A flash of headlights signaled the arrival of the official crime scene techs. I nodded to the lead, a sprite who’d taken the unlikely name of Lavender Gray when he realized no human could pronounce his real name. “He’s one of ours, Lav,” I said.
A grunt was the only acknowledgment I got. The techs scurried through the alley in silence, placing markers, picking up near invisible bits and pieces, sealing up evidence bags. Abe and I watched just as silently. Jason trailed behind the team, snapping more photos whenever a technician pointed.
“You think we’re going to—”
“Yes,” I cut off Abe’s words. “We’re going to catch this killer.” I had no intention of letting Abe voice my own unspoken doubts. So far, the trace evidence in each case had been so minuscule, so vague as to implicate pretty much anyone—with or without a motive. In the previous two cases, we’d interviewed the victims’ clients, their team leaders, hotel managers, concierges. Abe had worked all his contacts at hotels, the navy, anyone who’d ever owed him a favor. Still nothing. So far, the only clues we had were that they were all males, all LPWs, and all looked very young. None of them were actually young, not in human terms—Donny had been at least a hundred—but young in fae terms. The other two victims had been in the middle of their second century. Two victims were blond, one a redhead. All had gray eyes. All had both human and fae clientele. Nothing in the victims’ backgrounds indicated anything sleazy, drug-related, or any other criminal behavior. I was at a total loss. The usual motives didn’t seem to apply. Jealousy? Perhaps, but there was no client common to the three of them. Money? Not a factor in Donny’s case, he was only a beginner, making scale. The first victim had just completed his apprenticeship, but his new grade wasn’t anywhere near the kind of money people usually killed for. The second victim’s rate was average for a seasoned apprentice. Nothing seemed to fit. The only thing they had in common was their current choice of profession and their sex—traits shared by hundreds. (At last count, San Diego County licensed 210 male LPWs, 212 female, and just under 100 intersex.) Each had been beautiful, male, and perfectly turned out, skin soft with lotion, nails of feet and hands meticulously manicured. All three of them worked the Gaslamp, but so did many others.
What was so special, so unusual about these three that triggered their killer’s attention?
“They’re done,” Abe’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
The techs were climbing into their van and Jason was packing up his equipment. A coroner’s representative loaded Donny, discreetly wrapped in a body bag and gurney, into his van. I blinked and yawned. “I’m going home.” A quick cuddle with Risa followed by a few hours of sleep sounded perfect to me. “Lab at noon?” I asked Abe. “Then we can come back and talk to the staff.” Beat cops had already handled the initial questions, but now it would be our turn.
“One,” he replied. “I’m doing lunch with Leah.”
I smiled. “Tell her hi for me.” Abe’s daughter was visiting from grad school.
“Yeah,” he said. “Will do.”
I watched as he trudged to his car, every month of his nearly twenty years of service evident in the weary posture. I knew he resented me sometimes. He’d aged, and not too gracefully, muscles losing tone, eyesight deteriorating. He’d never been a poster boy for Sports Illustrated, but Abe had kept fairly fit. Now, after two knee operations, he could barely make it around the block without pain. When we’d pull cases together, I saw the looks he gave me. How could I not? I appeared to be in my mid-twenties. My hair still as glossy brown (or black or red) as it had ever been, my eyes keener than his ever were. He thought we were around the same age, fifty-five going on fifty-six. I’d never told him he could be my grandson. It would have killed whatever was left of his self-esteem.
My stomach growled reminding me I hadn’t eaten today. I checked my watch again. Too early for breakfast at Richard Walker’s, damnit. Sleep called, but hunger’s voice outspoke it right now. Maybe I could cajole Risa into rising early and making me something to eat. For while she was a powerful fae, equally powerful at her job, at home she loved to play at domesticity. I knew it was a phase, but hell, right now it worked for me. I hated domestic activities. My nature lent itself more to fighting and physical strength. Risa was probably as good a fighter as I was, but she loved to cook. I took a deep breath, the lavender scent filling my nostrils. Damn, that stuff lingered. I looked around at the scene, no longer clean, but that would be handled by morning. The brownie city services would take care of that. Another yawn and a stretch. That was it. Time to go home.
No sooner than I’d made up my mind, I heard a squeak of door hinges. The green door creaked open, an eye peering out through the crack. I stared at it for a beat, then two.
“You coming out?” I asked.
Another beat and the door slowly opened to reveal a man of medium height, nattily attired in an expensive gray suit, perfectly complemented by a matching silk tie in varying shades of gray, a meticulously folded square of silk tucked into the breast pocket. I did a quick calculation. Newish suit, worn by someone who knows how to dress. Spent more on the suit than my monthly pay. A glance down confirmed the rest. Italian loafers, shined to perfection. Hotel manager, probably.
“Mister … ?” I ventured forward, my hand outstretched, senses poised to gather as much intel as I could with the incipient shake.
“Maggiano.” The man offered me a brusque bow. “Forgive me,” he said, remaining where he stood. “Ahem …” He motioned to the alleyway behind me, never closing the distance between us. “You are done here?”
I let my hand drop and stepped back, reassuming the mantle of officer of the law, even though, technically, I wasn’t. “We’re finished. You the manager?”
He nodded, an absent gesture. His attention was entirely taken up by the surroundings.
Humans, I thought. So nervous around death.
Maggiano finished his study of the alley and returned his attention to me. “Do you know what happened?”
“Other than the brutal death of a protected Licensed Worker?” I asked, giving the sarcasm free rein. “That’s pretty much it.”
He started, his surprise quickly masked by the standard obsequious hotel manager mien—bland, professional. He placed his right hand on his breast, again giving the short head bow. A flash of gold caught my eye. A Patek Philippe added another few thousand to the overall cost of his ensemble. I knew the Leaf must pay well, but if this was the kind of clothing and jewelry afforded by the manager, I was in the wrong business. Hell, all a person needed to manage a hotel like this was the ability to tolerate the vagaries of the wealthy, both human and fae, and be able to provide whatever amusement they required. That I had in spades. After all, I played PR flunky for nearly twenty years at Mesa division, this would be cake. It was a thought.
I realized I needed to question the man since he was already here. I’d hoped to freshen up a little before doing my bit, but what the hell? I never looked a gift opportunity in the mouth.
“Mr. Maggiano,” I said, adopting my most pleasant PR- type voice. “If you could spare me a few moments?” I motioned toward the door, indicating we should step inside.
An hour later, I wished I’d just gone home when Abe did. It was as if I’d opened a dam.
“I’ve worked with them for years. And nothing like this …” He shuddered, a delicate move in harmony with his natty appearance. I suppressed the desire to roll my eyes and sigh. He’d been saying pretty much the same thing for the past sixty minutes. My instinct was to let him ramble, let him keep talking. Sometimes, we caught the bad guys by just letting them ramble. In this case, I was getting nowhere fast. Just talking in circles about how much he respected the Pros, how the hotel business would suffer, etc., etc. Ad nauseum. With every gesture of his hand, the gold flash of his watch reminded me how ridiculous it all seemed. This impeccably dressed man, smelling of the same signature scents as the air around him, so rattled he’d lost all composure.