Page 16 of Deadly Deception (Necromancer Tales #2)

Chapter

Sixteen

Franklin

Considering we weren’t shot at, attacked, or otherwise accosted on our way to the LaPorte County Sheriff’s Office, today was definitely getting off to a better start. I’d guess the commuters who’d gotten caught up in the action yesterday agreed.

Sara was at the front desk again, and I wondered if the woman ever took a day off. Her smile was bright when she greeted us. “Detective O’Hare and Necromancer Boone, it’s good to have you back again. I trust today’s drive was less eventful?”

“Blissfully boring,” Boone answered with a grin.

“Good to hear.”

I looked around the lobby. It was fairly quiet, but a lot of police precincts were quiet this early in the morning. “How are things here? Could you get Navarre to eat this morning?” I wasn’t certain if Sara knew Navarre was staying with her uncle or not. Henson said that information wasn’t to leave the room, but this was Tompkins’s niece.

Sara gave me a conspiratorial wink making me think Tompkins had spoken with her. Warm smile vanishing, Sara said, “Sounds like you didn’t hear, but we released Navarre last night. Since he didn’t have a residence, we just opened up the doors and let him walk out.” Sara shook her head, playing her part well. “I hope he’s okay. I worry about him. I argued with Sheriff Henson, not that it did a lot of good. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. It’s not like we could keep housing the guy in the jail, it’s just…” Sara sighed. “I don’t know what it is. I just don’t like the way it sits, you know?”

I did and knew if that’s truly what had taken place, then I’d feel sick about it. Boone would too. “I wish we could have helped more.”

Boone hung his head, feigning frustrated sadness.

Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I pulled Boone tighter against me and asked, “Is the sheriff in his office?”

“Last I checked,” Sara said. “Feel free to go knock on his door. Uncle Shane asked me to tell you that he won’t be able to make it today. He’s a little under the weather and didn’t want to spread his germs around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Boone said. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Sara waved off the lie. Tompkins was clearly staying home to keep an eye on his latest necromancer guest. “Probably just an irritating cold. I’ll call him later to check up.”

I’d need to tell Tompkins later what an excellent actress his niece was. Offering a quick “Thanks, Sara,” I guided Boone around the desk and down the hall leading to Henson’s office. I gave a polite knock and waited for him to say, “Come in.”

I held the door open for Boone and followed him in. Henson was at his desk. He appeared better rested today. The scent of his cologne wasn’t quite as strong but was still the dominant smell in the room. “I hope you two got some sleep,” Henson said while waving a hand at the seats opposite his desk. “You especially, Boone.” Henson barely looked up. His fingers flew across the keyboard furiously. I could hazard a guess that he was trying to get caught up on paperwork but wasn’t certain.

This morning, while Boone was in the shower, I’d attempted to scrounge up information on Vanja. Everything I could find was decades old, accomplishing little beyond giving me a nagging headache and blurry vision. While a single name wasn’t much to go on, the only current references I’d found weren’t credible. It was hearsay at best, and wild conjecture at worst. Most mentions I found were subtle and veiled, as if the person writing the information were afraid to even type the name. It was beyond frustrating. I’d given up the chase when Boone was clean, dressed, and ready for breakfast. Our new hotel didn’t have the complimentary breakfast waffles he craved. Boone had settled for a biscuit and jelly along with a bowl of cereal. I made a mental note to take him out for breakfast tomorrow—somewhere waffles flowed like the rivers of syrup they were drenched in.

“I’m as charged up as I’m going to get,” Boone answered.

Henson finally stopped typing and stared at Boone. “I have no idea what that means.”

“It just means that I’ve eaten and am rested.” Hooking a thumb in my direction, Boone added, “And that Franklin’s loaded up with candy. Depending on just how many souls you want me to bring back, their willingness to talk, and their overall condition, I may or may not need the candy.”

“I learned the hard way that having sugar close at hand is a good idea,” I offered. Henson’s eyes scrunched and his lips pinched, but otherwise he remained silent.

“Has Dr. Scott done the autopsies yet?” Boone asked.

“Only the preliminaries. Dr. Scott did as you asked and held off on anything that might physically disturb the bodies further.”

“Good,” Boone and I said in unison. Neither one of us wanted a repeat of the Jane Doe whose soul had been returned to a post- autopsy body. Her soul had been so traumatized that Boone let her go before we could get any information. It was a lesson we’d all taken to heart. Maybe every soul wouldn’t react that way, but why take the risk when you didn’t have to?

“I suppose there’s no time like the present.” Henson sounded less than enthused. More like he was headed to the dentist for a painful extraction. It was needed but dreaded.

Before he could push out of his chair, there was another knock at the door followed by a huffed, “Come in” from Henson.

I recognized the head of brown hair that poked through the parted door and barely contained a growl of irritation. It was the officer who’d plastered himself to the side of the hallway a couple of days ago, making the sign of the cross over his chest as Boone passed by. I remembered his name. Jarrod Simms.

“Sheriff, I—” Simms’s tongue tied on his parted lips as he gaped like a fish when he saw the company Sheriff Henson currently kept.

Loudly tapping the edge of a pen on his desk, Henson said, “Well, Officer Simms, spit it out. I’ve got a busy day and don’t have time for your existential crisis.”

Boone chuckled and I fought a grin. Boone was right and I agreed with his love-hate issues regarding Sheriff Henson.

Simms’s mouth snapped shut and his cheeks flushed scarlet. “I-I’m sorry to interrupt Sheriff. I just heard that the other necromancer was released last night.” Simms said the word necromancer like it was the shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“That’s correct. What of it?” Henson sounded irritated, just like anyone would expect.

“I… Was that wise? I mean, maybe he didn’t kill Mr. Foster, but he’s not stable. He could hurt someone else. I don’t think releasing him back to the street was a good idea. I’m sure he wouldn’t be difficult to find. I can go pick him up again.”

Henson sighed like Atlas holding up the weight of the world. “Christ, Simms. What charge do you want me to hold him on? He didn’t commit the murder we assumed. He hasn’t assaulted anyone we know of. Does he have a few screws loose? Probably, but so do a lot of other people roaming the streets. Do you want me to arrest and hold all of them too? If so, we’re going to need to ask the good citizens of LaPorte County to pony up more tax money so we can build a jail large enough to hold the quirky, bizarre, and mentally off-balanced. I’ll let you handle the PR for that campaign.”

Simms stood there, his earlier flustered surprise rapidly turning into something darker. “Those are humans , not necromancers.” I didn’t like the look Simms threw Boone’s way. As for my man, Boone casually sat there, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee as he stared up at the bigot crowding the doorway. Boone’s smile was brittle and lacked warmth. What it didn’t lack was a big, loud fuck you, asshole.

“For the love of… You know what, Simms? Why don’t you take your antiquated ideas out of my office and back to your desk? I’m sure you’ve got something more productive to work on, like how in the hell this department missed finding all the bodies lying around that Necromancer Boone managed to discover in less than three hours out there on the streets. That would be a hell of a lot more useful than whatever you think you’re doing here.”

Simms looked like he wanted to say more, and like he was as volatile as a volcano and ready to erupt. Instead, he swallowed his toxic words, allowing them to burn and simmer, increasing the pressure waiting to inevitably blow.

With a quick nod, Simms walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. I had no idea if Simms was the bad egg we were looking for. Regardless, the man was rotten and stunk up the place.

“Pleasant fellow,” Boone deadpanned.

Henson finally stood, pushing his rolling chair back with enough force that it slammed into the wall. “What Simms is, is typical, and too damn common. Come on, time’s wasting, and I doubt you two want to spend the rest of October stuck in the Midwest.”

“Amen,” Boone agreed easily, hopping out of his chair with the grace of youth. I followed at a far more sedate pace.

Henson reached for the doorknob and said, “It’s really not that bad, the Midwest.”

“I haven’t seen enough to agree or disagree,” Boone said, following Henson out of his office. “All I know is that’s it’s a lot colder.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Henson agreed as we made our way to the morgue. “Dr. Scott should be waiting for us. I’ve got a better recording situation ready to go, so we don’t have to rely on my janky abilities.”

“You didn’t do a bad job last time,” Boone offered kindly.

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the recording,” Henson replied. He placed his hand on the door to the morgue and said “Dr. Scott should have the bodies ready to go. Hopefully we can knock this out in—what the hell?”

I couldn’t see what caused the panic in Henson’s voice. The man was large and blocked the doorway. That scenario didn’t last long as he bolted forward and screamed, “Emily! Emily! What in the hell happened? Call 911.”

I had my phone out but an officer we’d passed in the hall heard the noise and came to investigate. They were way ahead of me and already had a 911 dispatcher on the line.

Rushing forward, I crouched next to Henson. Dr. Emily Scott was lying on the floor, blood pooling around a gash on the back of her head. I felt for a pulse, relieved when a thready one met my fingertips.

“She’s unconscious but alive,” I said. Boone dug through cabinets until he found the one with towels.

“Here, lay this over her. The room is cold, and she’s likely in shock,” Boone said while tossing towels at me. “I’m not sure if we should move her head or not. She might have a neck injury and we could make that worse.” Henson and I both had EMT training, but I could see that training had fled Henson’s brain. He cared about the woman lying on the floor and his brain was stuck on Panic Road. I knew that path all too well.

“We’ll put the towels around her head,” I decided.

Boone crouched down beside me, his hands buried in his pockets as he scrounged around for something. “I’ve got a lot of charms, but I don’t think any of them fit this situation and I’m not medically trained. I don’t want to make something worse. If she were awake, I’d give her a pain charm, but I don’t think that will do much good considering she’s unconscious.”

“Emily.” Henson’s voice was a lot softer. His fingers touched Dr. Scott’s pale forehead. “I will kill the fucker that did this.” Given the level of venom in his voice, I didn’t doubt Henson’s intentions.

“Franklin.” Boone’s tone was soft, but urgent as he tugged on my coat sleeve. When I looked at him, I noticed Boone wasn’t staring back at me, but looking around the room. “I think the bodies are missing.”

I straightened but kept my knees bent. My new height allowed me to look around the room. Boone was mostly right. We should have had eight corpses but there were only three. Five tables were askew with their sheets haphazardly tossed on the floor. The morgue didn’t look tossed, but too many things were out of place or tilted at an odd angle.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed, grabbing Henson’s attention. “The bodies are gone,” I stated flatly.

Henson’s jaw locked and every visible muscle twitched with tension. “Someone just made a big fucking mistake, O’Hare. I promise you that. You do not shit in my home, and someone just made a fucking mess of my house. I will clean this up, even if I have to take a flamethrower to the place.”

We were located deep enough in the precinct building that I didn’t hear the ambulance’s sirens. EMTs burst into the room, and we got out of their way. Henson backed up reluctantly, his hands constantly balling into fists of rage. The man needed an outlet, and yet there was none. Boone grabbed my hand, holding on tight as we became wallflowers, desperately trying to give the EMTs room to work.

Within a matter of minutes, Dr. Scott was on a gurney. She was probably the only live victim ever wheeled out of the morgue.

Boone and I remained quiet, blending into the background as Sheriff Henson exited the morgue, barking orders and cordoning off the morgue. I had a feeling he wouldn’t allow a single other officer in.

My eyes traveled the area, looking for clues and cameras. The recording equipment I assumed Henson brought in lay on the floor, broken. But there was a surveillance camera in the corner and given its angle, it appeared to cover most of the room.

I’d no sooner noticed the camera than Henson stormed back into the room. I don’t know if he saw where my attention laid or not, regardless, he said, “Damn camera’s been tampered with. We’ve got shit on video.”

Boone squeezed my hand and shuffled closer.

“I think you’ve got a bigger problem than you previously imagined.” I didn’t say that to be callous or mean. I said it as a point of fact.

Henson grunted, his hands fisted on his hips. “And I intend to weed out that problem. I’m a proud man, but I’m not too proud to ask for help when needed. This is officially me doing so.”

I stared down at Boone, my silent question obvious.

“We’ll do what we can,” Boone said, answering for both of us. We might not know how that help would play out, but, as usual, we were on the same page.