Steele of the Night (Daggers & Steele Book 7) Read online

  I snorted. Philosophical discussions? Was that a vampire euphemism for suffering the cold embrace of a pair of sharp incisors around one’s neck?

  Vance’s voice sounded close behind me. “Is everything alright? You seem withdrawn.”

  “Huh? Me?” I turned from the bookshelf to face him. “I’m fine. Just…preoccupied. With the details of the case.”

  “Are you sure?” said Vance. “You appear to be on edge. Not that I’ve spent time with you personally, but compared to other men of your age and body type, your breathing appears to be elevated.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m a student of physiology,” said Vance. “Not strictly speaking, but it’s a hobby of mine.”

  Of course it was. How else would he locate the body’s foremost veins?

  “Don’t mind Detective Daggers,” said Shay. “He’s convinced Chaz’s murderer hails from supernatural origins.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Truly? Please, tell me more.”

  “Steele,” I said in a strained voice. “What are you doing? Ixnay the ampire-vay alk-tay.”

  “Killed by a vampire?” said Vance. “Are you serious?”

  I sighed. The cat had fled the bag. Might as well go with it, at least until Vance decided to savage my neck to bury the secrets of our knowledge with him. “It’s a possibility given the state of Chaz’s body. Why? You wouldn’t…know any, would you?”

  “Vampires?” said Vance. “Well…it’s not that simple.”

  Now it was Shay’s turn to do a double take. “Hold on. Say what?”

  “As you might’ve surmised from my establishment’s décor,” said Vance, “I’m extremely interested in all aspects of the occult. So was Chaz. That was the common interest which drew us together. You’re familiar with his song, “Creatures of the Night?” I’m not a fan of his particular musical stylings, more of the subject matter. The man wrote it about his undying belief in the existence of the undead—no pun intended.”

  “We’re familiar with the song,” I said. “One of his roadies played it for us this morning.”

  “Well did you know fate inspired him to write the song following what he considered to be a supernatural encounter with a real vampire?” said Vance. “It occurred years ago, here in the city. Said he woke up dazed after a night on the town, pale and weak and with the scent of his lover’s breath heavy over his neck.”

  “And you believed him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Vance. “Who’s to say if revenants are real? I’ve long suspected many visit my club, but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

  “Alright,” said Shay. “I think we’ve ventured sufficiently off topic. Back to Chaz. You said he was here last night. When did he arrive?”

  Vance, who’d blossomed at the mention of vampires, now cooled and settled back into his original groove. “Let’s see…around two o’clock, I believe. Perhaps quarter till.”

  “And was he alone?” asked Shay.

  “No,” said Vance. “He arrived with his band mates.”

  That was news. “All of them?”

  “No. One was missing. His guitarist. B. B., I believe.”

  “But the others, Sammy and Ritchie were with him?” asked Steele.

  Vance nodded.

  “Was Ritchie covered in mud, or Sammy shirtless, by any chance?” asked Steele.

  “No,” said Vance. “They seemed quite normal by my recollection. Although for one of them to be shirtless wouldn’t be particularly abnormal, per se.”

  “What could you tell us about their visit?” asked Steele.

  “Well, as I mentioned, I didn’t converse with Chaz last night,” said Vance, “so I couldn’t give you insight into their plans for later in the evening. But I can tell you they didn’t stay long. After consuming a few drinks, they left about a half hour later with one of my regulars.”

  My mind assailed me with thoughts of a seductress shrouded in shadows, a black widow of the highest degree. “A woman?”

  “A man,” said Vance. “Another enthusiast of the occult. Jefferson Torment.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re kidding, right?”

  “I don’t think it’s his real name, but it’s the moniker I’m familiar with.”

  “Any idea where they went?” asked Shay.

  “None. My apologies.”

  “And what about this Jefferson character?” I said. “Any idea where we could find him?”

  “Not off the top of my head,” said Vance. “But I’ll ask around. I can send word to your station once I have an address.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” said Shay as she stood. “Daggers, could you jot down Chaz’s arrival and departure times? I have a feeling this case involves a lot of moving parts. I don’t want to confuse anything.”

  I pulled my notepad from my jacket and took notes. “Quarter till two arrival. Left a half hour later. Got it.”

  I glanced at Vance. Despite his appearance, aura, and our discussions of the occult, he’d yet to bare his fangs. Perhaps he’d recently fed. Either way, I figured one last question couldn’t hurt.

  I slipped the pad back home. “Vance, are you familiar with the ankh?”

  “A symbol of eternal life, common to many different religious sects,” said Vance. “It’s synonymous with vampires and their culture for obvious reasons. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve said you didn’t spend any one on one time with Chaz last night, but did you manage to get a look at his chest?”

  Vance narrowed an eye. “Where are you going with this?”

  “A symbol of an ankh was found imprinted upon Chaz’s chest,” said Shay. “We’re not sure how long it’s been there.”

  Vance stood straighter and inhaled sharply. “No…”

  “Does that mean something?” I asked.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Vance. “But I can tell you that though I didn’t lay eyes on the man’s midsection last night, I’ve seen it before. Recently. And it was bare. Chaz wasn’t a fan of body modification. Said it clashed with his public persona. To have a symbol like that appear, and potentially overnight, could be a mark of acceptance. Or it could mean he was specifically…targeted.”

  “By who?” said Shay.

  Vance lifted an arched eyebrow. “I think you already know.”

  A trace of a sharp smile escaped Vance’s lips, sending a shiver through my body. I took Shay by the hand and made a quick exit lest Vance change his mind and decide to introduce me to the hereafter.

  12

  Our rickshaw rattled forward as we approached the precinct, its wheels clacking and clattering off the cobblestones and its axle crying out for grease. The ruckus would’ve made conversation difficult if there were any. As it was, Shay hadn’t said much of anything since leaving the club, leaning to the side and staring at the sides of brick buildings we passed along the way.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  “Huh?” Shay blinked and brought her attention inside the rickshaw. “No. You’re fine.”

  “Then what’s wrong? Are you worried about the cost of the rickshaw? You’re the captain now. You can take them as often as you want. You think the old bulldog walked anywhere?”

  “It’s not that,” said Shay.

  “What then?” I asked. “Is it Vance’s statement? It’s disturbing, for sure. That guy gave me four different types of the willies.”

  “Vance?” said Shay. “No. Well, not really. I’ll agree he was odd. I’m…more concerned about Chaz’s death than I was, let’s put it that way. But that’s still not it.”

  I gave her a moment to elaborate, but she didn’t. “You can talk to me, you know. We’re partners, remember?”

  And more, I thought, but I didn’t want to press the issue at the moment.

  The rickshaw driver turned onto 5th. Shay made eye contact with me. “I don’t want to return to the precinct. I’m not
ready to be captain yet.”

  “It was your idea to head back,” I said.

  Shay looked at me over her invisible glasses.

  “Well, we can tell the driver to keep going,” I said. “Do a drive by.”

  Shay sighed. “Just because I don’t welcome my new responsibilities doesn’t mean I can shirk them. Things are what they are. All I can hope for is a quick resolution to my interim status.”

  I assume she meant a demotion, but she left the ending open. The rickshaw driver came to a stop at the base of the precinct’s stairs. I paid him and hopped out after Steele.

  “I’m not sure what you’re worried about,” I said as I pulled on the front door. “You’re doing great. Besides, this place basically runs itself.”

  We took a right past the information desk and headed toward Shay’s new office. A quartet of officers and detectives stood outside her door, papers in hand and frowns set deep into their jowls.

  “You were saying…” said Shay.

  I didn’t get a chance to respond as the leader of the bunch, a gray-mustachioed fraud detective by the name of Brown, intercepted us en route.

  “Listen here, Steele—Captain,” he said, waving his clutched papers in front of him. “This is outrageous! A single paddy wagon? Only four men assigned to the scene? What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Ah…pardon?” said Steele.

  Brown smacked the papers. “The requisition for supplies and officers for my sting operation. I put the paperwork in a week ago. A week! Now we’re less than forty-eight hours from game time and I find out I’ve been granted half—half!—of what I asked for. How am I supposed to cover all the exits with only four officers on duty?”

  “Uh, did you talk to accounting?” said Steele.

  A young clean-cut man in brown slacks and a crisp white shirt stepped forward. “He came to me first, ma’am. I tried to explain it’s not merely a matter of balancing the books. We have other officers who’ve made requests in that time window. We simply don’t have enough to spare.”

  “Enough to spare?” Brown snorted. “Please. This is about nothing other than the books. You’re telling me we can’t bring off-duty officers in to help? You understand how close I am to nabbing this guy, don’t you?”

  “Off-duty officers demand overtime pay,” said the young man. “So you’re right. In that sense, it is about the books.”

  Brown huffed. “See? An admission. We can pull this off, but we need the authorization for more men. Tell him, captain. Tell him how important this is.”

  Steele pushed toward her door and cranked on the handle. “Well, honestly I’m not particularly familiar with the case. If you could fill me in…”

  One of the other assembled bluecoats pushed his way through as Shay stepped into her office. “Captain, look. I’m sure whatever Detective Brown is up in arms about is very important, but over here in the real world we’ve got a five thirty-nine in progress. I’m going to need some backup, now.”

  Steele retreated toward her desk, her brow furrowed. “A five thirty-nine?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the officer. “You know? An active hostage situation. Fifteenth and Kline. Some sort of domestic dispute between a dwarf and his live-in girlfriend.”

  “And what do you propose we do about it?” said Shay.

  “That’s why I’m here, ma’am,” said the officer. “I’m not sure what the protocol is. An officer reported seeing the dwarf with a knife, which would make this a five forty-five, but a neighbor says this is a usual occurrence, in which case we could downgrade the whole thing to a two twenty-seven.”

  “Five forty-five?” said Steele. “Two twenty-seven?”

  Brown pushed his way back to the front. “Captain! I demand an answer on my requisition! Would you please talk to this pencil pusher? We’re talking about letting a serial con man off the hook here.”

  “Pencil pusher?” said the accountant.

  Everyone started to yell and make demands. Steele retreated, but she’d run out of room, bumping into the wall behind her desk. He face lacked color, and her nostrils flared.

  “Alright, that’s it,” I yelled, holding my hands up. “Brown, are you kidding me right now? The budget’s fixed, you know that. If everybody got what they wanted, the rest of us would be out on the street. And you, accountant. Whatever your name is. Work with him. Compromise. Cut costs elsewhere. Maybe you can’t get him eight men, but you can probably squeeze out six. Or move the timing on the sting. Just figure something out.”

  “And you,” I said, pointing at the bluecoat. “Cut it out with the numerical designations, will you? Congratulations on memorizing the beat officer’s handbook, but just because we have a code for a gnome groping an elven stripper while eating a ham sandwich on a Tuesday doesn’t mean we need to use it. So there’s a hostage situation? Great. Get a mediator. Defuse the situation. And if that doesn’t work, break in through the back and subdue the perp before anyone gets hurt? Are we all clear?”

  Brown grumbled. The accountant looked sheepish. The officer and his partner nodded.

  “Good,” I said. “Now get the hell to work. Seriously, you know better than to bug the captain with this crap. And close the door behind you!”

  The mob left, closing the door with a clack. Silence reigned once more.

  I took a deep breath and turned to Shay. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to undermine your authority. You just seemed to be getting frazzled, and I figured I could help. Those idiots really should’ve been able to sort through these problems by themselves.”

  She stepped away from the wall. “It’s alright, Daggers. I, ah…appreciate you stepping in with the assist.”

  “Because it’s a fine line I’m trying to toe,” I continued. “With you being the captain now but me still being your partner. And friend. And…you know. Everything else. Plus with my career aspirations. It’s difficult. Tricky. Maybe a little of both. Dricky, if you will.”

  Shay smiled. “I’m serious. You did great. I was getting overwhelmed. I let myself get overwhelmed. It’s to be expected, given how I got here. But I need to do better. The Captain put me in this position for a reason, and I need to step up. Next time, I will.”

  I nodded.

  “But…be sure to stand close behind me,” said Shay. “In case I stumble and need help getting up.”

  “Always.”

  I met her eyes. They said ‘kiss me,’ and I would’ve if Shay hadn’t already made herself clear about prying eyes. Undermining her authority with forceful displays was one thing. Compounding the problem with amorous ones was another.

  “So, what now?” I said.

  “Honestly?” said Shay. “I could go for some lunch. I’m getting hungry.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and I heard the clack of the latch.

  “Seriously?” I said as I turned. “How is it you bunch can’t handle—oh. Hey, Rodgers.”

  Our cheery detective pal stood in the doorway. “Hey, Daggers. The petitioners driving you crazy yet, Steele?”

  “Crazy’s not the right word,” she said. “More like a combination between restless and angst-ridden.”

  “I bet there’s a word for that in one of the lower tongues,” I said. “Seems like a very goblinesque sort of emotion.”

  Shay gave Rodgers a nod. “Did you make it back okay with the Cobras?”

  “Sure did,” he said. “I just moved the lot from the interrogation rooms to the holding cells. Well, except for B. B. He’s with a medic.”

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Pretty good,” said Rodgers. “Whoever or whatever attacked him had their efforts thwarted by his ribs. Though I suspect he’ll be in a lot of pain once the lingering effects of his drug overdose wear off.”

  “So you got their statements?” said Steele.

  Rodgers sighed. “Yeah, for all the good it’ll do.”

  “It went that well, huh?”

&
nbsp; “Those guys are less than useless,” said Rodgers. “They all told the same story. Said they headed to this Billy Charles guy’s place after the show, took drugs, and don’t remember a thing until we roused them. So either they’re really well coordinated in their lies, or more likely, they’re all telling the truth. I’m leaning toward the latter given that they didn’t have time to hash out their stories before we found them.”

  “Not unless they did it before passing out,” said Shay.

  Rodgers nodded.

  “And what about the camel?” I asked.

  “He’s holding firm in his resolve,” said Rodgers. “Refuses to give a statement.”

  “What a jerk,” I said. “Threaten him with charges of resisting arrest.”

  Shay smiled. “I don’t think that’s going to work, Daggers.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “He did come along peacefully. Maybe obstruction of justice?”

  “How about Quinto?” asked Shay. “How’s he doing?”

  “Oh, dandy,” said Rodgers. “He’s still down in another of the holding cells with the aforementioned dromedary. Claims the beast is ‘traumatized’ and needs special attention. Sounds like an excuse to get out of interrogations and paperwork if you ask me.”

  “Thanks,” said Steele. “Keep us posted if anything changes.”

  “With the camel’s vow of silence?” said Rodgers. “You bet. What about the Yellow Cobras? Should we release them?”

  Shay nodded. “We have to, I think. At this point, despite not knowing what they were up to last night, we don’t have any reason to suspect any of them, nor do we have the evidence to support it. Cut them free once B. B. gets stitched up.”

  “You got it.” Rodgers started to turn but paused. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot why I popped by in the first place. A woman stopped by while I was chatting with the Cobras. Said she needed to talk to the two of you. I had the officer at the door stash her in the waiting room until you showed up.”