Page 7 of Mystic Justice (The Other Detective #2)

Chapter Six

Bryar and Sorrel Hollings were tense when they stepped out of their trees. They clutched at each other’s hands, knuckles white. Ordinarily, I would have asked to enter the relatives’ residence when I passed on a death message, but as a non-dryad that simply wasn’t possible.

Loki fluttered down to rest on my shoulders, making me feel distinctly piratical.

I glanced about for a place to sit and found a small circle of log rings set aside for moments like this when dryads needed to speak with those from beyond their grove.

‘Please take a seat,’ I told them, gesturing to the logs.

Even with those simple words, I could see that they knew what was coming.

Bryar’s bottom lip started to wobble and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Please,’ she begged me as her husband helped her to sit.

‘Please,’ she repeated. She was begging me not to tell her the words she knew I was going to say.

It was never easy but my heart gave a sharp twist. On my shoulder, Loki’s claws tightened.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly; better to deliver the news as rapidly as possible. ‘Your daughter’s body was found this morning at Grosvenor Lake. She’s dead. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

Phrases like ‘she’s passed away’ weren’t appropriate at a death notification because you didn’t want there to be any confusion, any hope.

The facts of the death had to be presented baldly; dressing it up nicely couldn’t make this moment any better.

It was every parent’s living nightmare and no doubt they’d relive it time and time again for the rest of their days.

I hated my part in it but I could give them succour if I could get them answers and justice. I planned to do both.

Bryar let out a sob, shaking her head in denial, even as Sorrel gathered her into his arms and gave a sob of his own.

They clung to each other and wept their hearts out, shuddering and shaking, their grief harsh and raw.

I waited patiently, respectfully, until they’d processed the worst news of their life.

Finally, when their sobs began to slow, I knew they were ready to ask me the questions that would surely haunt them. I waited until they parted and wiped their cheeks as best they could, trying to reign in their grief in favour of answers, before they turned to me dull-eyed and hurting.

‘What happened?’ Bryar asked brokenly. ‘What happened to my baby?’

Cold, hard facts were needed here; they didn’t need compassion but to see me strong and unwavering, a hunter who could and would get justice for their child. I spoke dispassionately. ‘At this juncture, we believe that she may have been kidnapped, held against her will and eventually drowned.’

‘May the sun scorch them from the Earth,’ Sorrel growled fiercely, a phrase so rude in dryad culture that it was worse than the C-word in the human one.

‘Oh,’ Bryar moaned low. ‘She was scared of the water.’ She started sobbing again. ‘She must have been so frightened. My baby. My poor baby!’

Sorrel put an arm around his wife as she dissolved into tears again. He met my gaze with a fierce glare. ‘You’ll find who did this to our Moss and you’ll destroy them, won’t you?’

‘I’ll bring them to justice,’ I promised. ‘One way or another.’

Loki shifted on my shoulder but thankfully held his tongue. Moss’s parents didn’t need his quips right now.

‘I want the kind of justice that comes with a grave,’ Sorrel snapped.

‘How justice is carried out will ultimately be my decision,’ I said firmly.

I was the JJE here – Judge, Jury and Executioner.

I didn’t do the latter lightly but justice had to be served; if I believed the killer was likely to strike again, I’d pull on the hangman’s mask.

Metaphorically, of course. Real masks were hell for your peripheral vision.

‘Please tell me a little about Moss,’ I said to her parents. ‘Let me get a sense of who she was.’ And therefore, who would want to end her.

‘She was just a normal twenty-year-old,’ her dad said dully. ‘She was young and bright and she thought she was invincible. She loved music, she works – worked – in a bar in town.’

‘Which bar?’

‘Botany, on Hardman Street.’

I knew it. The bar suited the dryads because it was chock full of floral displays, but it was run by Gideon Merrick, a local vampyr with a dubious reputation.

Rumour had it that he prowled his bar looking for flirtatious young women who’d be impressed that he was rich enough to own the place, then ply them with drink and drink from them in turn.

Such practices were strictly forbidden, of course, but no charges had ever stuck.

‘Did she enjoy working there?’ I asked.

‘She loved it, said it was a laugh,’ her mum whispered. ‘Loved the team. All the staff are from the Other. And she enjoyed the tips.’

‘Did she have a friend there? Anyone in particular she mentioned?’ They both shook their heads. ‘Any regulars who upset her or anything like that?’

‘No, nothing like that. She always came home beaming,’ her dad said.

‘Sorrel always waits up for her no matter the time she comes in,’ Bryar choked out. ‘He’s always been a worrier.’

‘Rightly, so it seems,’ Sorrel said tightly, his eyes filling with tears. ‘This is hard, Inspector. Do you have many more questions for us?’

‘No,’ I said softly. ‘Not too many now. Besides music, what else did she like to do?’

‘That was it really,’ Bryar replied. ‘She lived and breathed music. She was always singing to herself. She was gifted – she had a voice like an angel. She told us Gideon had said she could sing one night at the club; she was just waiting for a date.’ Her eyes slid closed. ‘And now she won’t ever have that.’

‘She was always moving to a beat.’ Sorrel’s voice was thick with grief. ‘Swaying, patting things like they were a drum. Drove us wild when she was a child until we learned to embrace it and give her music to move to.’

‘Did she play an instrument?’ Channing asked.

‘The guitar sometimes, but mostly just her voice. That was her favourite instrument.’

Channing slid a look at me and I nodded. With my permission, he continued the questioning. ‘Did your daughter have any relationships we should be aware of? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?’

‘No, she didn’t really date. She’s only ever had one boyfriend and he ended things more than six months ago. He was another dryad in the grove. It wasn’t awkward – they were friends and better suited to staying that way,’ Sorrel said gruffly.

‘His name?’

‘Rowan Dewlin. Everyone calls him Dewy.’ He paused. ‘He’ll be at work now.’

‘Where does he work?’ Channing pressed.

‘At the Palm House. He works under the dragon there, Peter.’

Well, now: it looked like we’d be going back to the Palm House even without the imp situation.

More women were killed by current or former partners than by strangers, and the most likely suspects in a female victim’s murder investigation were those closest to them emotionally.

I would take – and test – the parents’ alibis, but we’d be taking a close look at Rowan Dewlin, too.

‘Where were you both between 10pm and 1am last night?’ I asked softly. ‘I have to ask, just for our records.’

‘We were asleep,’ Bryar responded. ‘I’ve been taking a potion to help me sleep since Moss went missing. I took it around 9pm and I’d have been out by 9.15. The potion hits hard.’

Sorrel cleared his throat. ‘I wasn’t asleep. I went to bed when Bryar did, but at 11pm I grew restless. I got up and left her tree, got into my car and just drove around. Looking for Moss,’ he added tightly.

Her father didn’t have an alibi. I kept my face carefully blank. Despite the emotional devastation I was witnessing, I’d have been remiss if I didn’t take a long hard look at Sorrel Hollings. Killers came in all shapes and sizes; some of them even wept convincingly.