Page 15 of Veiled Justice (The Other Detective #1)

‘Krieg?’ my mum repeated faintly. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the man she now realised was the High King of the Ogres.

He stood up and took her hand, bowed low and gently kissed it. ‘Robbie,’ he corrected. Then he released her hand and followed me out, leaving Mum gawping after him.

Loki flew to my shoulder to hitch a ride. Lazy-ass bird. ‘What’s your deal?’ I asked Krieg as we slid into the car.

‘Deal!’ Loki squawked firmly. He flew from my shoulder to the rear-seat headrest which I was already beginning to think of as ‘his’ spot within the car.

‘With regards to …?’

‘My mum! You were being charming! Stop it.’

He grinned. ‘Better to tell the sun to stop rising.’

I snorted. ‘Charming is not anything anyone says about you. Deadly, clever, cunning, all of those. Charming doesn’t make the list.’

He slid me a pointed look. ‘Do you think the people who say that know me?’

I was momentarily stumped. ‘No,’ I said finally. ‘Probably not.’

‘Then why don’t you try and get to know me rather than my reputation, which evidently you’re already familiar with.’ He seemed a little annoyed.

‘But why?’ I was genuinely confused. Why on earth did the High King of the Ogres want me to get to know him?

Okay, so it seemed like we had a little chemistry, but everything I knew about ogre culture said he was supposed to find his true mate, and his true mate had to be an ogre.

He could enjoy flirting with me until the phoenix roosted, but nothing would ever come of it.

Plus, my 658-day dry spell probably showed that I didn’t do casual sex. I’d dated Sam, an Other SOCO, for four months and taken him home to meet my family, but we still hadn’t had sex. With hindsight, that may have been the reason he dumped me.

I took going slow to a whole new glacial level, but with my powers as dangerous as they were I had to be sure.

Sex lowered my shields, and if I shagged the wrong person …

well. Evidently, Sam hadn’t been willing to wait; much as that still stung, I guessed it showed he wasn’t the right person for me.

‘I’ll tell you a story one day about a witch and a potion,’ Krieg started.

‘Which witch? Which potion?’ I demanded.

‘One day,’ he repeated, amused at my impatience. ‘Why are you so perplexed that someone would want to get to know you?’

I frowned. ‘I’m just an Inspector of the Connection.’

‘That’s your job, it’s not who you are. Just like my job is being the High King of the Ogres but it doesn’t define me.’

‘It kind of does,’ I argued. ‘Your job isn’t one you can change. My understanding is that it’s a role for life – someone challenges you, or you rule until you die. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘So it’s not like someone being a chef and then deciding to be a bus driver. Careers like yours and mine … they’re not so easily discarded.’

‘Maybe not, but we are more than our careers. And I want to know more about you than how many pips you have on your epaulette.’

‘You want to know more about me?’ I said slowly.

‘Yes.’ His eyes were on the road, not on me. ‘I want to know more about you.’

Loki gave a chuffing laugh. ‘Pigdog stupid.’

Krieg let out a low growl and met Loki’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘Pigdog smart, have some respect.’

I sighed. ‘Can you not call me Pigdog? I’d rather it didn’t catch on.’

Krieg winced. ‘Sorry, just using the bird’s language. I obviously don’t think of you as any sort of dog, pig or animal.’ He waited a beat then he sighed. ‘I’ve lost ground with that, haven’t I?’ He looked at the caladrius again in the rear-view mirror. ‘Stupid bird.’

Loki puffed up his chest. ‘Stupid ogre,’ he replied sassily, stalking around the back seat, chest puffed out as much as he could manage. ‘I Krieg,’ he parroted. ‘I so important.’ He snorted derisively.

Krieg looked at me. ‘How attached are you to the bird?’

I grinned. ‘You know what? He’s really starting to grow on me.’

Loki preened. Krieg sighed. ‘Shame.’

We parked outside the ME’s office and strode inside.

Sharon was manning the reception desk, which was overflowing with plants.

I had no idea how the green-skinned dryad had come to be working in the medical examiner’s office, but she made the place look like a damned greenhouse.

The waiting area was overflowing with bright and cheerful flowers, as if she could beat away the smell of death and disinfectant with the pungent aroma of peonies.

Instead, the fresh sweet smell mixed with the underlying scent of death and defecation turned my stomach every time I went there.

‘You’d better stay here,’ I said to Loki. ‘Nice as she is, even Kate won’t let me bring a bird into her room. It’s kept sterile for a reason.’

‘I clean,’ Loki complained, clearly affronted. Nevertheless he went and sat on a bonsai tree and turned his back on me to let me know he was pissed off at being left behind.

I approached the desk. The ageing receptionist had her dark, silver-streaked hair tied back in a neat bun and small glasses balanced on her nose. She wore a dark blue suit-dress that complemented her forest-green skin. ‘Dr Potter is expecting you,’ she said with a disdainful sniff. ‘Go on back.’

‘Thanks so much.’ I smiled; I would kill her with kindness if it was the last thing I did. One day, I would win her over.

I took point and led Krieg through the mortuary to the post-mortem room. The deeper we went, the more the scent of flowers faded until only chemicals and death remained. I preferred it: it was less cloying, more real.

I knocked once on the metal door before swinging it open.

Kate gave me a huge smile as she always did – a smile came as naturally to her lips as a frown came to my forehead.

Today her abundant, curly red hair was tied back out of the way and her glasses were perched on her delicate nose.

‘Stacy!’ she greeted me warmly. ‘Thanks for fitting me in.’

‘I think that’s my line,’ I said wryly.

‘Tsch! You’re as busy as me – busier, I’d wager!’

I doubted it. As if being an ME were not enough, in her spare time Kate volunteered at the children’s ward at the hospital and was the fellowship director for the paediatric doctors.

I had no idea how or why she’d made the sideways step to become an ME, though I suspected there was a story there.

As far as I could tell, she was literally a saint.

Although she was knocking on fifty, she worked as hard as ever – and she lived hard too.

She frequently enjoyed champagne nights with her sister Beth and their pack of dogs; she’d invited me over for a drink a number of times but our schedules had yet to align.

Kate often worked extra night shifts at the hospital, balancing both jobs with the skill of a tightrope walker.

‘This is High King Krieg.’ She’d met him at the scene but they hadn’t been formally introduced and ogres were all about the formality.

‘Of course,’ she said calmly. She touched a hand to her heart. ‘My honour to meet you properly, your Excellence.’ She bowed low.

Krieg inclined his head in response but his eyes were already on Helga, lying on a metal trolley surrounded by battery-powered candles. Kate followed his gaze. ‘So that she wasn’t in the dark,’ she murmured.

‘Thank you,’ he said tightly.

Kate’s smile was more reserved now, her eyes sympathetic. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘What can you tell us?’ he demanded.

‘The blade used on her was clean, sharp, seven inches in length and designed to penetrate the vital organs. The stabbings may look random but each strike was deliberate. I’d say that the blade was military issue, something like the Fairbairn Sykes commando knife – no serrated edge, no bells and whistles.

With the precision of the strikes, I’d say that the killer was a professional. ’

She paused. ‘Or a surgeon. Either way, they knew precisely where to stab to cause the maximum amount of damage. This wasn’t an amateur. Helga’s death wasn’t protracted but a matter of a minute or two, maybe even less. The broken nose was done peri-mortem.’

‘And the finger? Was she still alive when her finger was cut off?’ Krieg growled.

‘Not necessarily. It could have been removed immediately after death.’

‘Time of death?’ I asked crisply.

‘As you know, these things are never precise but I took her liver temperature and I’m going to say between 12.15am and 12.30am. She was found at around 12.30am and was pronounced dead. Her death was swift so it’s likely to have taken place shortly before she was found.’

‘She was killed during the fireworks display in case she screamed,’ I mused.

Kate licked her red-painted lips and hesitated. ‘That leads me to the next thing I found. There were traces of a potion called Imbarum in her system.’

I blew out a low breath. Imbarum was the product of some very sick minds, rare and incredibly expensive.

It was a very dark potion and required blood magic to work; the Connection potion experts were certain that a death sacrifice was required to create it.

People were murdered to make it and others were murdered with it. It was a foul concoction all round.

Imbarum’s purpose was to rapidly immobilise its victim whilst keeping them conscious; no matter the level of pain they suffered, they wouldn’t pass out. It was a highly illegal torture potion – and that made me frown.

If Kate was right – which she pretty much always was – then Helga’s death had been quick and precise.

Why give her a torture potion and not torture her?

There were other potions, other magic, that could immobilise someone.

Whatever the reason, we had a problem because no one would talk to an officer of the Connection about Imbarum.

‘You’ve heard of it?’ Kate asked.

I nodded and recited what I knew. Next to me, Krieg’s huge fists were opening and closing rhythmically and his nostrils were flared. I reached out to offer comfort but hesitated. His hands froze and I completed the touch, lightly squeezing his forearm. ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured. And I was.

Helga didn’t deserve to be forced to stay conscious as she died. No one did.