“Seems as good a plan as any,” Daphne said, and knelt down beside the bag. Unzipping it, she pulled out the two tactical shotguns and boxes of shells, and arranged them on the floorboards along the far wall.
“I grabbed a few things on my way out of the 10th, too.” Patrick stepped into the kitchen and returned with a hard-sided gun case that was about the height and width of a businessman’s briefcase, but two or three times as thick. Setting it down on the floor, he worked the combination locks to pop open the latches, and then lifted the lid. He reached inside and pulled out a stun baton in one hand and a Taser with a pistol grip in the other. “Like I said, I wondered whether they’d work on one of the Ridden, so I figured I’d bring along a couple from the precinct armory, just in case they came in handy.”
He put them back in the case, but left it open on the ground beside the tactical shotguns.
“I’ve got my service weapon and ammo, of course,” Patrick went on, patting the holster at his side. He turned to Izzie and Daphne. “I’m assuming you two have yours, as well?”
“Naturally,” Izzie nodded, speaking for them both.
“I picked up one last thing, too.” Patrick reached into his pocket, and held out his hand. There were two small glass vials on his palm, which Izzie recognized immediately.
“The ilbal,” she said. It was the drug that Nicholas Fuller had taken, which he believed helped him to “see” the Ridden for what they really were.
Patrick nodded, and then bent down to put the vials in the gun case along with the stun baton and Taser.
“But weren’t you the one worried about taking evidence out of the station without permission?” Izzie chided.
“Well, none of this is exactly by the book, is it?” He shrugged. “But it was slated to be destroyed anyway, right? And I figured maybe it would come in handy at some point.”
Izzie chewed her lower lip, casting a glance at the vials.
“What, is no one going to ask the medical examiner if she came armed?” Joyce adopted a tone of mock outrage. Leaning heavily on her cane, she walked over to where her leather jacket hung on a hook by the front door. “Shows what you know.”
She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out a small case. It looked almost like the kind designed for eyeglasses, but was narrower and more squared off than most that Izzie had seen.
“Come at the queen of the underworld—” Joyce gave Patrick a sly look, and then snapped open the small case and held it out for their inspection “—you best come correct.”
Izzie and the others leaned over to see the interior of the case, in which a dainty-looking long-handled blade rested on a lining of purple silk.
Joyce looked from face to face, and saw the confused expressions that Izzie and the others wore. “What don’t you get?”
She reached in and plucked the blade from the case, holding it up in front of her with the handle pinched between her thumb and index finger.
“My grandfather gave it to me when I graduated from med school,” she explained. “It’s an antique, dating back to Victorian England.”
Izzie was trying to follow what Joyce was saying, but was sure that the confusion on her own face was as evident now as it had been a moment before, and glancing at the others she saw that she wasn’t the only one.
“Look.” Joyce sighed. “The blades of most surgical scalpels these days are made out of steel. But back in the olden days, they made them out of silver.”
“Ooooh.” Izzie nodded, the realization of what she was hearing slowly dawning.
“I mean, it’s not much,” Joyce said, shrugging, “but if silver introduced into the body of one of the Ridden does disrupt the possession, I thought this would be a useful thing to have on hand.”
Izzie thought about the long, curved blade that Nicholas Fuller had used in the Reaper murders, sitting now wrapped in plastic in a box back in the 10th Precinct station house community room. Would that blade be a useful thing to have on hand now, too? It felt gruesome to consider using a serial killer’s favorite murder weapon for their own defense, but if it meant the difference between surviving an encounter with one of the Ridden and living to see another day, she could cope with feeling a little bit gruesome.
“Probably more useful than a silver spoon in a sandwich bag,” Patrick said, then turned to Izzie and quickly added, “No offense.”
“No, I think you’re completely right.” Izzie walked over to the coffee table. “Those bags I gave you this morning were a long shot to begin with, I’ll be the first to admit. Which is why I think we need to come up with something a little more reliable.”
Izzie picked up one of the shopping bags that she’d brought in from Daphne’s car.
“What do you have in mind?” Patrick asked.
“Like I said . . .” Izzie upended the bag, and the contents spilled out onto the surface of the table—necklace chains, bits of wood and metal, a soldering gun, costume jewelry, carving knives, jars of paint, and more. She looked up, taking in Patrick and Joyce’s confused expression and the slight smile on Daphne’s face. “Arts and crafts.”
Izzie tossed the empty shopping bag to the corner, and then emptied out the other one she’d brought on the table, as well. Spools of string rolled out, along with bits of leather and fabric, containers filled with crystal beads, scissors, and the like.
“What . . . what is all this?” Patrick looked at the chaos sprawled out across the surface of the
