To his surprise, the men who entered weren’t dressed in police uniforms. Both wore suits, though one of better make than the other. The man in the fancy suit had slicked-back black hair and an easy smile, his fingers glittering with rings as he held out his hand to Sam.
“My name is Leonard Turner,” he said. “This is my associate, Mr. Bellinowski.”
Who were these people? “Sam Cunningham,” he said, shaking Turner’s hand in bewilderment.
Turner gave his hand a pat before letting go. “We’ve come to convey Mr. Sullivan’s condolences on the loss of your cousin.”
The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck pricked. Sullivan—that was the name of the gangster who controlled the Towertown neighborhood. “Thanks?” he said weakly.
“The body is in the bedroom,” Alistair said. He leaned against the kitchen door, watching the two men with sharp eyes.
Bellinowski nodded and went into the bedroom. Turner sat himself across from Sam without invitation.
Belatedly, Sam remembered his manners. “Can I get you something? Coffee?” Oh God, if he gave them Alistair’s coffee, they’d think he was trying to poison them.
“No thank you, Mr. Cunningham.” Turner folded his hands in front of him. “Would you like to tell me what happened here?”
Sam had the distinct impression it wasn’t really a question. He repeated his brief tale, then fell silent. By then, Bellinowski had emerged from the bedroom and started going through the papers on Eldon’s desk. Sam wasn’t certain if it would be smart to object or not.
“It seems as though his killer didn’t know you were on the sleeping porch,” Turner said. “A lucky break for you.”
Sam shivered and tightened his fingers are the cooling cup of terrible coffee. “Yeah.”
“As you may be aware, your cousin had some business dealings with Mr. Sullivan,” Turner went on. “Mr. Sullivan takes good care of his people. We’ll find whoever did this and make an example of him.”
Sam’s pulse spiked. He’d expected to be sitting here talking to the police, looking for justice. Instead, he was drinking the worst coffee he ever had, across from a gangster who was casually discussing the murder of whoever had killed Eldon.
What had Eldon been involved in? And why hadn’t he bothered to mention it to Sam?
“And don’t worry about the funeral expenses,” Turner added. “Mr. Sullivan will take care of it.”
The extent of Sullivan’s apparent generosity only made Sam more nervous. What sort of debts was he racking up without even realizing it? “Thanks? I mean, tell Mr. Sullivan thank you.”
“Of course, of course.”
Bellinowski turned away from the desk. “It’s not here. So either someone took it, or Cunningham hid it somewhere else.”
“What are you looking for?” Sam asked.
Turner regarded him, and Sam realized that although the easy smile was still on his face, it didn’t touch his hard eyes. “Your cousin was working on a special project for Mr. Sullivan. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you?”
“No?” Sam tried to think of anything that would qualify and failed. “I don’t think so. Do you mean a hex? Eldon was teaching me hexwork, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.”
Turner’s gaze sharpened. “Was he now? So you were his apprentice?”
“Me? No! Sort of?” Sam bit his lip uncertainly. “It wasn’t a formal arrangement or anything.”
“I see.” The smile had faded even further. “And he didn’t speak to you about this project?”
“Leave off,” Alistair said from where he leaned against one wall, his rangy body in a relaxed pose. “Sam doesn’t know anything about anything. He tried to order a Bevo at The Pride last night, for fuck’s sake.”
Bellinowski laughed, and Turner’s lips twitched with amusement. Sam’s face went hot, and he shot a glare at Alistair. He wanted to say something to show them he wasn’t just some ignorant small town yokel…but who was he kidding? He was an ignorant small town yokel. He’d never so much as set foot outside of Illinois. There was nothing he could say or do to impress these men.
“I see.” Turner rose to his feet. “Someone will come and collect the body and discuss the funeral arrangements. Again, our sincere condolences on your loss.” He started for the door, Bellinowski in tow, then stopped. “Oh, and Mr. Cunningham, if I were you, I’d think long and hard as to whether you know anything you aren’t telling us.”
“Don’t worry,” Alistair said, shutting the door behind Turner and Bellinowski. “Sullivan will make sure Eldon gets a good send off, and…”
He trailed off as he turned around and found Sam right behind him, glaring up with unexpected fire in those brown eyes. Sam’s curly hair was wild from sleep, and his jaw was set, and for some reason that made him look ridiculously kissable.
Not that Alistair was going to be doing any kissing. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Sam’s brows lifted toward his hairline. “For one thing, I asked for your help, and instead of getting the police you invited gangsters to the house!”
Alistair folded his arms over his chest. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m not thanking you!” Sam exclaimed. “Why did you do that? Now I’m mixed up with-with some kind of crime syndicate!”
It was all Alistair could do not to roll his eyes. “You really don’t know how any of this works, do you?”
“Apparently not. Are you going to tell me?”
“Mayor Dever ran on the promises to reform the government, get rid of corruption, and was elected on the delusion he could actually do something about it.” Alistair took a sip of his coffee and wished it was laced with something stronger. “The police work for whoever pays them the most, and in this part of town, that’s Mickey Sullivan. If they’d gotten here first, there would have been one of two outcomes. The first is that they would have arrested you for the murder.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “But I didn’t—I wouldn’t!”
“I don’t think you did. But it’s a lot less work to just grab the nearest convenient suspect and manufacture whatever evidence you need.” Alistair almost felt guilty about the loss of innocence visibly taking place on Sam’s face. “The second possible outcome is that they would have called Sullivan themselves, just to make sure they weren’t in danger of stepping on his toes, and he would have sent Turner and Bellinowski over anyway. I think you’ll agree my way was easier than either of those.”
Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. “You didn’t have to make that crack about the Bevo,” he muttered at last.
Alistair sighed. “You want men like that to see you as harmless, SammySamSam. You don’t want them thinking of you as a possible replacement for Eldon, and you definitely don’t want them thinking you know too much. Or that you owe them something.”
“Oh.” Sam looked lost, and Alistair had the sudden urge to tell him everything was going to be all right. He didn’t, and after a long moment, Sam said, “What do I do now?”