He heard someone gag when the humans realized what Bobcat meant.
While Bobcat and Coyote observed—and thankfully didn’t ask questions the way the Crows would have—Kipp and his team went about their business. There was a brief discussion about whether to call a tow truck to haul away the car or have one of the team put down a sheet and drive the vehicle to . . .
Another sticking point. Considering what the inside of the car looked like, where could they put it? Sproing didn’t have an evidence garage where large pieces from a crime scene could be stored. Such things were usually taken to Bristol or Crystalton.
After checking the glove box for the car’s registration, Kipp confirmed that the vehicle did belong to Peter Lynchfield.
Julian called Ilya Sanguinati.
“Humans would not have access to the vehicle while it is at Silence Lodge, but we do have a building where it could be stored temporarily,” Ilya said after listening to Julian’s request.
Hearing the emphasis on “temporarily,” Julian made arrangements for Boris Sanguinati to pick up the car and drive it to Silence Lodge. Kipp wasn’t easy about releasing the car but agreed there wasn’t another place in the village where some curious resident couldn’t go poking around and get scared into a heart attack.
Finally, as the last piece of evidence to be collected, Julian helped Kipp lift the rock off of Lynchfield’s camera. What should have been Lynchfield’s camera. All that remained were the broken bits and pieces that had been around the rock. The rest of the camera, including any part that might have held an image of the Five, was gone—and the freshly churned earth explained why.
Kipp put all the broken bits into an evidence bag. Boris Sanguinati arrived, walking down from the direction of the main house.
Julian waited until Kipp and his team drove away to deal with the crime scene at the Mill Creek Cabins and Boris drove off with Lynchfield’s car. Then he retrieved his own car and drove up to The Jumble’s main house to check on Vicki and collect Karol and Viktor before he headed to the village to open his store for a few hours.
Buried treasure. Easy enough for Earth to do—bury something or bring it back to the surface.
How deep had she buried that camera to make sure whatever was left of what had been seen would not be found?
CHAPTER 67
Grimshaw
Earthday, Novembros 4
Rodney Roash kept up his belligerent whining all the way to the station. But Grimshaw heard the fear underneath the words. The man knew he was in trouble, but he didn’t yet understand that having the chief of police demonstrate human law at work was the only thing keeping Roash safe from a different kind of justice.
Once they were inside the station, he patted Roash down, having Osgood stand nearby as a witness. He took Roash’s wallet and mobile phone before he removed the handcuffs and ordered the man to put everything else in the tray Osgood set on the desk.
“I’m entitled to a phone call,” Roash said.
“You certainly are,” Grimshaw agreed, while Osgood made a list of Roash’s property.
“I need to call my college and let them know about this mistreatment. And I need to call my attorney.”
“You get one phone call.”
“Then I’ll take my mobile phone back and—”
“No.” Grimshaw sat behind his desk. “There is a human attorney in the village. It’s Earthday, so he won’t be in his office, but I can call and ask him to be present during your questioning if you’d feel more comfortable with that.”
“I want my attorney!”
“Then you’d better tell him that this village is closed off until the killer is found, and if he makes it past the barriers and reaches Sproing, he won’t be able to leave. Since you’ll be staying here for the time being, I guess he could use a bed at one of the Mill Creek Cabins, because there is no other place for him to stay. You be sure to tell him that. You should also tell him the reason you’re sitting here, about to be questioned, is that you have a direct connection with the deaths of three humans and two terra indigene.” Grimshaw smiled. “Professor Roash, if I was your attorney, I wouldn’t return your calls in the foreseeable future—assuming you have a future.”
“Then I’ll talk to the attorney who’s here.”
“I’ll give Mr. Diamante a call and arrange a time for all of us to sit down and talk. Officer Osgood, take the professor back to the cell and make sure he gives you his belt and shoelaces.”
“Yes, sir,” Osgood said.
Roash huffed. “You think I’m going to use a belt or shoelaces to harm myself over this?”
“We’re not worried about you using those things,” Grimshaw replied.
It took Roash a moment to catch on. Then he paled. “I need protection!”
“Yes, you do. That is one of the reasons you’re here.”
As Osgood led Roash to the station’s cell, Grimshaw called Paulo Diamante to see if the village’s human attorney was willing to advise the man currently assisting in a police inquiry.
Then he swore. He’d been so focused on the bodies, he hadn’t connected the dots when he’d made the call to Bristol this morning, hadn’t considered the large obstacle that stood in the way of his getting any help.
Blowing out a breath, he called Samuel Kipp to find out if the CIU team had managed to reach The Jumble.
CHAPTER 68
Vicki
Earthday, Novembros 4
Earthday morning felt like it was three days long and wasn’t over yet, but the guests were fed and the dishes were washed. Julian had looked in just long enough to assure himself that nothing disastrous had happened in the time he’d been assisting the CIU team with previous disasters and to collect Karol and Viktor, who would report to their assignments in the bookstore and police station. Natasha called to check in and see how everyone was doing on this side of the lake. That she called me and not Ilya made me wonder if Sanguinati had spousal spats like humans did, or if this was her way of letting Ilya know that his wanting her to stay at Silence Lodge felt oppressive rather than protective.
I ended up in the social room because no one else was in there. I tidied the stack of magazines, going so far as to group them by title and then by date. People—meaning humans—used to throw out magazines once they’d looked through them. That changed after the Great Predation because all kinds of supplies were harder to come by, including paper for printing newspapers, magazines, and books. When I took over The Jumble last winter and began the hard job of renovating and upgrading and bringing the main house and one set of cabins up to standards that would let me have paying guests, Ineke Xavier had suggested that I start a collection of magazines that guests could browse, pointing out that not everyone wanted to settle in and read a novel during a weekend away, and photographs of places or events or even wildlife could entertain for an hour. The two most popular magazines were Nature! and Urban Life.
Guests oohed and cooed over pictures of big-eyed baby owls. Pictures of Mama staring at the photographer as if telling him he’ll lose a finger if he gets any closer to her hooty bits of fluff? Not much cooing over Mama—who, according to a reliable source, had been an Owlgard mama capable of nipping off more than a finger.
I did not ask for details.
Urban Life was published quarterly now instead of monthly. The newer issues were filled with articles about surviving the rationing of goods, surviving the fear of leaving one’s home and the illusion of safety it provided, surviving in a social desert. Basically, the new issues were about surviving truths about the world that humans had ignored for too long. Older issues of the magazine—meaning a couple of years ago—were now viewed as some yesteryear fantasy of a kind of glamorous life that had been and would never be again. Guests talked about the houses and parties and things they had never actually done as if a couple of generations had passed between Then and Now, when the truth was, we were barely a year past the war that showed humans how little significance they had in the world’s scheme of things.