Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [11]
He looked up as I came in, glasses dropping down his nose. “Ah, Detective.” He fished around in a pile that, to my eyes, appeared to be a chaos of folders, lab reports, and receipts for meals at the sushi restaurant around the corner. “Here are your results. As you can see”—he flipped open the report and gestured me over—”nothing untoward in the blood and fluids, for a drug user.”
“Heroin?” I guessed.
“Actually, no,” said Kronen, tracing a wiggly line with his finger. “This represents trace elements of a drug that I have not identified. It does share several bases with heroin, so I assume it is a street mix that has not made it into wide use.”
“Yeah, maybe because everyone who shoots it dies a horrible death,” I said.
“Could be,” Kronen agreed. “I’ll do further analysis and fit the autopsy in when I have a spare moment to make an official ruling of accidental death, but I feel safe to say you can shove this one to the bottom of your pile.”
“What pile?” I muttered, taking the report. Thanks to Matilda Freaking Morgan I had no cases.
“Detective,” said Kronen as I turned to leave. “I hope that… at the scene…” He sighed and brushed a grain of rice from the front of his shirt. “No offense was meant. Although you being were does explain why you can’t stand the smell in the autopsy bay and how you … you are a fine investigator. I’m glad to work with you anytime.” He gave a small smile and picked up a thick medical journal with dog-eared pages.
Unprepared for such a statement from Kronen, I managed to murmur, “Thanks, Doc,” and make my exit before I blushed redder than arterial spray. Now if only the department at large felt the way Kronen did, my life might not be quite so hellish.
I sighed as I drove back up Highlands toward the precinct house. Who was I kidding? I was a disaster magnet and had been my entire life. Peace-love-and-hugs from my fellow men and women in blue wouldn’t change that. Nothing would, except me magickally not being were, and I doubted that was happening anytime soon.
A typical Friday night at the Twenty-fourth consisted of a passel of drunks, a few tweakers certain we were the bug-daemons come to suck out their souls, and a tough guy who decided that no, he didn’t want a DUI arrest for going fifty-five in a twenty-five in his Porsche and was currently screaming at Rick.
“Sir,” Rick said as the arresting officer wrestled with the suit. “If I knew who you were, do you think I’d be any less inclined to book you?”
“Fuck you, pencil neck!” the suit bellowed. “I want a lawyer! Where’s my phone? I’ll call him myself, since I doubt a lower life form like you can operate one!”
I came up behind him and felt in the pockets of his tweed greatcoat until I found his sleek little flip-phone. I snapped the earpiece off the base and dropped it on Rick’s desk. The suit turned, mouth open, and I clamped a hand on his shoulder and growled, “Settle down.” My eyes stung as I let them flicker to gold for a second and then fade back to gray. It’s a nice trick to use on drunks, one I’d had to conceal very carefully before the Duncan debacle to avoid one of my coworkers grabbing a clip of silver bullets and shooting to kill.
He gaped like a wide-mouthed bass for a second. “I’ll sue?” It came out very small. I winked at Rick and went through the metal detector while he asked the drunk, “One more time, sir… address? And if you give me any more lip I’ll get the lady detective back out here to break something else.”
I felt almost happy as I came into the squad room. Maybe this whole not-hiding thing would work out after all. I had always used my were instincts and the heightened senses that came with the bite, but keeping the strength and the uncontrollable temper under wraps was a struggle. If I didn’t have to be so damn careful all the time, who knew what could happen? Maybe if I cleared enough small-lime crap fast enough, Morgan would