"Markine is a very dangerous man and I do not have him in custody. I do not know how he killed Lupoldi or how he disposed of you down whatever rabbit hole you fell through. He is not of right mind. His confession to you and Choi will not stand up alone. I have evidence, I have witnesses, and I have warrants. We will search and find what we can, but I do not have the man himself!" He rammed his hands through his hair. "And he will try. He will try to harm those two—Choi and George. He tried to harm you—some kind of explosion, some kind of smoke. . What was it?" he shouted.
I gaped at him. The bright flare of orange frustration was back. My knee twinged and I insisted on sitting down, buying time before responding to that sudden burst of passion.
With the silvered alembic in my lap, I reached down to rub my aching knee. Solis pulled another chair around in front of mine and sat down, leaning forward, intent, with his forearms on his thighs.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"I don't know, exactly," I replied. I used his terms. "There was that explosion or whatever, smoke… It was confusing. I tried to follow Markine, to go out a door, but I didn't know which door I was going through. I fell through a trapdoor or a bit of rotten floor. I think I got into the basement, somehow. I thought I saw Markine and I chased after him. We ended up in the utility vaults, then the sewers. I lost him. Then I came back here.”
"And what's that?" Solis asked, nodding at Celia's prison.
I looked at it. The alembic had acquired a patina of gunk and dirt, but I could still see the Grey mist and energy roiling around inside through the mirror tint. The truth was so bizarre no one would believe it. So why not?
"It's a ghost in a bottle," I said.
Solis narrowed his eyes, closing back down to his usual shuttered expression. His aggravated aurora dimmed to a thin orange line.
"Where did you find it?”
"In the sewer.”
"While you were pursuing Mr. Markine. I'd like to have it, please.”
"No.”
"If it's connected to this investigation—”
"It's not anything you want.”
"It is." He put out his open hands for it.
I stood up with the flask in my grip. His chair was blocking my way, but I'm slim enough and quick enough and doubted I'd have trouble slipping out, even with a dicey knee and a body covered in bruises.
"If you want it, you'll have to get a warrant.”
He gave me a sharp look. I stared back, vacillating. I couldn't give him the bottle. Maybe I could put him on another track. "Ask Amanda Leaman to identify the person who argued with Mark the Monday before his death," I said. "I'll be surprised if she gives a positive ID on anyone other than Ian Markine.”
Speculation flickered on his face. He hadn't forgotten the bottle, but he had other things to chase and he couldn't force me to give it to him without arresting me or getting a warrant. He couldn't intimidate me into giving it up, either.
"May I go now?" I asked.
"Where?”
"I need a change of clothes.”
Sous gave a tight, annoyed nod. "I expect a more detailed statement from you, Ms. Blaine.”
"Monday. If I can get the stink out of my hair by then."
CHAPTER 29
The swirling, agitated thing in the flask drew my eye and I found it difficult not to stare at it as I drove to the Danzigers'. I wanted to get rid of the whole package—container and contents—but even this was a temporary measure. I wasn't quite sure how to be shut of it in a more permanent fashion. I hoped Ben and Mara would have some ideas.
I hadn't looked as bad as I expected after a shower. Quite a lot of my battered appearance turned out to be filth. I had to throw most of the clothes in the garbage—what was crusted on them smelled like sun-rotten salmon and didn't bear closer scrutiny—and I hoped my boots and jacket would be salvageable. I was amazed to note I hadn't cut myself beyond a few scrapes through my jeans. At least I didn't have to find out if I could develop some freaky infection from the ghosts of germs. It would have been my kind of luck to resurrect the 1918 flu or some extinct form of native-killing smallpox. Small mercies and all that platitude jazz. I'd popped a couple of anti-inflammatories, wound a light pressure bandage around my knee, and decided the shoulder would be fine on its own. I felt a bit stiff and sore, but figured I'd do.
When I started up the steps, Albert appeared beside me so fast he fizzed. He stared at the ghost-vessel, which reflected weirdly in his tiny glasses. I wondered how the bottle could have an image in the memory of a lens, but I supposed ghost-things might reflect other ghost-things just fine and maybe it was only what was inside the container that I saw in his specs. Mara opened the door and he rushed into the house, hovering behind her as if he expected me to pass him the jar like a basketball. I gave him a dirty look.
"Albert is acting very weird," I said.
"Well, then, I imagine it's that thing, isn't it," Mara answered, pointing to the bottle. "Bit intriguing, that.”
"I almost lost it to a police detective," I continued, coming inside. "He thought it was evidence in this murder case.”
Some kind of random thumping came from overhead. Mara didn't seem to notice.
"And isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes, but the first thing he'd do is turn it over to forensics and they'd pull the cork and let the nasty thing out again. And I didn't enjoy getting it in there in the first place.”
"The poltergeist's in there? Then it worked. Glad to see we're not entirely barking at the moon. Come in to the living room. Ben's got Brian upstairs for a few minutes. We can put that up where little fingers can't get at it.”
Mara put the alembic on top of a low bookshelf and wedged it in place with a pair of small, sand-filled geckos she pulled from a basket of toys nearby.
"There," she said, stepping back to admire it. "Looks rather dramatically alchemical, doesn't it?" Albert drifted up to look into the flask some more.
"It looks like a bottle full of trouble," I replied.
"So it is. How did you manage to keep the policeman's paws off it?”
We could hear Ben coming down the stairs with a heavy tread.
"I told him that if he wanted it, he'd need a warrant," I explained.
"He didn't like it, but by the time he's got the paperwork in order, it may be moot.”
"We can only hope.”
Ben entered, carrying a giggling Brian upside down by the legs. "Are you ready to turn over?" Ben asked.
"Nooooo!" Brian laughed. Then he stuck his tongue out and flapped it up and down, yammering, "Lalalalalalala…" and waving his hands.
"What have you caught now?" Mara asked.
"This is the rare ebon-headed rhino-bat of the Pacific Northwest. Or we hope they're rare, because this one weighs about forty pounds and eats cheese sandwiches—which are now extinct in the wild.”
Mara went to tickle her son on his exposed belly. "Shall we domesticate it, then?”
Brian shrieked with laughter.
"Fat chance," I muttered.
Mara shot me a sly look. "Quite right. It may be past hope. We'll be havin' to tickle it—”
Brian yowled, laughed, wiggled, and squirmed mightily, then shouted, "Down, down!”
"All right," Ben said, setting him gently on his head on the rug. Brian did a slow somersault and scrambled away from his mother's waving fingers to hide behind a Morris chair.
Free of the rhino-bat for a moment, Ben walked over and perused the container full of ghost.
"Wow. It worked. I can almost see something in there…”
"Just so long as it stays in there," I said.
"What are you going to do with it now?”
"I'm not sure. But it has to be kept away from—from the person who controls it." I didn't want to use his name. I was convinced of his guilt, but he was still, technically, only a suspect to the police. "We need to keep it safe until it falls apart. I thought of Carlos—”