Crowbones

CHAPTER 73

Grimshaw

Earthday, Novembros 4

Grimshaw gave himself a moment to catch his breath and take stock, decided a visit to Doc Wallace was needed but could wait, and rolled away from Julian and Ilya before trying to stand up.

Ilya was on his feet—if you could say that about someone who was mostly a column of smoke. The grief was expected. So was the rage. But Grimshaw didn’t think the Sanguinati leader had taken it all in yet.

Checking that the safety was still on, he holstered his service weapon before holding out a hand to Julian, who seemed to need help getting to his feet.

“I could have saved him,” Ilya snarled at Julian.

“No,” Julian replied. “As soon as Karol entered that building, you couldn’t save him. You weren’t meant to save anyone.”

“Chief!” Osgood shouted as he ran toward them. “Chief, are you . . . ? Gods, you’re bleeding!”

Grimshaw checked his hands, relieved that he hadn’t ripped them up when he fell. Then he looked down and saw the right pant leg turning wet and red around the knee. “It’ll keep.” But not for long. That much blood meant it wasn’t a minor scrape.

Sirens. Volunteer Fire Department and EMTs responding.

“Osgood, get around to Main Street and stop anyone from going into that building. And call the utilities. We have to get those shut off ASAP.” Grimshaw turned to Ilya, who was pointedly not looking at his knee—or the rhythmic gush of blood that the trousers couldn’t hide. “Would it be safe for someone like Air or Earth to check out that building? Could they be harmed if there is another explosion?”

“It will take too long for Officer Osgood to get back to Main Street,” Ilya said. “I’ve contacted Boris. He will convey your order to stay out of the building while Officer Osgood makes the telephone calls. I will ask the Elementals if any of them are willing to assist.”

Grimshaw nodded. “Thank you.”

Multiple screams followed by an anguished cry that turned into a terrified caw.

A swath of grass divided the paved lot where they stood from the lot next door, but a chest-high wooden fence formed the boundary for the lot beyond that. The screams and cry had come from behind that fence.

Ignoring his knee since he hadn’t lost any mobility—at least none that he felt at the moment—Grimshaw ran to the lane and turned left, sensing Osgood and Julian behind him. He wasn’t sure where Ilya was until the Sanguinati shouted, “Here!”

He ran into the parking area of another supposedly reclaimed store a couple of doors away from the explosion and stumbled to a halt.

Gods above and below.

He recognized the faces. They were three of the boys who had come to The Jumble on Trickster Night. They were the boys Paige and Dominique had told him were in the flea market storefront just minutes ago.

Maybe all of them had snuck out of the store minutes after the Xaviers came to the station and had waited in that other parking area for him to come over and check out the store. But he didn’t think so. Because of the fence, the boys couldn’t have seen the area behind their store any better than he could have seen them. Not without being visible. At least one of them would have needed to know who had taken the bait before bolting out of the store just ahead of the explosion and then hiding with his friends to watch the success of their plan.

But something else had been hiding behind that fence. Waiting.

Between their screams and his running down the lane to reach them . . .

Something incredibly strong and incredibly fast had done this—as fast as the kill on Trickster Night at The Jumble. All three teenage boys were gutted, their torsos hollowed out. And the Crow . . . The lower legs and feet were almost human size but looked like a Crow—and they had been severed and dropped on the pile of organs that had been scooped out of the human bodies.

“They’re each missing a finger,” Ilya said. “Including the Crow.”

Grimshaw wasn’t sure if the Sanguinati’s eerie calm indicated genuine control or shock. He knew what he’d call it if Ilya were human.

“Air doesn’t think there is another exploding device,” Ilya reported. “But she doesn’t know what such a thing would look like if it’s mixed with the debris. She thinks it is safe in a dangerous way for humans to enter the building.”

“In other words, there aren’t more bombs, but the building could collapse,” Grimshaw said.

Ilya nodded. “Air informed Boris, and he has conveyed that information to Officer Osgood and the emergency people.” He looked pointedly at the ground near Grimshaw’s feet. “You need to see the human bodywalker.”

Grimshaw looked down and watched blood drip from his pant leg onto the ground.

Crap.

The adrenaline rush faded, leaving him shaky and cold. He couldn’t afford to go down. For one thing, Osgood didn’t have enough experience to handle all of this alone. For another, he wasn’t putting the rookie in the position of facing off with whatever had killed those three teens and the Crow.

“I’d better see Doc Wallace.” Grimshaw looked at Julian. “You should too.” He focused on Ilya. “And you should get checked out by whoever looks after your people.”

Ilya nodded, then said, “Air wants your people to know that there are two bodies in the wreckage. Only one is Sanguinati.”

Do yourself and whoever does your laundry a favor and stay off that leg until those gouges in your knee have a chance to start clotting. Otherwise you’ll be walking around the village looking like a horror movie extra.

Doc Wallace hadn’t minced words when he’d arrived at the station with his medical bag. He’d been efficient about cleaning out the wounds, muttering that, considering the impact of knee on pavement, Grimshaw was lucky that no bones were broken and nothing inside the knee was torn. As Doc put away his supplies, he said he’d be back in a couple of hours to replace the bandages since they would need replacing by then—a not-so-subtle message that Grimshaw shouldn’t shrug off the injury just because it looked small and dealing with it would be inconvenient.

Julian was banged up and had inflamed tendons or some such thing and should use cold packs on his shoulders. Doc recommended taking it easy but said it was okay for Julian to open the bookstore.

Ilya and Boris had retreated to the Sanguinati office above the police station after checking on Viktor, who asked to remain at the station and help out.

Paige and Dominique returned to the boardinghouse, shaken.

As Grimshaw drank coffee and waited for the over-the-counter painkiller to kick in, he thought about Sproing and The Jumble and killings that produced a gut-deep fear in him and everyone else who had seen the bodies. If this was the work of Crowbones—and he believed it was—he could understand why even the Elders who were a human’s nightmare wouldn’t want to tangle with this particular Hunter.

He understood why Aggie and Jozi had freaked when they thought they saw the Crowgard bogeyman on Trickster Night.

But how to reconcile the savagery of the kills with the warning rattle that had stopped them just beyond the blast radius and saved their lives?

And what would Stavros Sanguinati have to say about all of this?

Samuel Kipp walked into the station, gave Grimshaw a sour look, then settled in the visitor’s chair.

“By all the dark gods, you’re making my team earn their pay,” Kipp growled.

“I wish it wasn’t necessary,” Grimshaw replied. The past couple of days were catching up to him and he suspected he’d lost more blood than he wanted to admit. And he hadn’t needed Doc to point out that not moving his right knee meant not driving—and that was a damn inconvenience right now. “Want some coffee?”

Kipp shook his head. “We got coffee and sandwiches from the diner. Told them to put the bill on the station’s tab.”

“Good.”

Kipp rubbed at a spot on his pant leg. Grimshaw waited.

“The body at the Mill Creek Cabins. You guessed right about Edward Janse being killed by a human. Big hunting knife from the looks of it, and maybe more than one killer, but the ME will have to say officially. We saw a bit of that kind of crazy last year in Bristol when human males in their late teens or early twenties were using gone over wolf. You need that kind of pumped-up aggression to be that savage when you’re killing another person. As for the other kills . . .” Kipp scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’d guess sickle or a scythe blade combined with a short handle. Probably the scythe, going by the look of the wounds. This is one pissed-off terra indigene, but why use a human tool? Why not use fangs or claws?”

“Not how this particular Elder operates,” Grimshaw replied.

“You sure it’s an Elder?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Then you’re in deep shit.”

“Yeah, I know. What about the bodies found in the building?”

“The Sanguinati boy . . .” Kipp shook his head. “He must have been shifting back to human form when he got caught in the blast. We gathered what we could recognize. I handled that part personally. Figured that was another case of making sure the team doesn’t know more than it’s safe for them to know. An ME would have to confirm, but that other body didn’t die in the blast.”

“Dead before? That makes sense. Paige and Dominique Xavier commented on the store smelling like something had died in it.”

“Dead before,” Kipp agreed. “Killed by a hatchet embedded in his head. He looks to be the right age to be your missing teen. I think I should take this teen, along with Edward Janse’s body, back to Bristol for a full autopsy. Maybe something will be found that will help you identify who provided the provocation behind all these killings.”

Grimshaw felt relieved that Kipp had phrased it that way—especially when there was no way of knowing if an Elemental was listening in. “Be sure to have them tested for drugs, especially Edward Janse.”

“Will do.” Kipp pushed out of the chair. “We’re about done here, and my men would like to go home—if we can get home.” He paused before adding, “Try not to get blown up. You’re the ringmaster trying to control a circus of crazy, and the humans in this village would have a much harder time if you weren’t here.”

“I’m not the only ringmaster,” Grimshaw said.

“That’s true—you’re not. But you and Ilya Sanguinati were both out there today, and I don’t know if it’s sunk in yet just how close you were to getting caught by the blast.”

“It’s sunk in.” A lot of things were sinking in. “Thanks for the help.”

“Stop the killing, Wayne. Stop it while there is still a chance that people like you and me can stop it.”

“I’ll do my best. Let me know if you have trouble getting back to Bristol. If you’re stuck, I’ll talk to Vicki DeVine about having you and your team stay at The Jumble. She’s full up with guests, but . . .”

“Sleeping bags and travel kits are standard equipment these days when we get a call from Lake Silence.” Kipp gave Grimshaw a half wave and walked out.

It wasn’t until Grimshaw got up to relieve himself that he realized he hadn’t seen Viktor in a while.

He called Ineke Xavier and emphasized that Paige and Dominique weren’t to blame for the explosion. If they hadn’t come in to tell him about that flea market, which he was sure was a front for something else, someone else would have. Or he would have received an anonymous tip that would have brought him and Ilya to that store to investigate. It was a trap, and nothing that happened was the Xavier women’s fault.

He called Vicki DeVine to get a tally on her guests and helpers.

He called Captain Hargreaves to give the Bristol captain a rundown of what was happening—and to confirm that Kipp and the CIU team were still in one piece.

Then he called Stavros Sanguinati to confirm they would be meeting tonight.

By the time he ended that call, Viktor had returned to the front room of the station and sat on the chair at the computer desk.

“You okay?” Grimshaw asked. The boy wasn’t okay, but he was alive and unhurt, and that was a place to start.

“You told us the teaching story about what can happen when young police don’t follow orders,” Viktor said. “You told us, and Julian told Karol to stay in the bookstore. Why didn’t he stay?”

That was one of the questions he wanted answered, but not by this youngster.

“And Kira . . .”

“Is fine. She’s fine, Viktor. She’s at The Jumble with Vicki.”

“But someone said she was in that building, calling for help.”

“A recording,” Grimshaw said. “Bait for a trap. Not the real girl.” He waited a moment for that to sink in. “Who told you Kira was in the building? Another terra indigene using that silent communication you all can do?”

Viktor shook his head and pointed to the phone on Grimshaw’s desk. “Phone call. Male voice. Didn’t recognize it, but I wouldn’t recognize human voices but yours, Officer Osgood’s, and Julian Farrow’s.” He paused. “And Miss Vicki’s, of course, but the voice was definitely male.”

Just because Viktor hadn’t recognized the voice didn’t mean he hadn’t heard the voice before. Which didn’t eliminate any of Vicki’s guests or the remaining professor staying at the Mill Creek Cabins. “What did you say in response to that information?”

“I said I would give you the message, that I was manning the phones and couldn’t leave the station. But he kept insisting that I had to help Kira. He sounded . . . distraught. When I insisted that I couldn’t leave, he hung up.”

“Anything else? Did you hear any sounds in the background? Cars going by, or music playing, people talking?” He waited a beat. “Bobcat singing?”

“Caterwauling, you mean?”

Grimshaw smiled at the boy’s effort to make a joke. “Yeah, that.”

Viktor shook his head. “I told Paige and Dominique what the man said and was about to contact Ilya—I figured it would be faster and you might turn off your mobile phone so you wouldn’t give away your location—when Paige saw Karol run out of the bookstore and head in the direction of the flea market building. So I contacted Karol instead, told him we were supposed to stay put. He said Kira was in trouble and needed him to save her, and he knew where she was.”

“Do you think there was enough time in between your hanging up and Karol running out for him to receive a similar call? Something that might have provoked him into acting?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

If whoever had made those calls wanted a Sanguinati in that building at the time of the explosion, would the second call have been made if the first call had produced the desired response? He’d had the impression that Karol was the more impulsive of the two males. Would the boy have hesitated, thought things through long enough for the person to make another call and try to lure Viktor to the scene? Why involve either boy? The cry for help was aimed at Ilya, by name.

The timing was off in Viktor’s account of what had happened. If Karol had left the bookstore when he and Ilya and the other two men had been in the lane moving toward the storefront, why hadn’t he been in the store when Boris entered? Why was Paige the only one to see Karol when Boris had been watching the street by then? Of course, he had only Viktor’s word that Paige had seen anything.

Had there been a phone call to the station? Or had luring Karol into that building been part of someone’s plan all along?

He put those questions aside for a time when a predator wasn’t paying close attention to his heartbeat and breathing.

“Did Karol have . . . romantic . . . feelings for Kira?” That would explain some of the hasty decision to rush in, regardless of when the phone call had been made. Would Ilya have allowed himself to be delayed by the human caution of a police officer and Julian’s Intuit gift if Natasha’s voice was on the recording?

What was the difference between Natasha and Kira? Age? Access? Location? Even if she’d been in serious danger, he couldn’t see Natasha making that damsel-in-distress cry for help, and maybe that had been the deciding factor. Had someone convinced Kira to make that recording as another prank? If that was the case, who had done it—and when?

“We don’t have those kinds of feelings for one of our own until we’re mature enough to be a mate,” Viktor said.

He doubted that. “It’s my understanding that adult Sanguinati are very good at kissing, so you all must practice with someone,” he said, making sure his voice conveyed that he was teasing.

Viktor eyed him warily. “You should talk to Ilya about that.”

“Fair enough.”

“Should I check e-mails now?”

“Sure. Do that.” Grimshaw knew it was an excuse to retreat from the conversation. That was fine with him. He was going to have to listen to plenty of people before the day ended.