Page 13 of Mystic Justice (The Other Detective #2)

My phone lit up. Dr Potter calling and I swiped up to take the call. ‘Kate, have you got the results of the autopsy?’

‘Hey. I’m still waiting on some toxicology tests but I have some initial impressions. I’d like to show you a few things. Can you come in?’

‘I’m in the field. It’ll probably be a couple of hours before I can get to you.’

‘That’s fine.’ Her normally upbeat voice was sombre. ‘I’ll stay in the morgue until you get here. Beth will take the dogs out for me.’ Her sister Beth lived with her and their small pack of dogs.

‘I appreciate you staying late.’

‘It’s not a problem. I’ll catch up on paperwork. See you soon.’ She hung up.

I frowned. ‘What’s up?’ Krieg asked.

‘Kate normally updates me on the phone, but she wants to see me in person, which means she’s found something unique. Something she hasn’t seen before.’ I trusted Kate; if she said I needed to see it, then I needed to see it.

I slipped my phone into the pocket of my black suit jacket as we reached our destination.

Hardman Street was a busy district of pubs, bars and restaurants with a mixture of Victorian and Georgian buildings.

Because of the presence nearby of the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts – known as LIPA – the footfall was generally a younger demographic that contrasted with the austere grandeur of the buildings.

Nearby was the Philharmonic Pub; a Grade Two listed building.

Amusingly, the gents toilets inside were incredibly fancy and were Grade One listed.

Women wandering in to goggle at the men’s loos was a common occurrence.

In contrast, the women’s toilets were beyond basic.

It felt like the whole thing was a general commentary about sexism in Victorian times that had yet to be rectified by modern society.

Botany was all about modernity. It was located in the old School for the Blind, a classic Victorian structure that still spoke of elegance.

I could see through the windows that the inside had received a full makeover: the walls were light coloured and there were flowers everywhere.

No wonder Moss Hollings had wanted to work here – it was a dryad’s dream job, especially for one that liked music.

I could already hear low thudding basslines pumping out.

Elliott Channing was waiting outside and, like me, he was still wearing his suit though it was looking a little less starched now. He scanned me anxiously as I approached. ‘I read the report on SPEL. Are you okay, ma’am?’

‘I’m fine, but be careful what you look at on SPEL. Every report you read leaves a digital fingerprint so the brass know what you’re reading, and when. Make sure you’ve always got a reason to look at something.’

‘Got it.’

‘Okay, we’re here to talk to the staff about Moss and to talk to the owner, Gideon Merrick, if he’s around.’ I checked my watch. ‘We’re thirty minutes away from opening so hopefully all the staff will be here prepping.’

I tried the door and it swung open. Inside the building we were greeted by two huge, blossom-covered trees.

No doubt the Common folk would think they were fake but I could sense the dryad magic humming in them and keeping them alive.

Effort had been made to ensure they still received plenty of natural light; skylights had been carved into the ceiling to bathe the entranceway in sunshine.

We took the short flight of stairs up to the bar.

‘Oh!’ a fire-elemental waitress said, taken aback at our unexpected arrival. The fire that danced on her head in place of her hair flared. She pasted on a customer-facing smile. ‘Sorry, we’re not open yet! Come back in thirty minutes.’

I fished out my Connection badge. ‘We’re not here for drinks.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Krieg murmured by my side.

Eyes wide and fixed on the badge, the woman nodded too many times. ‘Right. Sure. Fine. The Connection. Okay.’

‘Did you know Moss Hollings?’

She blinked rapidly. ‘Did I know Moss? Past tense?’

‘I’m sorry to confirm that she died yesterday.’

Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted dead away. Krieg caught her with no visible sign of effort, swung her into his arms and moved forward into the bar. What was it with him and women fainting into his arms? I definitely wasn’t jealous. No way.

The bar was full of chatter and laughter when we walked in but it halted abruptly as the occupants took in the unconscious woman in Krieg’s arms. ‘Jane!’ someone shouted, alarmed.

Jane’s eyes fluttered and she moaned as she came round. Krieg set her down in a chair and the rest of the staff fluttered around her. She sat up. ‘Moss is dead!’ she announced loudly to the whole room.

My lips pressed together and I made an effort to suppress a frown.

I had wanted to impart that news myself so I could watch people’s reactions; instead my gaze now had to dart here, there and everywhere as I tried to get a handle on what they were feeling.

Without exception, they were shocked and upset and the jovial mood that had been there a moment earlier faded away.

Death had a way of killing the mood.

‘Listen up,’ I said loudly. ‘We’ll be interviewing all of you, but I want to start with anyone who worked closely with Moss or saw her on her last shift on Tuesday.’

A tall man frowned then spoke. ‘We’ve spoken to the Connection already, when Moss went missing,’ The bounce on his toes told me he was some sort of shifter; my money was on werewolf.

Werewolves shared a body with their wolf counterpart, allowing them to shift into man or wolf as needed but even when human they retained an added edge of stealth and strength.

Until recently, the wolves had struggled to communicate with their human side but according to a recent briefing, Lucy Barrett, the current leader of the werewolves, had resolved the issue.

Now they could speak freely once more. Intel on how she’d done it was sketchy, but werewolf violence had gone down by fifty percent in the last few months, so I didn’t really care how she’d achieved it. I was just pleased that she had.

‘Shut it, Ruben,’ Jane snapped. ‘This is for Moss. The least we can do is help the police.’

He grimaced and didn’t argue – but now I was looking more closely at Ruben.

Channing and I divided the employees between us and started work.

It was no coincidence that all of the witches were on my list. Krieg had been right: Moss had been afraid of drowning, which made me all the more certain that her fear had been harvested through dark magic to give a power-hungry witch a significant power bump.

Sandra Jaxim, the bar’s manager, cried a lot but it felt false, like most of the tears were for show.

I’d bet that she’d soon be taking some paid leave because of ‘emotional’ stress.

There had been a little flash of something in her eyes before the tears started and she toyed with her blonde curls as we spoke. Was that a tic or a tell?

She was wearing the same uniform as the others – black trousers, white shirt – but hers were of a notably superior quality.

‘How well did you know Moss?’ I asked her.

‘How well do we know anyone?’ She sniffed delicately. ‘She was a nice girl. Warm. Kind. Great singing voice.’

‘How was her work?’

‘She was always on time,’ Sandra said firmly, pulling down a curl and letting it bounce back up.

‘And?’

She hesitated. ‘She wasn’t our hardest worker,’ she admitted quietly, one finger twirling into another curl.

‘Always drumming on tables or humming or moving to the music. You had to remind her to do her job because she sometimes got lost in the music, but despite that she was a really popular waitress. She had a big smile and an even bigger heart – she had a way with customers and they always forgave her if it took a while for her to fetch their drinks. She always pulled in big tips. She had charisma, I guess.’ She seemed rather bitter, as if charisma was something that had passed her by.

‘Did you get on well with her?’

Her twirling finger stopped. ‘Oh yes, everyone did.’

She was wrong. Someone hadn’t. ‘Did anyone have any issues with her? Complain about her lackadaisical attitude?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Everyone adored Moss.’

‘Where were you last night between the hours of 9pm and 1am?’ Without having a firmer time of death from Kate, I left the window deliberately vague.

She paled, swallowed hard then pushed the curl behind her ear. Was that an outward hint of inward turmoil? ‘Me? Last night? I was here, working until closing time.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Close? It’s midnight on Friday and Saturday, 11pm the rest of the week.’

Moss had died on Saturday night. If Sandra had closed up Botany at midnight and then run all the way to Grosvenor Lake, she might just have made it there within the window. I’d have to see what Kate said about the time of death before I could rule Sandra in or out.

‘You’re a witch?’ I asked. That question was rude, but politeness had little place in a murder investigation.

She pressed her lips together in disapproval but answered all the same. ‘Yes.’

‘Which coven?’

‘Liverpool coven.’

I nodded. I’d have to reach out to Kass, get her impression of Sandra and ask her to pull the CCTV footage for me. There was something off about the woman and I was going to find out what.

Just as Sandra had said, everyone was overflowing with praise for Moss and in tears that she was gone.

Her work bestie, Lena Shaw, was so overwrought that she cried pretty much all the way through her interview.

She was a witch like Sandra, but what was interesting was the fact that she’d been off shift on Saturday night.

She said that before she’d headed out to meet friends at 10.

30pm, she’d seen Sandra at the coven tower.

I’d check the cameras at Botany too, but it looked like Sandra was telling porkies.