That made me blink. “Seven official murders and an eighthdisguised as a stroke, and he’ll just close the case?”
“Seven murders and one clear-cut self-defense by an arrestingofficer in the line of duty. The case won’t be closed. We’ll leave that warrantfor Kratz standing, but we’ll mark it ‘cold.’ Evidence that the perpetrator hasleft the jurisdiction. We’ve done this before. The colonel goes by the book,except when the book doesn’t work. Then he does what’s needed. He understandsthat magic doesn’t really fit into the police procedure manual.”
Yeah, the perpetrator had left the jurisdiction. I’d signedher over to a crematory a couple of hours ago. She’d told me, written it out inblack and white in her Living Will, she wanted her ashes scattered in awildlife sanctuary, no memorial, no ceremony, particularly no family members present or even notified. And thatway, nobody could ask for an exhumation three years down the road if anyquestions reared their heads.
“He’s a good man, John, a bit like you. Now move that chairover here and hold my hand for a while. I need some physical proof that yousurvived, and that’s the best that’s available right now.”
I did what she asked. With Nef, that’s usually a good idea. Wesat, or I sat and she lay in the cranked up bed, for a while, silent.
“John?”
“Haven’t gone anywhere.”
“John, I know you. You’re going to worry at this thing for thenext three years. Sooner or later, you’re going to come up with some brillianttrick you could have pulled, to makethe world all better. When that happens, remember this: you did the best youcould with what you knew and with the time you had. Screw hindsight for a mangyblind mutt. If I ever see Becky and Rob again, I can tell them that justice was done. Mercy, too.”
Yeah, Cash knew me. I was already wondering about how, if I’dbeen sober when I connected up the pieces that didn’t fit, by changing thepuzzle . . .
Silence reigned supreme for a while longer. Then I remembered.“What happened here?”
Her hand clenched on mine. “Grenade.”
So I’d been right, cold comfort that was. “Jesus, Cash.Were you in the room?”
Her grip got stronger, and she had strong hands. My knucklescracked. “I saw the fucking thing. Someone opened the door, tossed it in, andclosed the door again. Footboard of the bed took most of the fragments. I wasn’tscratched. Windows blown out, shredded ceiling tiles flying all over, twenty orfifty grand of medical equipment wrecked, not a scratch on me. Doctors think I’mthe luckiest nigger in the universe. I’m not even deaf.”
Dropping into street jive again, that “N” word, showed howmuch talking about it, remembering it, tensed her up. I had to tell her.
“Not lucky. Thatgrenade, the bomb in your car, you used magic to shield yourself. Untrained,unconscious magic, the tests won’t show it, but you’re a witch. You make yourown miracles.”
She stared at me. She stared at the bandaged lump on the endof her right arm, lifting it, turning it, thinking about the bomb and how closeshe’d been when it went off and how she should have ended up dead. Her eyes gota faraway look and she half-nodded, talking to herself.
“Momma always say her Gran was a conjure-woman. All the folks,white, black, brown, yellow, scairt of her. Cure you or curse you, nomatter-mind.”
Cash shook herself. “Bullshit.”
But she didn’t say I was crazy.
~~~
We spent a while just hanging out at the hospital at fivehundred bucks a day on the insurance tab. I tried teaching her some tricks andgot nowhere. As far as I could tell, Nef lived inside an entirely different system of magic, one I couldn’t evensense. One I’d never heard of.
That’s why none of the standard tests found any power in her.She needed a teacher from some African tradition, probably unique to the tribeof her ancestors. Or maybe only that old conjure-woman could have taught her,had to be the blood tie. Witching and wizarding can be like that — not neat,not scientific.
I wondered how many other systems lurked out there. I found itunsettling to come across that sort of thing, at my age. Surprises like thatsometimes have teeth.
Then the doctors said they’d release her the next day, if shehad someone living with her to keep an eye on her and call for help if somedrug-resistant hospital-ward bug ambushed her in the middle of the night andturned her toes to stinking black mush. Someone would be me, apparently. Istarted shifting stuff from my apartment to hers, restocked the refrigerator,the whole game.
And I found a call on my home answering machine, Sandy’slawyer. After the twitches died down enough for me to punch his number into thekeypad, I got hold of the guy, first call, no phone tag, and found out that shehad left her whole estate to me. Or to Maggie, if I predeceased. The will datedto after Maggie went down, what amounted to a life sentence. Pretty close tosadism, that.
Yes, Sandy was sick, sick, sick. No, I’ll never figure out howshe could hide it and function so well, how she split her brain that way.
I ended up keeping her car because she damn well owed me one, after her trick with thatpropane tanker. I also kept her bird books and one pair of the binocularsbecause they reminded me of her best side. I donated everything else in hername to the local Audubon nature center, same place she wanted me to spread herashes some day when I could walk the rough forest trails without crutches.
But the other thing I found out in that lawyer call, Sandy’sbrother had been bugging the man. He insisted that the estate or at least herpersonal property should come to himas her closest blood relative, demanded to see the will before it was filed forprobate, threatened to challenge the will in court, you name it.
Now the guy had my name
