David Coe - Spell Blind

Kona had been my partner the entire time I was on the force. I can’t say that she taught me everything I know about police work, because my father taught me a good deal before his mind totally quit on him. But if it hadn’t been for Kona, I wouldn’t have been half the cop I was.

“You called him in?” Hibbard said, glowering at her. “Where do you get off making a decision like that without clearing it through me first?”

“Sergeant Arroyo told me to call him,” she said. Hibbard opened his mouth, no doubt to remind her that he outranked Arroyo. But she didn’t give him the chance. “And he was acting on orders from the assistant chief.”

“Latrelle? I don’t believe it.”

If it had been me, I would have demanded to know if the bastard was calling me a liar. But that was one of the reasons Kona still had a job on the force and I didn’t. She flashed that gorgeous smile of hers, and said, “You’re free to call him, Commander. But I promise you it’s true.”

Hibbard turned his glare back on me. For several seconds he said nothing. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Fine. Keep him the hell away from me.”

Before Kona could answer, he stalked out of the room.

“What did you do to piss him off?” Kona asked, turning my way.

“Since when do I have to do anything? You know that Cole doesn’t play well with others.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

I held up my hands. “I swear, Kona. I said hello, and he acted like I’d been saying stuff about his mother.”

Wriker cleared his throat, and both of us looked his way.

“I take it you used to be on the force,” he said to me.

“Yes, sir.”

“And now you’re a private investigator?”

“That’s right.”

“Would you be willing to work for the Deegans?”

I exchanged glances with Kona. The PPD wouldn’t be paying me for whatever work I did to help Kona with the case. They never did. But still, working for two clients at once on the same case was a bit sketchy ethics-wise.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“What is it you’d want me to do?” I asked, turning back to Wriker.

“The papers are saying that Claudia was a drug addict, that she had drugs in her system and on her person when she died. We don’t believe that.”

I shook my head.

“Hear me out,” Wriker said. “Either the medical examiner will say that she had drugs in her blood or he won’t. But the police say she was carrying. We’d like to know where those drugs came from. If. . if she was an addict, like the papers and television news say, we’d like to see the dealer who sold her the stuff put in jail.”

I glanced at Kona again. She was staring at the floor, her lips pursed, as they often were when she had something on her mind that she knew she couldn’t say aloud.

“Arresting drug dealers isn’t the job of a PI,” I told Wriker. “As to finding out where she bought her stuff. .” I shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t see much point. Chances are the dealer was small time-maybe a college kid. I doubt it would do much good to go after him. Or her.”

Wriker sighed, sounding exhausted. “You’re probably right. Thank you anyway.”

I took a breath. I’d never been fond of politicians, but in that moment I felt bad for the guy. Call it a moment of weakness. “I’ll find out what I can, Mister Wriker,” I said. “No charge. If I find anything of value, you can pay me then.”

“Yes, we will. Of course. Thank you, Mister Fearsson.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket, wrote his cell number on the back, and handed it to me. “Call me when you know something. Please.”

“I will.”

Kona and I thanked him for his time and left the house.

“No charge?” she said in a low voice, as we walked down the path toward the cars. “That your idea of a business plan?”

“You heard the guy. He was ready to hire me just so he’d feel like he’d done something.”

She winced at the memory, then nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“I won’t spend much time on it. But we know that our killer seeks out kids who are using. Maybe knowing where she scored her drugs will tell us something.”

Kona looked impressed. “I hadn’t thought of that. You must have been a pretty good cop, and you must have had one very good teacher.”

“I did,” I said, grinning. I waited a beat, then, “My dad taught me a lot.”

“Shut up.”

We both laughed. It was good to see her. Of all the things I’d loved about being a cop, having Kona as a partner was what I missed the most.

After a minute or two she grew serious again. “You ready to go over to the OME?”

OME. Office of the Medical Examiner. I needed to see Claudia Deegan’s body, to confirm that she’d been killed by magic. It was amazing how quickly we could jump from the best part of my old job to the worst.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready.”

I started toward the Z-ster, but Kona didn’t move.

“You coming?” I said.

She remained where she was, watching me, a sly smile on her lips. “I’ve got something for you. Drop me at 620 before you park. We’ll walk from there.”

“What have you got?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I didn’t answer; I just waited.

“Fine then. Claudia Deegan was arrested a couple of weeks ago at a political protest down at the military base in Florence. She put it together, apparently; they were demonstrating against some new bomber that her father had sponsored. She was trying to embarrass him, I guess.” She shook her head. “Anyway, there was someone else arrested that day. I think you’ll be interested in who it was.”

Before I could ask her more, she climbed into the Z-ster and pulled the door closed. I had no choice but to get in and drive her to Phoenix Police headquarters.

I let Kona out in front of 620, which is what cops call police headquarters, because it’s located at 620 West Washington Street. I parked, and waited outside while she went up into HQ to get the list of arrested protesters. At some point I would get up the nerve to go back inside the building, but I wasn’t there yet. Simply seeing the place was like running into an old girlfriend who I hadn’t quite gotten over. I stood outside on the sidewalk trying to act like I belonged there, and avoiding eye contact with anyone going in or coming out.

As soon as I saw Kona emerge from the building, I started walking west on Washington, knowing that she’d catch up with me, knowing as well that she’d understand.

When she caught up with me, she handed me the list of names, but said nothing.

“Five pages?” I asked folding back the sheets. Names, phone numbers, addresses. This would be helpful, but I had no idea so many people had been arrested.

“It was a big protest,” Kona said. “Deegan’s daughter wasn’t the only one who was ticked off about that bomber, or whatever it was.”

“I guess not.” There had to be two hundred names here. “So are you going to tell me who I’m looking for or make me figure it out myself?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

The OME was only about a block from 620, on Jefferson. I started to read through the list as we walked, but none of the names jumped out at me, and before I knew it we were at the Medical Examiner’s building, being buzzed into the facility by security.

Kona had on her ID from 620 and the guard waved us past his desk toward the autopsy lab, and the coolers where bodies were kept.

The M.E. was a guy named Pete Forsythe, who had been running forensics in Phoenix since before I joined the force. He was a crusty old goat, and not at all the kind of person who would have tolerated the presence of a PI in his facility. Fortunately, he liked to delegate work to his staff, and was rarely in the labs or cold storage this time of day.