Dead Waters - Anton Strout [55]
“Shush,” I said, sitting back down.
“Well, kid?” Connor asked. “What did you find out?”
“They loved Mason Redfield,” I said. “They were gaga over him.”
The Inspectre smiled. “That is of some comfort to hear.”
“Great,” Connor said, perturbed. “So he was well loved. That really doesn’t help narrow or expand our field of investigation into his murder, now, does it? At least if he had made some enemies . . .”
“The only enemies he seems to have had outside of the water woman are all those fake movie monsters in his office,” I said, “and I doubt they could do anything other than fetch a nice price on eBay. We’ll keep on it, Inspectre, but that group was a creepy little Mason Redfield cheer squad. Still, I think they may not be giving me the whole picture yet.”
“Really?” the Inspectre asked. “Why not, my boy?”
“When I tried to head the conversation into the paranormal, they didn’t pick up on any of my cues. Then when the guy with the blond punk hair made a joke that might have suggested something paranormal, Elyse clammed him up. . . fast. They left before I could press them any further, but I bet they know something about the professor and the water woman who killed him.”
“Maybe we should work on that kid, then,” Connor suggested. “The punk one. I’m sure if we press hard enough, we can find the weak link in their chain.”
“Carefully,” the Inspectre added. “We don’t want them to bolt.”
“Understood,” I said, nodding. “I’ll track them down on campus tomorrow. Maybe they’ll feel less threatened there during the daytime. If I’m lucky, I can single one of them out.”
“Daytime,” Aidan said, drawing it out like it was a dirty word. “Well, that leaves me out, then.”
“It’ll leave all of you out,” I said. “I’ll handle this myself.”
“Excellent,” the Inspectre said, raising his glass with a bit of drunken unsteadiness, “but for now, we drink.”
“Fine by me,” I said, reaching for my glass. “As long as the Department lets me expense it.”
The Inspectre cleared his throat. “Actually, about that . . .”
I held my hand up to stop him. I raised my glass to my lips and pounded it. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Save it for the office tomorrow. Tonight, like you said, we drink.”
15
There was nothing I hated more than the sound of construction in New York City, but it was even worse when it was happening in my own damned head thanks to a hangover the next morning. Somehow I managed to get myself up to the Department, but made sure I loaded up on four cups of high-octane caffeine in the Lovecraft Café first.
My blurriness began to fade about two cups in, but even then, I found myself just staring at piles of paperwork for at least the first forty minutes I was in without having actually done anything with them. As I rallied my brain back to functionality, the sneaking suspicion I was forgetting something important began to creep over me. I almost had it when a shadow at the entrance to my cube reminded me what it was.
“Jane,” I muttered. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” she said, and by the tone of her voice, she wasn’t pleased. A bunch of books and papers were cradled in her arms.
“Honestly?” I asked. “No. My ass is dragging. The ‘memorial’ got a little more indulgent as the night went on.”
“I’ve seen the results already,” she said. “Connor and the Inspectre both look a little rough around the edges.”
“Were you awake when I came in last night?”
“You aren’t sure?” Jane asked, setting down the pile of books and papers in her arms.
I shook my head. “I don’t recall much of anything once I got home. Where were you?”
“I stayed at my place,” she said. “I figured it might be best. . . between you going out and with you having issue with all this emotion tied to using your powers.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling a weird energy between the two of us. “I can understand that.” I patted her pile of books. “What do we have here?”
Jane looked like she was about to say something more regarding us, but turned to the books instead. “I pulled some more materials. Books on water and water-based spells and mythos. I figured