It was all I had time to say before they hustled me down the hallway.
* * *
* * *
They put me in the back of a vehicle, drove me to the former brick factory that now housed the OMB office. No one spoke. Theo gave me a nod, but otherwise made no contact.
I wasn’t angry, not yet. But the dread was heavy. I knew Theo and Yuen, trusted them both. I didn’t know Robinson, and I didn’t trust the AAM. I had trouble believing the AAM would sacrifice one of their own to frame me, but I didn’t know of any other motive. If the AAM was behind this, they’d morphed from accusing me of breaking their rules to flat-out murder. What wouldn’t they do to punish me?
We drove through the gate to the complex of brick buildings, fronted by a small parking lot for any humans or Sups who might find their way to the offices. The vehicle stopped in front. Detective Robinson helped me out of the car and kept a firm grip on my arm as she escorted me through the lobby, the receptionist wide-eyed, and into a narrow hallway to an interview room.
I’d been in the interview rooms before, had sat at the aluminum table with Theo to question Sups who’d been accused of causing trouble, or had accused someone else.
Other than the table, the two-way glass that led to the observation room, and the caged overhead lights, the room was empty. It was grim and functional, and not designed to put the interviewee at ease. It was effective that way.
I took the chair that perpetrators had occupied during my prior visits, tried to roll the tightness out of my shoulder; Gwen and Theo came in, took the chairs opposite me. Roger Yuen was apparently going to sit out the discussion. Maybe, I thought ruefully, because he was my employer.
Gwen was in the seat I usually filled, and that was another pinch around my heart. She’d brought in a file folder, dropped it onto the table.
Might as well get this started, I thought. “I don’t need an attorney. And I’ll answer any questions you like.” And I was aware of the privilege that let me do that without further worry. “But I didn’t kill Blake. I’ve only seen him twice—at my door two nights ago, and last night at the Grove. I don’t know who killed him.”
“Tell us about the night they came to your door,” Gwen said.
“We’d had a party, and most everyone had left. Him, Levi, and . . .” I closed my eyes, trying to remember the name of the woman. “Sloan,” I remembered. “Blake was an ass. Sloan tried to smooth it over. Or that was the role she played.”
“Good cop,” Gwen said.
I nodded.
“And after that?”
“At the Grove,” I said again. I had a feeling I’d be saying lots of things twice. But I was still numb to my anger. For now there was only misery and disgust. “How was he killed?”
“Decapitated,” Gwen said. And with a considering look at me, flipped open the folder and spread the photographs it contained on the table.
I drew one toward me with a fingertip, and studied death.
His body lay sprawled on a floor of gold-flecked stone, his arms and legs spread. As promised, his head had been removed and lay a few feet away, eyes open wide, as if shocked by the situation in which he’d found himself. Blood was everywhere, in great dark pools, in splatters across the floor and the stone wall. Some had been smeared, maybe by the killer, maybe by a crime scene investigator. There was a coldness to it—not just because of the gruesomeness. Blake had been murdered, dropped, and left there in the pool of his own blood. The killer had simply walked away.
I looked up, found both gazes on me. Watching. Considering. Evaluating my reaction. I’d seen death, had sent vampires into its bony hands, its wicked care. I didn’t look for opportunities to kill, and regretted the need for it. I pitied his death, the insult of leaving him sprawled on the floor like garbage. But I didn’t know him and found it hard to muster sympathy.
For me, for the city, for Carlie, I had plenty. My anger was growing now, sparked by the waste of life and the real possibility the AAM was bringing more trouble than they’d revealed to me. That made it imperative I help find who’d killed him, and keep them from hurting anyone else.
I pulled the other photographs nearer, the same bloody visual but from different angles, and frowned down at them. Something was missing. There was no visible katana, but he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Casual clothing, so he may not have worn the scabbard anyway.
Something else.
I closed my eyes, thought of the night they’d come to the door in their matching suits, and last night in their matching fatigues. And the one feature they’d apparently been allowed to personalize.
I opened my eyes again. “His pendant is gone.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “His what?”
I gestured to my neck. “He had a pendant necklace. Some kind of stone on a leather cord.”
“You noticed he was wearing jewelry?” she asked.
“It was unusual,” I said. “They all wear the same clothes—like uniforms. Suits the first night; combat gear the second. A few had on necklaces or pendants. They were noticeable against the sameness.”
“That’s good,” Theo said and earned a sharp look from Gwen, who’d no doubt wanted him to maintain at least the pretense of objectivity.
“We’ll look into it,” Gwen said noncommittally. “Do you notice anything else?”
“The killer used a sword,” I said. I knew what a katana could do.
“Based on the medical examiner’s preliminary opinion, yes. Long, single-sided blade. And wielded by someone with skill. One cut, and no indication there’d been any second thought, any hesitation. The cut would have shown it.”
Vampires liked bladed weapons, I thought. “Where was he killed?” I asked.
“Inside the Brass & Copper building.”
It was one of the city’s famous landmarks—a skyscraper of stone striped with brass and copper that stood on Michigan Avenue just south of the river. It had been built by an industrial magnate—Brass & Copper Amalgamated, natch—during the city’s Gilded Age.
“In the shade, I assume, so the sun wouldn’t disappear him.” I looked up at her. “Someone wanted him to be found.”
“You?”
“I didn’t kill him, and I don’t know why anyone would want him dead.”
“He accused you of breaking AAM rules,” Gwen said.
“The Bureau made the accusation; he’s one of many. And I say there’s an exception; the AAM disagrees.”
“He and the others attacked you,” Gwen said. “They want you in, what did they call it, seclusion.”