“Touch of food poisoning,” Kipp said quietly. “Happens to all of us.”
In other words, Osgood saw what was under the fog and lost his breakfast. Grimshaw couldn’t blame him. The rookie had already seen too much of what the Others could and would do to a human body.
He looked at Ilya. “I’d appreciate it if you came with me.”
Ilya studied him before saying, “Very well.”
He’d moved his cruiser to make room for the crime scene vehicles, so he and Ilya walked down the block to reach his ride. They were heading to the boardinghouse before Ilya said, “I’m assuming Ms. Xavier found some remains? Is there a specific reason you wanted me to come with you?”
Grimshaw nodded. “She doesn’t think the remains are human.”
* * *
* * *
Grimshaw stared at the body that had been partially buried in one of the large compost bins tucked at the back of the boardinghouse’s yard. Ineke had already told him what she could. No sounds of a fight or any kind of trouble last night or early this morning. Her guests were all accounted for. She’d noticed that Maxwell, her border collie, had wanted to come back inside as soon as he’d done his business instead of making his morning inspection of the property, but she hadn’t realized anything was wrong until she’d come out after breakfast to dump the kitchen scraps and Maxwell had become so hysterical in his efforts to herd her away from the bins that she’d had to take him back to the house and shut him inside.
When she’d returned and opened the other bin to give it an “aeration fluff and stir,” she found the body.
He could see why she’d thought it was a Trickster Night prank. Not only had the body been savaged; it had been caught in a shape so deformed it defied description—as if the male Crow had been trying to shift in order to flee and had died in this nightmarish, mangled body that was neither human nor Crowgard.
“Do you recognize him?” he asked Ilya.
The Sanguinati shook his head. “You’re going to have to ask the Crows who work for Victoria or live in The Jumble.”
“I’ll get one of Kipp’s men to come here and take photos, although . . . That face.” Would anyone be able to identify this Crow from that face?
A sharp whine. A bark that held a pitch Grimshaw would have labeled fear in a human.
He turned and studied Maxwell, who had escaped from the house and had followed them to the bins. The dog was a diligent herder of the people-sheep who were Ineke’s guests. Since Grimshaw had boarded here when he first came to Sproing and Osgood still did, Maxwell counted the police among the people-sheep he had to herd away from trouble.
Whatever Maxwell had smelled or found on the property before Ineke discovered the body was the reason the border collie was now hysterical about having one of his sheep near danger—and yet the dog wasn’t willing to come close to the compost bin. Like there was an invisible fence made of fear that the dog couldn’t cross.
Grimshaw studied Maxwell, then studied the ground. Not having anything else at hand, he used the heel of his shoe to create a divot in the lawn.
“The dog is afraid,” Ilya said.
“Yeah. And that’s the line he won’t cross. I’ll have the CIU team take a careful look around. Maybe they’ll spot something.” A thought made his stomach swoop and roll. “I’d like your permission to disturb the crime scene.”
“Why do you need permission?”
“The body is terra indigene, and I could end up compromising evidence, but I’d like to see the rest of the body—and I don’t think I’ll be able to arrest whoever did this.”
Ilya sucked in a breath. “Perhaps it is better if I compromise the evidence.” He picked up the tool that Ineke had dropped and carefully uncovered an arm that had a hand that was partially feathered and half its proper size. Then he uncovered the lower part of the body—or what remained.
“Crap,” Grimshaw said softly. The terra indigene shifters could change their size and shape fast. But this Crow was not only a warped blend of human and Crow; its body was a sickening mix of differently sized parts—more confirmation that the attack had happened so fast, the Crow hadn’t had the few seconds it needed to shift.
“Even if it was the right size, the bones in a human hand are small, are they not?” Ilya asked, looking at the feathered hand that had been sliced open.
“Yeah,” Grimshaw said. “They’re small, and it’s a good bet some of the bones in that hand are missing.” Tired of hearing Maxwell’s barks of desperation, he stepped to the other side of the divot—the boundary beyond which something terrible had touched the Xavier property.
Ilya joined him, although Grimshaw noticed that the dog had quieted as soon as he crossed the invisible line and hadn’t been upset about the Sanguinati staying near the compost bin. Apparently vampires didn’t qualify as herdable people-sheep.
He called Kipp to tell him they had another crime scene. Then he blew out a breath and looked at Ilya. “We need to talk to those academics staying in the cabins, especially that professor who is so interested in folklore and urban legends. He might know a thing or two about the Crowgard bogeyman. And we need to see if any of them recognize the college boy who pretended to be the bogeyman last night.”
“You think there is a connection between that human and this Crow?”
“You know as well as I do there’s a connection, because I’m sure this Crow’s missing lower legs and feet are tied to what’s left of Adam Fewks’s rib cage.”
CHAPTER 20
Vicki
Thaisday, Novembros 1
When I’d knocked on the door of the Cornleys’ suite, I found them packing for an early checkout.
Forgot about an appointment first thing tomorrow morning. Pressing business. Weather reports forecast snow next month, so they really should start heading home now.
Unless they had fibbed when they signed the register, they lived in a town that was only a few hours away from Sproing. Snow shouldn’t be an issue for a while yet—unless someone had ticked off Winter. I’d been told she was one of the scarier Elementals, especially when she was riding a steed named Blizzard.
I listened to the fibs about why they were leaving and wondered if I should make up some brochures that reflected The Jumble a little more accurately: Come to The Jumble for a relaxing—or possibly scary—adventure. Take a spin on the Eat or Be Eaten wheel of chance.
I told them I would be able to check them out in an hour, and went on to the other suite to see if anyone wanted fresh towels. Since the used towels had been dumped on the bathroom floor, I swapped them for fresh and eyed the rest of the suite. Ben Malacki and David Shuman sure wouldn’t win the neatest-guest award, but they also weren’t running out the door.