How else could he have convinced the Intuit that someone needed help that required walking into the woods last night?
He wished he had dared to go out and see the body for himself. Had the terra indigene killed Janse? Or had his rival’s former subjects—her little monstrosities, as she liked to call them—been given extra treats filled with gone over wolf before being aimed toward the cabins, toward him?
He wished he could interview them and find out how they had managed to elude the Others in order to reach the cabins, but all her subjects became unmanageable after a certain age—although a combination of fear and reward seemed to keep them sufficiently subservient to her.
Was this about rivalry? Had Edward Janse been killed by the Others because he’d been at the edge of the woods and was easy prey? Or had he been killed because his rival’s little monstrosities had been pointed toward someone wearing a certain color coat?
Picking up his olive green coat from where he’d dropped it last night, Richard Cardosa hung it in the closet out of sight.
CHAPTER 70
Grimshaw
Earthday, Novembros 4
What made it abundantly clear that this police station was considered an auxiliary station in an insignificant human village was the lack of a private office for the person in charge. That wasn’t a problem for weeks at a time. Grimshaw preferred not having a place where people could have a private chat with him. The possibility of someone walking in and overhearing something intended only for police ears encouraged residents to get to the point faster. Besides, if he needed a private place, he could ask Ilya for the use of the outer room in the Sanguinati’s office upstairs.
But this needed some privacy, which was why he sat in the station’s break room looking over the reports and e-mails that had come in from ITF agents and from various police stations in the Northeast.
Incidents. Deaths, both human and Crowgard. Investigators had noted the removal of the lower legs and feet of the dead Crowgard—and noted that those feet showed up tied to the bodies of some human victims—but they hadn’t known about Crowbones, hadn’t understood the significance of two victims being connected in that way.
Then there were reports of minor conflicts between terra indigene and humans. Usually adolescents of both species, if he was reading between the lines correctly. The police could confirm the ages of the humans but had no measuring stick for the Crows or other small terra indigene who had been caught up in a conflict.
Not all the police stations had answered his query, but based on the ones that had, the boundaries for these conflicts were Hubb NE to the east, the Addirondak Mountains to the north, towns a couple of hours’ drive south from the Finger Lakes—and Lake Silence to the west.
No indication that the city of Lakeside or the other towns around Lake Etu had seen this particular kind of killing. Because this—whatever this was—hadn’t reached them yet or because . . . ?
Grimshaw opened the map of the Northeast Region. All the Crows who lived around Lake Silence were born around here or, at least, in the Northeast. Was Crowbones a regional bit of folklore? Would Crowgard in the Southeast Region have heard of this Hunter? What about in the western regions? Elementals had territories. There wasn’t just one Elemental named Winter or Fire or Earth. Elders also usually kept to a territory. Why not one of these Elders who had a designated role as a Hunter? Maybe this Crowbones wasn’t the only Crowbones in existence. Maybe they all used the same signature pieces—the cape made of feathers, the hollow gourd filled with bones, and tying the lower legs and feet of a crow or Crow to a corpse to indicate who had been innocent and who had done the killing.
Aggie seemed to think that Crowbones had appeared because they had given some offense, had done something to warrant that harsh attention. Something he needed to talk over tonight with Julian and Ilya—and Stavros Sanguinati.
Osgood stepped into the break room’s doorway. “Chief? Paige and Dominique Xavier need to see you.”
“About?”
“The storefront that is supposed to be a flea market? They went in to look around, and they think something is wrong over there.”
He’d meant to give them some petty cash and ask them to look inside that store but hadn’t had the time. Sounded like the place was bumped up to a priority.
Grimshaw folded the map and put all the e-mails and reports into a file folder before taking them back to his desk and tucking them in a drawer. Then he smiled at the two young women. His smile faded when they didn’t smile back. For a Xavier not to respond was cause for concern. “Something you want to tell me?”
Paige looked at Dominique, who nodded.
“Our guests are getting a little stir-crazy because they’re bored and have no appreciation that being bored is better than being eaten,” Paige said.
“And they’re making us feel a little crazy too,” Dominique added.
Not what he wanted to hear. The only thing worse than hearing a Xavier say she felt a little crazy was hearing Vicki DeVine say those words.
“So, you went to the new flea market?” he prompted.
“Ineke asked us to check it out before she suggested it to our guests as something to do,” Paige said. “We think it’s a front for something. For one thing, it’s too dirty to attract customers.”
Dominique gave a dramatic little shudder. “The place smells ripe.”
“That was three of the guys who were hanging out there. I don’t think they understand that body odor is not a natural cologne,” Paige said.
“What did they look like?” he asked.
The descriptions matched three of the teenagers who had strutted up to The Jumble on Trickster Night. He glanced at Osgood and received a nod. His officer recognized those boys too. Which meant Tom Saulner, the one he’d dubbed Hatchet Head because of the Trickster Night costume, was still missing.
“The fourth one, the one who seems to be working there . . . We think he’s a Crow,” Paige said.
“Dark eyes, black hair—he kept trying to smooth the hair over a couple of feathers—and delicate build,” Dominique added. “Like Eddie Crowgard.”
Grimshaw nodded. The Crows working for Vicki all had that delicate build, unlike lean and sturdy Cougar or big-boned, and hairy, Conan. “Anything else?”
Paige and Dominique looked at each other, then nodded. Paige said, “Under the body odor, the place smelled like something had died in it.”
Newspapers call that burying the lede, Grimshaw thought as he quietly unlocked the drawer where he stored his service weapon and duty belt. “Did anyone pay attention to you when you left? Could they know you stopped into the station?”
Dominique nodded. “One of the smelly boys came outside and watched us, but we went further up the street and then doubled back after he went inside the store.”