This case is not closed.
~~~
Speaking of cases — the colonel handed the governor apetition for executive clemency for one Maggie Driscoll, currently residing instate custody. Reasons not public, involving national security again. So Iguess Nef did tell him things I’drather she’d kept quiet. I have to trust her judgment. The colonel seems like aman who can keep his mouth shut.
In the ideal course of things, that petition would be cut anddried routine. In the real world, I don’t know. Magical crime touches a rawnerve in too many people. Every session, some legislators introduce a bill torevive the death penalty for guys like Kratz and Sandy, magical murder. Burningwitches hasn’t lost that gut appeal. So far, the bill keeps getting shot downin committee. I’m afraid that Sandy cut the margin.
I don’t think clemency is going to fly. I hope it will, butthe governor is a political animal, and he’s running for the senate now. Hesees a lot of voters in the crowd that wants magic restricted to their own use.Restricted to their own miracles and their own charismatic way of swayingpeople’s minds.
Well, they won’t be able to use that relic to back theircharisma with ancient power. I took a ride on the international ferry, once Icould handle that many hours on my feet again. Halfway across, I threw therelic overboard. It’s lying under several hundred feet of cold salt water now,and even I can’t tell you exactlywhere.
I have to tell you something strange about that, strange evenfor this case. Standing there, nothing but cold gray foggy waves in sight andDecember wind biting my face, that medallion felt warm and heavy in my hand,more warmth than my jacket pocket could ever justify. It reminded me again thatit wasn’t evil, no matter what evilmen might do with it. In the right man’s hands . . .
But it wouldn’t stay in those hands. I knew that. I think it knew that. It felt as if it approvedof my plan. I can remember few times in life where I’ve felt at peace withmyself and the world, comfortable, as if I was doing just exactly what I shoulddo. This was one of them. I’ve never regretted doing it.
I wish I could say I’ve blocked those people, checkmated atleast one kind of threat. Instead,that’s one of my reasons for telling you this story — I’d have given long oddsagainst that relic surviving through the centuries to trouble my sleep. Theproblem is, once we had proof that one survived, those same odds got a lotbetter for another one or two or three. There would have been a lot offish-bones left over from that miracle. I know of some people who will besearching.
So if you see a charismatic preacher grasping for power, lookbehind him. Wonder why people follow him. Ask questions. Religion is magic, and some people use magic forbad ends. I’m asking you to doubt.
~~~
About a month after the funeral, late afternoon, I wascamping out in Nef’s apartment while construction crews cleaned the bloodstainsand bullet-holes out of mine, painted over scorch-marks in Sandy’s place.Someone knocked on the door. No, I hadn’t buzzed them into the building. So,being the trusting sort I am, I checked my SIG and slipped the safety offbefore looking through the security peephole.
A woman stood well back from the door, keeping both hands inview. A woman who understood paranoia. Her face seemed familiar.
She wore civilian clothes. I added a uniform and came up witha match. It was that lady trooper who had hauled Cash off to follow-up x-raysand doctors’ appointments after she got out of the hospital.
I pulled the bolt and opened up. She held out a key, showinghow she’d gotten past the outside entry. “Cash gave me this. Can I come in?”
I stepped back and waved her in. A large woman, as I’d noticedbefore, not heavy like a wizard but muscular, the look that says “dyke” to myNeanderthal brain. No, she wasn’t. Mediterranean olive skin, with straightglossy black hair cut short. An attractive smile. Gray slacks and white knittop, not tight but showing enough figure that you knew she had one. She brushedclose enough to me so that I found out that she smelled good.
“Hi. I’m Annika O’Connor, worked with Cash on a few cases. Wegot to be friends, used to go out for a drink after work. She told me that ifshe got killed, I should give you a couple of weeks to get really down andsorry for yourself and then drop by and kick your butt out the door. Some ofthe guys are holding down a table at Ernie’s place. Get your coat.”
Ernie ran a restaurant, not a bar. A good restaurant, hearty French country fare, not anorexic nouveaucuisine, with hearty prices to match. I was tempted, but I shook my head. Ididn’t need a pity party.
O’Connor? So much for ethnic appearances. Maybe it was herhusband’s name. The woman lifted one eyebrow and shook her head right back atme.
“Cash said you’d refuse. Said I shouldn’t let you, shouldthrow a hammerlock on you and waltz you out the door. Also said I should tellyou that this isn’t Sandy all over again, whatever the hell that means. Yougoing to go quietly, or do I need the cuffs?”
Damned know-it-all woman, Cash I mean. “Look, something else,doesn’t the state have rules against dating up or down the chain of command? I’msupposed to be a captain in the State Police.”
Another head-shake. “First thing, this isn’t a date. It’s awake for a respected and beloved fellow officer. Second, you must not have readmy shoulder patch when I came by in uniform. I’m with the Fire Marshall’soffice, arson investigations. Not State Police, different chain of command. Nowquit stalling, or the guys will chow down all the good stuff and leave usstarving.”
She looked like she meant it. I got my coat and left the SIGbehind.
The “guys” turned out to be Mac with his latestgirlfriend-du-jour, another detective sergeant named Coombs that I’d workedwith and his wife, and Captain Ortiz and wife — he was on the local force, hadworked
