn’t. Which had left Erin wondering.
After a couple of months, she’d let it go. Work continued as normal, as did the world around her. Sol kept his distance, people kept cheating on their spouses or skimming profits or requiring background checks on potential employees. Sol’s odd reaction faded from her concerns.
Now they were back in full force.
Who was this Randy Devantier that Sol was so interested in him? How could Sol be so certain she would encounter him if he showed up?
The whole thing had the feeling of the Veilchen affair and Erin didn’t like that.
Still, she entered the details into a new case file and committed the name and description to memory.
The ring of her phone sent her heart rocketing around inside her chest.
Gasping in shock, Erin answered, “Sol Investigations, Erin McRea speaking.”
“Good, you’re still awake,” Courey growled.
Letting out a long breath, Erin dropped her head into her hand. “God, it’s just you. You scared the life out of me.”
“Who were you expecting?” he asked curiously.
“No one,” she muttered. “What do you want?”
Grunting sourly, Courey said, “To get in before you could needle me for information. Search of the rooftop of the building where the boy got splattered came up negative. No sign of who might have dropped the brick or whatever on the kid. No break and entry on any of the rooms overlooking the bistro, either. Unless the perp hovered over the street in a balloon, this one’s going in the ‘what the fuck’ files.”
Hopefully Matt could get Mercy up there and find something. “Thanks for letting me know. I really do appreciate it.”
There was a cautious pause, then, “You sound shaky, Erin. Anything wrong?”
What wasn’t wrong? A young man died in an incredibly violent way right in front of her. She had precisely zero leads left on her current case. A friend nearly beat someone twice his size into the ground. Her boss was making her skin crawl and she was sitting alone in a dark office when she should be at home with her husband.
“I’m fine,” she said to Courey. “The phone ringing just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “The vic’s scheduled for cut up early in the a.m. Carver’s back from overseas, so the autopsies are actually getting done in a decent amount of time, not just piling up while the ring-in dithers about with silly things like being neat. I’ll let you know what I can, when I can.”
“That’d be great.” Though Erin wouldn’t be waiting for Courey’s report on the autopsy. She knew Dr Carver well enough a discreet call in the morning would help her along more than anything Courey might get to her.
“Right. I’m going to bed now. Probably best you head that way yourself.”
She assured him she would, touched by the underlying, if gruff, care in his words, then hung up.
Courey was right, though. She should probably give up for tonight. Go home, get a decent sleep and start fresh in the morning. Instead, she began going through the names of the employees at the Centenary Park Zoo, looking for anyone who might have a grudge against Sean Carey.