Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) by Brad Magnarella (ereader with android .txt) 📕

“No, no, I can’t.” I tried to back away, but the couch stopped me. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“I’ll expect it back when you’re done,” she said, pinning it to my coat.

It was a touching gesture—if I could trust her.

I waited until we were back in Bree-yark’s vehicle before unpinning the protection and burying it in a bag of neutralizing salt.

27

“Everson!” a boisterous voice said over the phone. “Long time, buddy.”

We were just pulling away from Sunita’s house, Walter Mims’s address punched into Bree-yark’s GPS, when my phone rang. I hadn’t recognized the number, but the distinct voice belonged to Mayor Lowder. And it had been a while, about eight months, since we’d worked together. That was when infernal bags were detonating throughout the city, causing mass casualties and culminating in a demon attack at Yankee Stadium during game six of the American League Championship.

Strangely, that felt like the easier case right now.

“Hi, Mayor,” I said. “I tried calling you earlier.”

“It’s Budge to you, and sorry about that. I’ve been in meetings all morning. The murders, first Goldburn and now Strock…” When he blew out his breath, I pictured him wiping his cowlick from his pudgy face. “Tragic, horrible. And it’s really put the city in a tough spot. Our municipal bonds are taking a dump in trading right now. They’re losing faith in us, Everson. I need some good news from you.”

“Well, we’re closer to understanding what’s happening.”

“Hold that thought. My secretary’s trying to put Detective Hoffman through. You there, Detective?”

“Yeah,” came Hoffman’s raw voice.

“Go ahead, Everson,” Budge said. “Tell us everything.”

As Bree-yark drove back toward the city, and the smell of Tabitha’s tuna lunch filled the Hummer, I broke down what I knew: how the perp was using the shadow present to attack the victims; and what I suspected: that the perp was targeting them for their organs and their connection to the Discovery Society.

Hoffman scoffed a couple times, but Budge was all ears. He’d learned a lot during the monster eradication campaign, though it also helped that his late wife had been a werewolf.

“Interesting,” he remarked when I finished. “What do you think, Detective?”

“Great story, but our best lead is still Vince Cole, the attorney.”

“Vince Cole?” I repeated. It was as if Hoffman had had putty in his ears for the last fifteen minutes. But according to Vega, this was a pattern with her partner—favoring a suspect early and then stubbornly holding on, even as evidence mounted suggesting someone else was responsible. Given the immense pressure he was under, that instinct in Hoffman had probably kicked up another notch.

“Fine,” I said. “What’s his connection to Strock?”

“He worked with Strock in the past, on a libel case. Could have been a payment dispute.”

“Cole’s firm specializes in all-star clients,” I said. “He’s worked with just about every big name in the city.”

“He worked with me once,” Budge offered.

“What did you learn from the cell tower data on Cole’s phone?” I asked.

“What were you even doing poking around the Discovery Society?” Hoffman asked irritably, confirming that the cell data lined up with Vince Cole’s account of dropping Bear off that night. “You were supposed to be hunting Sven Roe and building golems.”

“The Sup Squad is working on Sven, and the golems became unnecessary when my magic led me to the Discovery Society.”

I was fudging the timeline a bit, but Hoffman didn’t need to know that. He stammered before shouting, “Well, what do you want us to do? Raid this shadow place and round up all the owners of three-headed dogs?” The only reason he wasn’t swearing was because the mayor was on the call.

“It’s better than harassing an innocent man,” I shot back.

“All right, all right,” Budge stepped in. “The detective has a point, Everson. What’s the plan? Where do we go from here?”

“What’re you asking him for?” Hoffman growled. “I’m lead on this.”

“And Everson’s our special consultant,” Budge said. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

I pictured Hoffman’s face growing redder around his grinding teeth.

“Well, the remaining fellows are under police watch,” I said. “And I just delivered a special amulet to Sunita Sharma, one that will detect the potion the perp is using to bind his victims. I’m on my way to Walter Mims’s to do the same. If the perp makes a move on either one, I’ll get an alert. I also have an associate looking into how the perp might be using the organs. While she’s doing that, I’d like to talk to Vince Cole.”

“Why?” Hoffman barked.

“Because he was Goldburn’s friend, and they were together the night of his murder. I have some questions.”

“One, no one talks to him but me,” Hoffman said. “I have a system. And two, he isn’t talking.”

“One, you don’t know what to ask him. And two, just because he isn’t talking to you doesn’t mean he isn’t talking.”

“Oh, you want your shot, Sherlock?” Hoffman laughed. “Well, you go right ahead—he’s in the Yellow Pages—but you’re flying solo. Any lawsuits he slaps you with is on your dime, not the NYPD’s.”

“He does like to sue,” Budge cautioned.

“Well, we’ll see what happens,” I said, not so sure anymore.

Budge sighed. “So, no persons of interest yet, huh?”

“Vince Cole,” Hoffman repeated.

“Everson?” Budge said.

I remembered what Sunita had shared about Ludvig, but being strange and getting caught in a collection room didn’t make him a serial killer. And I was afraid that when Hoffman recognized Cole as a dead end, he’d go after the next lukewarm lead like a shark in an inflatable kiddie pool. I decided to keep the suspicions about Ludvig to myself.

“No, but I have a hunch something in the Discovery Society collection is involved,” I said. “Mims is its curator. I’ll see what he can tell me.”

“The papers smell blood,” Budge said somberly. “Two are planning to run editorials tomorrow saying the progress of the last couple years was an illusion, that Murder City is back. If the story grows legs,