Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [127]
Even the corral full of horses spilling in an endless nervous circle seemed stage-managed. The house wasn’t exactly what I had pictured, being low to the ground and made of white adobe much like Edward’s house but newer. If you could have just erased the plethora of police cars, emergency units, and even some fire rescue equipment, it would have been picturesque in a lonesome down-on-the-prairie sort of way.
A lot of the police cars had revolving lights, and the crackle of police radios was thick in the air. I wondered if it was the lights, the noise, or just this many people making the horses nervous. I didn’t know much about horses, but surely rushing back and forth around their pen wasn’t normal behavior. I wondered if they had been running in circles before the cops came or after. Were horses like dogs? Could they sense bad things? Didn’t know, didn’t even know who to ask.
We were stopped just inside the gate by a uniformed cop. He took our names and went off to find someone who would let us pass, or find someone to tell him to kick us out. I wondered if Lieutenant Marks was here. Since he’d issued the invite, it seemed likely. What kind of threat to his career had they used to get him to invite me back?
We waited. None of us spoke. I think we’d all spent a lot of our adult lives waiting for one uniform or another to give us permission to do things. It used to get on my nerves, but lately I just waited. Maturity, or was I just getting too worn down to argue over small stuff? I’d have liked to say maturity, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t it.
The uniform came back with Marks trailing behind him. Marks’ pale tan suit jacket flapped in the hot wind, giving a glimpse of his gun riding just behind his left hip. He stared at the ground as he walked, briskly, all business, but he was careful not to look at us, at me, maybe.
The uniform got to us first, but he stood a little back from the open driver’s side door and let the lieutenant catch up. Marks finally got there, and he looked fixedly at Edward, as if he could exclude me by just not looking at me.
“Who are the men in the back?”
“Otto Jefferies, and Bernardo Spotted-Horse.” I noticed that Olaf had to use an alias, but Bernardo got to keep his real name. Guess who was wanted for crimes elsewhere.
“What are they?”
I wouldn’t have known how to answer that question but Edward did. “Mr. Spotted-Horse is a bounty hunter like myself, and Mr. Jefferies is a retired government worker.”
Marks looked at Olaf through the glass. Olaf looked back. “Government worker. What sort of government worker?”
“The kind that if you contacted the state department, they’d confirm his identity.”
Marks tapped on Olaf’s window.
Olaf rolled the window down with the nearly silent buttons on the door handles. “Yes,” he said in a voice that was totally devoid of his usual German burr.
“What did you do for the state department?”
“Call them and ask,” Olaf said.
Marks shook his head. “I have to let you and Blake inside my crime scene, but not these two.” He jerked a thumb at the back seat. “They stay in the car.”
“Why?” Bernardo said.
Marks looked at him through the open window. His blue-green eyes were mostly green right now, and I was beginning to realize that meant he was angry. “Because I said so, and I’ve got a badge and you don’t.”
Well, at least it was honest.
Edward spoke before Bernardo could do more than make inarticulate noises. “It’s your crime scene, Lieutenant. We civilians are just here on your sufferance, we know that.” He twisted in his seat to give the two men direct eye contact, but turned so Marks couldn’t see his face well. I could, and it was cold and full of warning. “They will be happy to stay in the car. Won’t you, boys?”
Bernardo slumped in his seat, arms crossed on his chest, sulking, but he nodded. Olaf just said, “Of course, whatever the good officer says.” His voice was mild, empty. The very lack of tone was frightening, as