The Necromancer's Gambit: Elise
Nicolas Wilson
“You knew her.”
My instinct is to lie, but for some reason I don’t. “We were… together. A few years.” The words aren’t coming easily.
“And it ended.”
“Yeah.”
“Badly?”
“I’m not sure. Some days, I think yeah. She said some things- and I did- hurtful things. But there was always a, I never really thought it was over.” And now it unequivocally is.
“You want to talk about it?
“We don’t have the time.”
“We can make time.”
“No,” I tell her, turnings towards the doors “I mean that spell I cast, on Vergara, it’s going to wear off, and she’s going to kick the door in if we don’t-” As if on cue she bursts in through the door. “Impatient?” I ask.
“I checked my notes. You’ve been in here over an hour.”
“That can’t be right. You must have written it down wrong.”
She hesitates, then holsters her gun, because it didn’t feel like an hour. “Maybe. So why are we here?”
“Another body.”
“So where is it?”
“About that,”
“If you’ve spirited away another corpse I swear to you I’ll put you in the ground in its stead.”
“The body’s here, it’s just, complicated.”
“I hate it when you use that word.”
“I think you’ll be happier after I’ve explained. Just don’t touch anything.”
“It’s not my first crime scene.”
“No, I mean anything. Even if it doesn’t look pertinent to the crime. The body’s booby-trapped. But it’s complicated, because it isn’t… it’s something the bomb squad isn’t equipped to deal with.”
“What the fuck is this? Are you telling me it’s radiological? Microbial? Are you trying to pass yourself off as some kind of spook now?”
“Not exactly. But I have expertise. Just, I want to show you something, before you do anything- or make any decisions.”
She hesitates. She knows me, and that buys me hesitation, even when I ask for something crazy. But that’s far from a guarantee. And if this goes sideways I don’t have a plan b. But her shoulders slump, and I relax as she says, “Okay.”
I lead her to the alcove. She makes a face, but it’s quick; she doesn’t want to admit to being disgusted, or even affected, so she covers it up with a stern expression. “I’ve seen worse,” she says, putting on a pair of gloves.
“Maybe. But this is different. She’s a, a human puzzle box. Information on her killer is hidden in the mutilation.” I pull a small metal shard out of a wound in the back of her hand with the tweezers, with a rune stamped on it. “But it’s also booby-trapped; if you aren’t careful, and precise, it destroys all the evidence- and maybe you.”
“That… doesn’t sound possible.” I pull out my Gerber knife, open it. Then I wrap my arm in my jacket, with the knife the only part protruding out.
“He had time. And patience. A potent combination.” I slice through Elise’s right ring finger, then stab the knife through it to pick it up. Vergara’s surprised, but the speed of it doesn’t give her time for revulsion. “Touch it, but then immediately take your hand away.” She eyes me, but it’s so fucked up that the idea that maybe it is crazy probably comforts her, so she touches the finger.
It catches fire, burning like phosphorous, so bright we all look away, and hot enough that even with my hand wrapped in my jacket I drop it and my knife.
“How the fuck?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Probably chemical. It means we can’t move the body- not until we disarm the traps.”
“So what do we do?”
“The owners of the building are very… particular about their security. There’s bars on the windows, bolts on the doors, motions sensors. Everything is locked down. The reason they called me is somebody dumped this body on their doorstep; they value their privacy, and their solitude- and they take personal offense at people dropping bodies in their home.”
“What are you saying? This place is way too shitty for the residents to be mobbed up; it’s probably even too ghetto for gang activity.”
“Nothing like that. They’re just… a close knit neighborhood association. Persnickety, and particular. But I have a specialist- two, actually- who have experience with this sort of thing.”
“Really? This sort of thing?”
“In the realm, anyway. But to make it official, we’ll also need the tamest person you know in the ME’s office- to oversee, but not touch.”
“That’ll be tough.”
“It shouldn’t be. Wilbur’s in love with you.”
“Wilbur’s in love with anything with a pulse.”
“You’re selling yourself short.”
“No, I’m selling Wilbur short. But,” she sighs and takes out her phone. There’s a pause before he answers. “Wil, hi, it’s… I’m wearing clothes, Wil. Walking out around in public clothes. Because I’m working. And I’m calling you because I need you to work, too…. No, I don’t care that somebody else is on-call. I’m asking you. Yes, God, you’ve found me out, I want you here because I’m hoping after we get done putting forensic tools into a corpse we can have a quicky in your uncomfortably small looking back seat. I’m just trying to be demure about it.”
She closes the phone. “He’s on his way.” Something in the way Rook looks at her makes her feel self-conscious. “He’s… not a bad guy. But he flirts with no subtlety, or discretion, or forethought, or sensitivity. He is a masterclass seminar in unwanted sexual advances- not that I give that big a shit about it. He’s harmless- just, awkwardness, made flesh. Ew,” she shudders. “I thought about his flesh. Ew ew. There couldn’t be enough bourbon in my coffee to make that an okay thought.”
“Because it’s not all bourbon?” Rook offers.
“Maureen…” I take the extra second to fix Vergara with my eyes, try and play off any sympathy I might have banked with her, “there is one more thing we learned before you came in, and I should tell you now, because it will look marginally less suspicious than if you find it out later. But I knew the girl. We dated for a few years. Some time ago. I hadn’t seen her in just as long- it’s not like we’ve recently been having loud and violent fights that wake the neighbors. We parted on what I think were pretty good terms. But…”
“This is the second friend of yours that’s wound up dead. You tell me they’re both victims of the same serial killer. And yet you expect me not to assume it’s you?” She sighs, and looks at the ceiling. Then she lowers her gaze back to me, and her smile is chilling. “We know I can’t cuff you- but I have a big roll of duct tape in my car. I’m going to go get it. Now stay put. Your car’s this way, and you won’t get far on foot- and I will tase you an extra lot if you make me chase you.”
She has a little bit of a bounce to her walk as she leaves. “I hate duct tape. I don’t mind that much the idea of going to jail. But look at my arms,” I roll up my sleeves, “at how hairy they are. And the tape has to come off. It’s not like I’m only going to lose a little of hair if I get booked. Nope. I’m going to have weird like reverse wrist-bands of hairlessness. You want to be my patsy?”
“What?” Rook says. “No.”
“Oh come on. You barely have any hair on your wrists at all- and what’s there might even benefit from the tape-waxing.”
“You are not good at talking women into doing you favors.”
“So says every woman I’ve ever dated. Or spent an afternoon with. Crap. I better call Bishop while I’ve still got the use of my hands.” I take out my phone and dial. It’s finally wrung through when Vergara returns with the tape spread almost as wide as her grin.
“Hands behind your back,” she says, and I set my phone on the end of the lobby counter and lean over it.
“B, I need you to meet me at the Brownstone. I’m here with Detective Vergara, and you’re on speaker. We’ve got another body, same as the last.”
“Shit,” Bishop says.
Vergara starts to wrap my wrists, a little too tightly, a little too far behind me. “I’m going to need you to grab your tools and meet us here. And bring Harry. He might have some insight on it.” My right shoulder’s already starting to hurt. “And please hurry.”