Page 4 of Mystic Justice (The Other Detective #2)

Chapter Three

Sam took a few quick snaps of the body in situ before we did anything further.

‘Check she’s dead,’ I instructed Channing.

His eyes swept over to the deceased and then back to me. ‘Ma’am … she’s very dead.’

I stifled a sigh. ‘Appearances can be deceptive. She could be alive and being hidden under a witch’s illusion, but no matter how good the illusion is – and the image can be perfect – it can’t hide a heartbeat.

Hold your fingers to her neck for at least two minutes.

Some magical creatures can survive in a coma.

When unicorns suffer grievous injuries, they go into a catatonic state with a barely detectable heartbeat.

You can’t assume anything in the Other realm is dead just because it looks dead.

Rule one, Channing, always verify death. ’

‘Right.’ Looking a little squeamish, Channing moved forward to touch the dryad’s skin, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in her neck. ‘Nothing,’ he called back after a long two minutes.

The body was face up, eyes wide, face stuck in an expression of total despair.

Channing went to close her eyes and looked shocked when he couldn’t do it.

‘It’s not like it is in the movies,’ I explained.

‘You can close a corpse’s eyes if it’s fresh, but you can’t if it’s been a few hours and rigor mortis has set in.

Well, you can close them but they’ll spring open again – and let me tell you, that shit is nightmare fuel.

The mortician will use stitches or glue to shut them if the family wants to see her body. ’

I moved closer to examine her more closely. ‘See here?’ I pointed with blue-gloved fingers. ‘The frothing under her nose and mouth?’

Channing nodded.

‘That’s one of the signs of drowning. The clothing is still waterlogged so the tree hasn’t held her out of the water for long. Look.’ I pointed to her hands, which were bound to her side, and to her feet. ‘You see the wrinkling of the skin? That shows lengthy exposure to the water.’

Channing leaned in to study what I was showing him. ‘Will the wrinkling fade once she’s been out of the water for a while?’

‘No. Post-mortem wrinkling doesn’t change once it’s set in. And cold water delays the onset of rigor mortis, but since she’s already stiff I’d estimate she’s been dead less than twelve hours.’

I continued to examine the body. Her wrists had marks around them beyond the bindings: she had cuts around her wrist that had clotted, started to scab and heal.

Those wounds were days old. My gut said this girl hadn’t been missing at all, she’d been snatched, restrained against her will and ultimately she’d been killed.

The dryad was wearing a white, long-sleeved, smock dress but since her arms were a little long for the sleeves, I’d have wagered that the clothes weren’t her own.

She was barefoot and had some scrapes on her heels.

Any mud had long since been washed away in the lake but I was sure she’d fought her killers, digging her feet in as best she could.

Her bright pink hair was bound in a French braid; some strands were loose, as if it had been done days ago and they’d strayed from their once-neat binding.

Algae clung to it in dull green patches and bits of plant life were tangled in it.

The weave echoed the tree’s cocoon and it hurt my heart a little; her panic must have been so great that even the weeds had tried to help her, to comfort her.

I straightened and turned to the dryads. ‘Do you know her?’

Fern shook her head, as did Jingo. She was visibly distressed; her eyes had filled with tears and her bottom lip was wobbling. Not everyone was cut out to see corpses day after day. Some days I wondered if I was.

‘Do you know everyone local?’ Channing asked Fern. It was a good question.

‘Not everyone local but certainly everyone in my grove. She’s not local to Chester. But … she does look familiar. I think I’ve met her but I can’t place where or when. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.’

‘That’s okay. We’ll identify her,’ I reassured her.

The pink hair was distinctive and I doubted it would take long to find her name and her family.

‘Can you ask the tree what it saw?’ I asked.

I didn’t mind that it made me sound nuts because I’d learned to take advantage of anything and everything around me, no matter how bizarre.

Fern nodded and her eyes slid closed as she lay her hands against the tree again. After a few moments, she stroked it and opened her eyes again. ‘She called for help,’ she said mournfully. ‘The tree answered. It is distressed.’ She stroked it again.

‘Can you get it to move back to where it should be?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ She spoke to it again but nothing seemed to happen.

‘Is it going to move?’ Channing asked curiously.

‘It will take its time,’ the dryad explained, still soothing the tree with gentle movements. ‘By tomorrow morning it will be back where it should be, but it will move more slowly than it did last night. It damaged its roots by moving quickly to try and save her.’

‘Please let it know we are grateful for what it did.’

‘I have already conveyed gratitude,’ she assured me.

There was a crunch on the gravel path that led to the lake and I looked up, expecting to see the ME, Kate Potter. Instead, my eyes met stormy silver ones: Krieg’s.

Despite myself, something warm rolled over me at the sight of him.

He was a complication all right, but I was damned if I wasn’t pleased to see him.

I watched him approach, unable to tear my eyes from his imposing frame.

At over seven feet tall, he towered over most males – and it wasn’t just his height that made him imposing.

He had muscles on muscles, and his sharp tusks protruded from his jet-black hair.

His eyes darkened when he saw who was standing next to me. ‘Jingo,’ he greeted the doppelganger tightly.

‘Your Excellence,’ Jingo drawled. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’

Krieg grunted. His eyes passed over Sam, who was ignoring all the posturing and carrying on with his job as usual.

I’d always regarded him as hard-working and dedicated, but now I noted that his eyes stayed down deliberately to signal to Jingo and Krieg that he wasn’t a threat.

He was making himself as small and inoffensive as possible.

Just a man doing his job, nothing to see here.

It made me feel sad for him, that he’d never stick his head above the parapet and actually live, risk something, anything.

Sam really wasn’t the man I’d thought he was.

My eyes lingered on Krieg’s broad frame. Maybe it wasn’t a man I was after. Maybe it was an ogre.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Inspector Wise,’ he greeted me and a small smile tipped his lips.

‘What are you doing here?’ Luckily my question came out as curious rather than accusatory.

His smile widened. ‘Making the stars align.’