Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) Page 4

  Definitely a bachelor pad.

  Framed photos lined one wall, all depicting whom I assumed to be the victim. The middle-aged man with copper hair—traversing an icy wall here, standing atop some jungle ruins there—looked like a wealthy adventurer.

  “Watch your step,” Hoffman said.

  Avoiding an evidence marker on the floor, I followed him past a glass wall that looked over north Manhattan. We entered an office. The body was slumped over a desk, head atop forearms, as if the victim were merely taking a break from his open laptop. But the same copper hair I’d seen in the photos was now splayed over a pair of bloated blue hands, the fingernails the bone white of the dead.

  “Bear Goldburn, forty-six years old. He was supposed to leave for a week-long conference on Sunday. His housekeeper turned up this morning and found him like this. She swears the alarm was set when she arrived. No signs of forced entry. A search of the body showed no outward signs of trauma.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t natural causes?”

  “Renal failure, according to the preliminary. His body filled up with piss, basically.” Hoffman, who was sweating like a pig, sponged his balding head with a handkerchief.

  “Okay… so what am I doing here?” I asked.

  He stuffed the kerchief in a pocket and jerked his head. “Take a look.”

  I followed him around to the rear of the body. Reaching over the chair back, he peeled up the victim’s shirt. I winced, expecting something horrible, but the distended skin across his back was intact.

  “The examiner hasn’t had her say yet, but the medic noticed something unusual. See these bruises?” He circled a finger above a pair of brown-black spots on either side of the victim’s lower back.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s internal bleeding. The medic did a portable ultrasound, and guess what? The man’s missing his kidneys.”

  “Both of them?”

  “And without leaving a damned mark. Weren’t taken through the front, either. So here’s my question for you, Merlin. How could someone snatch two vital organs without making a single cut?”

  6

  I stood back, regarding the bruises where the man’s kidneys had been as recently as Friday.

  “Certain spells can accomplish that,” I said. “Or a potion made to target organs. Or if we’re talking manual removal, a translocation spell. That’s where a magic-user creates a small portal, like this…” I signed into the air, opening my interplanar cubby hole. I removed a spell book, showed it to Hoffman, and put it back, signing the portal closed again. “That would eliminate the need for surgery.”

  “You can put a hole like that into someone’s body?” he asked uncomfortably.

  “Me, personally?” I shook my head. “Above my paygrade. And that would require two holes, one going into the interplanar space and a second going into the vic’s body. We’re talking advanced magic and, for organ removal, an absurd degree of precision. Anyone operating at that level would have alerted the senior members of my Order.”

  “And yet our boy’s still dead. You sure it wasn’t one of them?”

  “I’m sure,” I said thinly. “My point is we can probably rule out translocation as a mode of removal. Were there signs of anyone else in the apartment?”

  “Nothing obvious. The techs collected a bunch of material for analysis, but that could take a few days. So, go ahead.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Go ahead and do what you do.” He motioned impatiently. “I need a name.”

  “I can’t guarantee a name, but I’ll find out what I can. First, let me take a look at this from another perspective.”

  “Sure,” he muttered as I began centering myself. “Take as long as you need. We have all the freaking time in the world.”

  A roar like an incoming surf covered Hoffman’s sarcasm as the astral realm bloomed into view. Colorful streaks crisscrossed the office, while a dull brown halo surrounded Hoffman’s portly figure. At the desk, Bear’s body appeared as a black void—a life recently lost. I focused where his kidneys had been.

  Well, that’s interesting…

  I had expected to find some lingering sign of a spell or potion’s effect. I moved closer, searching for faint symbols in the skin. Nothing. I moved around the body, prompting Hoffman to grunt and step back.

  After another minute, more nothing.

  I searched the large office, then embarked on a slow walk through the penthouse. I inspected every nuance of light and color. I was looking for anything at that point: a mini distortion, an odd field, some hint of a breach in the material fabric. But the astral layers acted as if life here had been as mundane as ever.

  I clenched my jaw in frustration. Even remote spellwork left some trace of itself, dammit. Was it a case of me growing rusty, or was the perp just that good?

  I recentered myself, this time tapping into my magic, which possessed its own intelligence. Gretchen took special pains to point out just how insignificant mine was in comparison. But the truly great magic-users, like my late father, knew this. They gave themselves over to it, even when the magic’s counsel seemed counterintuitive or downright dangerous. Though I had my moments, I’d yet to achieve that level of surrender. And with everything going on in the last month, I’d fallen out of practice.

  It took longer than usual, but I soon aligned with my magic’s familiar weight and flow. It was shifting without a seeming purpose. I moved to different points of the main room as if that might improve the signal.

  “Anything?” Hoffman asked loudly.

  My focus evaporated, along with the astral plane, and the penthouse returned to form.

  I was preparing to voice my irritation, but I was facing the wall of framed photos, and the one at eye level—“Arctic Expedition 2020”—arrested me. In it, Bear was standing beside a snow sled loaded with gear and posing with a small team.

  “He did extreme shit in his free time,” Hoffman remarked from behind me.

  Bear was holding the pole of a flag planted in the snow, but I didn’t recognize the banner. It featured three thick stripes, yellow and blue on each end, and a central white stripe with a line of esoteric symbols.

  “What kind of flag is that?”

  “The hell should I know?” Hoffman said. “What did you find?”

  I took a picture of the photo with my flip phone. By the time Hoffman realized what I’d done, I was already slipping the phone back into a pocket. He looked like he wanted to make an issue of it, but returned to his question.

  “What did you find?”

  “Vega said he was some sort of VIP?” I asked. “No, listen, this is important.”

  Hoffman swore under his breath. “Yeah, CEO of Ramsa Inc., the big tech company.”

  “Weren’t they planning to build a production center out in Brooklyn?”

  “He and City Hall were thick as thieves on that thing. So guess who’s been blowing up my phone?”

  “Mayor Lowder?”

  “Boy, you’re good.”

  That explained his crankiness. “Did this Goldburn have any enemies?”

  “Give me a fucking break, all right? I know how to conduct an investigation.”

  “If we’re looking at a murder-for-hire, it would help me to know who might have done the hiring.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Enemies? Sure. Every big name in the business. Ramsa has been wiping the floor with them. Then there are the schmoes in his own company who probably wanted his seat. Murder, though?” He made a skeptical face. “The only real person of interest right now is his wife. They separated a couple months ago, that’s how come he’s living here. I don’t know their legal arrangement, but if he had her on a prenup, she may have been looking at a giant goose egg when the divorce went through.”

  “So she has him killed before that happens,” I said, finishing the scenario. “Gets a nice payout through his will, assuming he didn’t alter it.”

  “Might also explain the alarm system. If the murder happened
here and not through some hole”—he said the word as if he were referring to a human orifice—“then the perp would have needed the system’s code to arm it before leaving. She might have known it. Anyway, we’ve got the security footage from the lobby. We’re gonna ID everyone that came and went over the weekend.”

  “Just the lobby? What about the floor?”

  “No cameras on the floors. Something about privacy. A lot of big shots live in the building, and they’re not keen on having a record of their visitors. Especially the married ones.”

  “Has anyone talked to his wife yet?”

  Hoffman released a sullen snort. “The second we reached out, she lawyered up. No telling when we’ll get anything useful out of her.”

  “Okay, you asked what I found.”

  “Yeah?” He looked up expectantly.

  “Nothing. But that doesn’t mean a dead end,” I added as he started into more grumbling. “There’s still spellwork I can perform on the body that might give us some clues as to what happened.”

  “What kind of spellwork? Like bringing him back from the dead?”

  It was something I’d actually considered. I’d performed the spell successfully on my first teacher, Lazlo, during my campaign against the Death Mage. But in his advanced decay, Lazlo suffered in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine, ways I still felt guilty about. Bear would only fare worse.

  “A scrying spell,” I answered. “With a few hairs, I may be able to tap into the last moments of his life.”

  “How long’s that going to take?”

  “I have to teach an afternoon class, but I’ll get started on it right after. I should have something for you by tonight.”

  Hoffman muttered a few choice words before nodding. “All right, go ahead.”

  Back in the victim’s office, I pulled a small kit from a coat pocket and removed a pair of tweezers. Choosing several hairs at the center of his scalp, I plucked them one at a time, checking for follicles. The little cell clusters would make the spell more potent. When I finished, I searched my pockets for an empty vial.

  “Here,” Hoffman grunted, producing an evidence bag.

  “Thanks.” I placed the hairs inside and folded the bag over twice.

  “Need anything else before the medical examiner takes over?”

  “This should do it.” I placed the bag in a pocket and patted it twice. “Let me know if you get anywhere with his wife,” I said as we returned toward the front door. “And if you wouldn’t mind sharing the results of the tox screen and whatever the examiner finds in his stomach, I’d appreciate it. Could help.”

  “All right, but I’m counting on you.”

  “I’m on it,” I assured him. “I’ll brief my Order too.”

  I was reaching for the door when Hoffman seized the back of my coat and pulled me around. His mask was down, his mouth in a tight grimace, but the eyes staring up at me had a panicked look. For a second I thought he was going to punch me. Glancing toward the door, he dropped his voice.

  “Listen, this is the kind of case they sack detectives over. If I lose my job, I’ll never work for the department again. That can’t happen. I’m a New Yorker. My entire family’s here. My wife’s entire family’s here.” He sighed through his squat nose and looked away. “I’ve done things that probably should’ve gotten me thrown out. You remember the business with Mr. Moretti. But I don’t do that shit anymore. And I know you and me have had our differences, but that’s in the past too, far as I’m concerned.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to back away from this sudden outpouring or give him a hug.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve seen enough in this city to know I need you on this. You…” He gestured toward me, then dropped his hand in a kind of resignation. “You get things done.”

  Wow, that only took three years, I thought.

  “Let’s keep that streak going then, huh?” I said, clapping his shoulder.

  For the first time since I arrived, Hoffman smiled. It wasn’t a good look on him, but I’d take it over his constipated face any day.

  “C’mon,” he said, collecting himself. “I’ll have a car take you back to the college.”

  Out in the corridor, I issued a departing nod that said, We’ve got this, but I wasn’t feeling it. Not yet.

  I’d never encountered magic that left no trace.

  7

  “Sorry I’m late,” Vega said.

  I met her at the door of our apartment and took her bag. “Tony’s already eaten, but I kept our dinner warm.” We kissed, and I gave her tummy a hello pat. “I thought you were going on light duty.”

  “Don’t get me started. The filing system I took over was a hot mess. Had to spend half the day organizing just so I could start my assignment. Welcome to the NYPD. Should go better from here.”

  “Just don’t overdo it.”

  She shot me a look that said, Appreciate the concern, but let’s not revisit the issue.

  Her plan was to work up until the week before her due date, which meant roughly five more weeks. I’d tried to talk her down to two or three, but Dr. Greene took her side, assuring me that as long as my wife felt up to it, the schedule was perfectly normal. When I held fast to my concerns, the doctor assured me those were normal too.

  “Well, at least let me draw you a bath after dinner.”

  “Now you’re talking,” she said. “And I wouldn’t mind swapping shoulder massages before bed.”

  “Hey, tonight’s is on the house.”

  She walked over to Tony, who was lying on the couch, an open book propped on his stomach. He’d recently discovered C.S. Lewis and was already on the fourth book in The Chronicles of Narnia.

  “How’d your day go?” She kissed his forehead.

  “Great,” he answered, turning the page. “Can Mae come again?”

  “She said she can cover for as long as Camilla’s out,” I called from the kitchen.

  “Sounds like a yes, then,” Vega said.

  “Is no one going to consult me?” Tabitha asked in a languid voice. “It’s my domicile much more than theirs.”

  She was lying on her side, her stomach swollen from the extra bowl of goat’s milk I’d allowed her. I figured if that was what it took to keep the peace, especially during the transition, I was willing to take on the extra litter work. But I’d underestimated my cat. She shifted her mound around to face me.

  “I can’t even begin to describe the torment they put me through today. Not a single moment’s peace. And don’t get me started on that horrid little thing Mae had running around here, clacking and squealing. It’s like Satan himself gave him the perfect pitch to torment a feline’s hearing. I spent half the day out on the ledge, I’ll have you know.”

  “Good,” I said. “You owed me surveillance hours. I’ll credit you an extra two.”

  “It was more like four. I’ll tell you right now, if that thing shows up here again, I’m not going to be so tolerant.”

  “Leave Buster alone,” I said, setting a pair of steaming plates on the table. “He’s harmless.”

  “Oh, I’ll make certain of that. Next time he comes I’ll have a tasty bisque waiting to boil him in.”

  Vega only shook her head as she came over. She’d learned early on not to engage Tabitha when she was in one of her moods, which was most of the time. My wife was years beyond me in that regard.

  “Is steak and pasta all right?” I asked, pulling her chair out.

  “Mmm, it’s like you read our minds,” she said as I scooted her in. “How did your classes go?”

  “Well, the students seem engaged, but that’s pretty standard for day one. I’ll let you know in a couple weeks when they’re up to their eyeballs in reading. I have a graduate assistant this term.”

  “I thought you avoided those.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see how it goes. He’s going to help out with classes and basic research. His name’s Sven.”

  I decided not to get into the exchange with Sn
odgrass. One, because it was only going to spike my blood pressure, and two, because my solution still felt morally ambiguous. But what about Sven’s little magic stunt?

  “Problem?” Vega asked, gesturing with her fork at my furrowed brow.

  “Possibly. I was meeting with Sven when you called. He said he had come to Midtown College specifically to learn from me, and he wasn’t talking about mythology and lore. He meant my magic.”

  Vega raised an eyebrow.

  “I discouraged him, of course,” I said. “But here’s the thing. By the time you and I finished our call, he’d dropped a note on my desk and left. On the note was a casting symbol. It incinerated the paper.”

  “What, like an attack?”

  “No, no, it was harmless. More like he wanted to prove he was ready to be my apprentice.”

  “The sorcerer’s apprentice, huh? Didn’t go so well with Mickey. Have you told the Order?”

  “Not yet,” I said, smiling at the Fantasia reference. “I want to see if there’s anything really there, first. Could’ve just been a trick.”

  “Between that and your landfill expedition, you’ve had quite a day,” she said. “And I haven’t even asked about your date with Hoffman.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “He was right to bring me in, he caught a strange one. A bigshot CEO had his kidneys removed without evidence of surgery or even magic. I’ll be doing some spellwork after dinner, trying to figure out what the hell happened—I mean, the heck happened,” I amended, glancing over at Tony.

  “And you two got along?” Vega asked carefully. She wasn’t there to act as a buffer between me and her partner this time.

  “Surprisingly, yes. I mean, as much as you can get along with someone like Hoffman. We even had a tender moment at the end. With the profile of the case, he’s worried that failure could end his career.”

  “He’s probably right.”

  “Would you miss him as a partner?”