Alex believed that. “There could be things you’re not seeing.” “There’s nothing to see.
Her boyfriend was arrested near the scene. Their neighbors heard some ugly arguments the
last few weeks. There’s blood evidence linking him to the crime. He had powerful hallucinogens in his system—”
“What exactly?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
Alex had stayed away from any kind of hallucinogen after she realized they just made
the Grays more terrifying, but she’d held plenty of hands during good and bad trips and
she had yet to meet the mushroom that could make you feel like you weren’t being stabbed to death.
“Do you want him to get away with it?” Turner said.
“What?” The question startled her.
“You tampered with a corpse. Tara’s body is evidence. If you mess around with this case enough, it could mean Lance Gressang doesn’t go away for this. Do you want that?”
“No,” Alex said. “He doesn’t get away with it.”
Turner nodded. “Good.” They stood in the cold. Alex could see the old Mercedes idling
in the lot, one of the only remaining cars. Dawes’s face was a dim smudge behind the windshield. She raised her hand in what Alex realized was a limp wave. Thanks, Pammie.
It was long past time to let this go. Why couldn’t she?
She tried one last play. “Just give me a name. Lethe will find out eventually. If the societies are messing around with illegal substances, we should know.” And then we can
move on to kidnapping, insider trading, and—did cutting someone open to read their innards fall under assault? They’d need a whole new section of the penal code to cover what the societies dabbled in. “We can investigate without stepping on your murder case.”
Turner sighed, his breath pluming white in the cold. “There was only one society name
in her contacts. Tripp Helmuth. We’re in the process of clearing him—”
“I saw him last night. He’s a Bonesman. He was working the door at a
prognostication.”
“That’s what he said. Was he there the whole night?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. Tripp had been banished to the hallway to stand guard. It
was true that once a ritual started, people rarely went in or out, only when someone got faint or sick or if something had to be fetched for the Haruspex. Alex thought she remembered the door opening and closing a few times, but she couldn’t be certain. She’d
been worrying about the chalk circle and trying not to vomit. But it was hard to believe Tripp could have skipped out on the ritual, gotten all the way to Payne Whitney, murdered
Tara, and gotten back on duty without anyone knowing. Besides, what homicidal beef could he have with Tara? Tripp was rich enough to buy himself out of any kind of trouble
Tara or her boyfriend might have tried to make for him, and it wasn’t Tripp’s face Alex had seen hovering above Tara with a knife. It was Lance’s.
“Do not talk to him,” Turner said. “I’ll send you and the dean the info once we lock in
his alibi. You stay away from my case.”
“And away from your career?”
“That’s right. The next time I find you anywhere you’re not supposed to be, I’ll arrest
you on the spot.”
Alex couldn’t help the dark bubble of laughter that burst from her.
“You’re not going to arrest me, Detective Turner. The last place you want me is in a police station, making noise. I’m messy and Lethe is messy and all you want is to get through this without our mess getting on those expensive shoes.”
Turner gave her a long, steady look. “I don’t know how you ended up here, Ms. Stern,
but I know the difference between quality goods and what I find on the bottom of my shoe, and you are most definitely not quality.”
“Thanks for the talk, Turner.” Alex leaned in, knowing the stink of the uncanny was radiating off her in heavy waves. She gave him her sweetest, warmest smile. “And don’t
grab me like that again. I may be shit, but I’m the kind that sticks.”