shamans. Was your friend one, too?”
I got my hot chocolate and found a couple dollars to give him for it. “I don’t think so. She had something else going on. Look, where do I start, Billy? I’ve got a feeling I’ve got a lot of catch-up work to do. Starting right now, and starting with some old Celtic gods.” I said it with a hard C, the way Marie had, and Billy looked both surprised and impressed.
“I woulda thought you’d say ‘Seltic,’” he said. I wrinkled my nose at him.
“I just got back from Ireland,” I pointed out, let a beat pass, and admitted, “Marie said Celtic. I didn’t know better before then.”
“There’s no soft C in the Gaelic language.” Billy took another sip of his coffee, then set it down. “Okay, tell me about this…god? God, Joanie. You start believing and you go whole haul, huh? I’ve just got dead people.”
“Lucky me.” I shook my head. “The guy I fought with yesterday wasn’t a gang member. He was…Marie thought it was Cernunnos. An ancient Celtic god.”
Billy sat back, pressing his lips together. “What do you think?”
“He wasn’t human.” It was strange to hear myself say that. I felt like an alien had taken over my body. Billy nodded slowly.
“You think he’s the one who killed Marie? Who did the other five murders?”
“I don’t know. I hurt him pretty badly yesterday, and I don’t know if he could heal from it that fast. And then there’s the high school this morning.”
Billy nodded again. “Same M.O. Is it your guy?”
I wrapped both my hands around the paper cup. “Marie thought there might be someone else involved. It doesn’t feel right to me, pinning this on Cernunnos.” I barked laughter. “Doesn’t feel right. God, listen to me.”
“I am,” Billy said seriously.
Hot chocolate splashed as I set the cup down. “And that freaks me out even more.”
Billy studied me as he took a long drink of his coffee. “What’s it like?” he finally asked. I dropped my head and looked into my hot chocolate.
“The good news is it’s keeping my mind off having to walk the streets.” I scowled at my drink. “That came out wrong.” I pushed the chocolate away and lowered my head to the table, resting it on my forearms. “You remember the first time someone you loved died, Billy? It’s like that. I can’t believe it, but I can’t not believe it, either. At the very least I should be in a hospital bed breathing through a tube. I should probably be dead.” I sat up, fingers drifted to my sternum again. “It’s like the whole world is a badly tuned engine. I’m starting to feel when it misses or lurches. And I’ve got this stupid idea that I can fix it.”
“The world,” Billy said. I smiled thinly.
“Let me just start with Seattle.”
I turned up at Morrison’s door, still carrying my hot chocolate, at five minutes to eleven. He stared at me like he’d never seen me before. “You didn’t tell me when my shift started,” I said with all the aplomb I could manage.
Morrison continued to stare at me. “I don’t have a patrol uniform, either. I do have my badge!” I dug it out of my jacket pocket and waved it at him.
He stared at it.
“So now you pair me with an old curmudgeon, right? Somebody to show me the ropes? Somebody who hates paperwork and foists it all off on me? That’s what happens now, right?” That’s what happened in the movies, anyway. I frowned at Morrison. “You okay?”
“What the hell are you doing here, Walker?”
I straightened up, startled. “What’d you think I was gonna do, not show up so you’d have an excuse to fire me? Y’know, I might have loads of stupid, Morrison, but I’m not quite that bad.”
“Walker.” Morrison walked around to my side of his desk, pausing to close the door. My heart lurched. “You are a suspect,” Morrison said, the words measured, “in a murder case. Walker. Do you really think I’m going to put you on the street?”
I swallowed hot chocolate wrong, and coughed until my eyes teared. Morrison stared at me impassively. When I could breathe again, I croaked, “Suspect? But they let me go.”
“It looks bad. You chased that woman all over hell and breakfast, and twelve hours later she’s dead? The papers will have a field day. Murdering cop put on foot patrol. The department can’t afford that kind of publicity, Walker. The only place I want to see you in the next week is nowhere near here.”
“If I’m nowhere near here how can you see-” Morrison’s eyebrows shot upward. I shut up.
“Since you’re here, go get a uniform and the rest of the equipment. Then stay outta my sight until this thing is cleared up.”
“But-”
“Get!”
I got, stopping by Billy’s desk on the way out. “Swing shift?” he asked. I snorted.
“No shift. I’m on temporary leave of duty until this murder’s been taken care of. Morrison thinks I’m the prime suspect.”
“Isn’t it nice to have co-workers who have faith in you?” Billy shoved the paperwork I’d gotten from Ray at me, grinning. “So go clear yourself.”
I retreated to the coffee shop to study the files, reading about the murders and trying to figure out what they had to do with Marie. None of it made any sense to me. The last of the shamans, the quiet woman whose name I hadn’t been able to remember, had died on New Year’s Eve. Her next of kin was listed as Kevin Sadler, and there was a contact phone number. Maybe I hadn’t missed the funeral.
I’d never called up a stranger to ask about a dead person before. Kevin Sadler had a quiet voice and told me I’d missed the funeral but he would appreciate a visit; the house was very quiet and empty now. Nervous, uncomfortable and glad I wasn’t in uniform, I drove to the address he gave me.
The man who met me at the door was as unprepossessing as his voice, with thinning ashy brown hair and weary hazel eyes. He was at least my height, but his shoulders stooped and he gave the impression of being much smaller. Despite the shadows under his eyes, he smiled at me and offered his hand. “I’m Kevin. I don’t think Adina ever mentioned you, Joanne.”
I shook his hand and came in as he ushered me. “We only met once, very briefly,” I said awkwardly. “The circumstances were unusual.”
A genuine smile flickered over his face. “Things with Adina often were. Can I get you some tea? I have the kettle on.”
Despite my discomfort I smiled back. “If you’re sure it’d be no trouble, I’d love some tea.” I followed him into the kitchen, looking around.
The Sadler home was tiny, small enough to be called a cottage. The kitchen was country-style, with innumerable calico cat figurines, besieged with flouncy bows, on wall racks and littering the counters. The walls were butter-yellow where they could be seen behind pine cupboards, and the counters a cheerful orange that somehow avoided being overwhelming. Only one small window, with pretty gingham curtains, gave the room natural light, but it seemed bright and pleasant anyway. A calico-printed kettle puffed madly, a promise that any moment now it would whistle and the water would be ready.
“I think the first thing I heard Adina say was swearing at someone,” I commented, still looking around. “I don’t think this is the kitchen I would have expected from her.”
Kevin smiled as he took down teacups from a cupboard. They looked like real china, with cats on the sides. “Adina liked to shake up people’s preconceptions. When did you meet her?”
“I was looking for help.” I couldn’t find a tactful way to say “last night” to this quietly mourning gentleman. “I think she may have had some answers, but I didn’t have time to ask her.” The whistle blasted. Kevin took the kettle off and poured boiling water over tea bags.
“What did you need help with?” He reached out to pat one of the calico cats on the counter. It opened its eyes and purred. I leaned back, startled.
“I’m trying to find someone,” I temporized, then suddenly went on a gut feeling and corrected, “I’m trying to find the man who killed her.”
