Titan Song by Dan Stout (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📕

steepled her fingers. “You think she had something to do with the sinkhole?”

I hesitated. “No. I think that she had something to do with the bodies in the cavern.” I set a missing person’s report on her desk, the tattered tractor-feed holes on the sides frayed by my nervous plucking while I waited. “Tanis Klein was reported missing by his wife almost thirty-four years ago. And I bet we’ll find something similar with the new bodies found today. Paulus wouldn’t leave them lying around if she knew where they were. I think someone is using those bodies to throw suspicion on Paulus.”

Bryyh tilted her head, a motion that caused the beads decorating her graying braids to sway, ticking a brief rhythm. “But he’d been down there untouched for decades.”

Jax cleared his throat. “Well, that’s the other thing . . .” In a rush of words, he confessed to losing his badge, waiting to report it, and discovering that it had been found beneath a decades-old body. By the time he was done, Bryyh’s frown had etched itself in place.

“Detective Ajax, I was under the impression that you were a dependable and clear-headed officer. I see that I was mistaken in that belief.”

I attempted to steer the conversation. “But what it tells us—”

“I don’t need you to connect the dots for me,” she said. “If someone planted Ajax’s badge, then they not only knew about the bodies, they knew the bodies would be found.”

“Which means they knew the sinkhole was going to open up,” I said. “And if they had Ajax’s badge, then they’re connected to the McIntire festival somehow. I don’t want to see them skate away from this untouched.”

“I spent the last twelve hours with a friend and her children, waiting to see if her husband was coming out of that hole. The looks on those babies’ faces . . .” Bryyh’s lips pressed together, drawn into a line too tight for words of sorrow to penetrate. She looked to the photos that lined her desk, the smiling faces of her family, captured in time. “No, whoever opened up that hole isn’t going to get away with it.”

“Auberjois might fight us,” Jax said. “He clearly hates Paulus, and he thinks Carter is in the ambassador’s pocket. I expect he doesn’t like me simply by association. He’ll want to chase Paulus, and he’ll think we’re defending her if we look at something else.”

“And we can’t really tell him about the badge,” I said. “Because he’d see that as proof that we’re working for Paulus.”

“He’s still green when it comes to handling the administration of the job,” she said. “If he gives you grief, he’ll be days trying to cut through the red tape I’ll spin.”

I felt my shoulders relax slightly.

Jax shifted his feet. “So about the badge . . .”

“Oh, I’ll have your ass for that,” she said. “Not today, but soon. In the meantime, just know that it’s coming and quake in fear.” She stared at him until he dropped his eyes.

“I’d like to talk to Paulus,” I said. “And soon. Before she learns about it through the grapevine.”

Bryyh frowned. “That’s risky.”

“I can’t get to her on my own. But if a police captain pulled some strings? That would help.”

“You are a glutton for punishment.” Her frown didn’t budge, but her eyes carried a bit of sparkle. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Now go clean up. You look a mess, even for the two of you.”

22

WE WERE ABLE TO INTERVIEW Paulus the next day. Although it took Bryyh’s string-pulling to get it done, the pretense was simple enough: People had died at the sinkhole, and Paulus had been present to witness it. She was told that the sinkhole deaths were being treated as a murder investigation so anyone responsible could be charged with negligent homicide. She was also told that detectives would be out to take her statement as a witness. She wasn’t told that it would be me and Ajax.

I drove, winding through the streets in our Hasam. And I took the opportunity to quiz him about the concert. The timing of the sinkhole opening was too tidy to ignore.

“So there was nothing out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all? Not the slightest buzz from the speakers or hitch in the production?”

“You’re starting to sound like Dr. Baelen,” he said. “It was a great show, that was it.” He shifted in his seat. “Really, you should have seen Dinah. She came out in this incredible outfit and she said—”

“Yeah, I saw it.” I cut off a minibus, ignoring the driver’s honks of protest. “What’s the appeal, anyway?”

He whistled his amusement. “You have to ask what the appeal of music is? I’ve seen where you live. You have a cat, a couch, and a stereo system.”

“It’s not only about the music for you, though, is it? You’re a fan. That’s different.”

He chewed on that as we slowed at an intersection.

“The music’s great,” he said. “But you’re right, it is more than that. Maybe it’s the attitude. Dinah’s true to herself. I like that she puts her heart on her sleeve.”

“Because that’s what you do?”

“No . . .” He fiddled with his tie and stared out the window. “But it’s how I’d like to live. When I find music or books or movies that put their emotions out there, it makes me feel like I’m taking a step in that direction.”

I bit my lip. I had a half dozen comebacks, and not a one of them would’ve pierced his veil of sincerity. I liked Jax. He was a good person, and I trusted him. It broke my heart to know the city eventually grinds every ounce of decency out of people like that.

“Whatever,” I said. “We’re here. Try not to emote all over the place when we talk to Paulus, okay?”

We parked, and walked the rest of the way to Wayfinder’s Hospital. Inside, Paulus was glad-handing hospital donors and having her picture taken with dying children. We found her wrapping up a bedside visit with one of