“That’s what we’re all trying to find out,” I said. “Mr. Dubois, given your … status in the community, the Supernatural Crime Squad is handling your daughter’s homicide.”
“So it was murder.” Petra’s voice was deathly cold, colder than the freezers waiting for me back in the morgue.
“My pack will tear him to shreds. He’ll see death coming and he’ll have time to scream.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” said Nathaniel.
“If you don’t mind right now, there are some questions…” I said, trying to stall the inevitable “pack justice” track Petra Dubois’s mind was taking. Weres don’t tolerate outsiders dealing with violence against one of their own. They have a cockeyed vigilante system dating back to the time before police, when villagers were likely to pick up pitchforks and go after any were they met.
“Can’t it wait?” Petra cried. “Can’t we have just one night for our little girl?”
“I’m very, very sorry,” I said, so softly I was worried I’d have to repeat myself. “But the faster we can get our investigation moving, the better the chance of us catching your daughter’s killer.” Most homicides are solved within the forty-eight hours immediately following the crime, and I was already an entire day behind schedule.
“All right,” said Nathaniel. “Go ahead. Ask your questions.”
“Who had a reason to hurt Lily?” I said. Direct approach works best with weres. Most don’t appreciate beating around the bush.
“No one,” Petra said. “She was a wonderful girl. Star of the choir at her prep school, got excellent grades…”
“Petra.” Her husband’s voice was heavy. “You know and I know that’s not the whole truth. Not anymore.”
She turned on him with a snarl. “I am not discussing this right now, Nate.”
“The detective wants to know if someone could have hurt Lily,” Nathaniel hissed. “Someone did hurt Lily. Are you honestly going to keep her in the dark?”
I didn’t correct him that I was actually a lieutenant. “What do you mean, Mr. Dubois?”
“Lily was having problems in school and problems with us,” he snapped. “She was a handful, even for a fourteen-year-old girl.”
Fourteen. Even younger than Kronen and I had suspected. “A handful how?” I said.
“We found pills in her bedroom,” Nathaniel said. “It’s my fault. I didn’t pay attention when her grades started slipping. She had to leave Alder Bay Prep and go to public school, here in the city.” His words tumbled out like cars rushing by on the freeway, fast and blurred, trying to make up for lost time.
“Stop it,” Petra whispered. “Stop making this about you, and stop blaming Lily.”
Nathaniel bared his teeth. “Then what the hell do you want me to say, Petra?”
“Lay the blame where it belongs!” she shouted. “For once in your fucking life. Lily had a boyfriend,” she said to me. “A much older, scumbag boyfriend.”
“Russ wasn’t to blame for everything…” Nathaniel started. “Lily only met him after she flunked out and came back home.”
“The drugs started after she met him,” Petra said, cold enough to shatter. “The partying, and the lies. He’s a wretched, ugly piece of trash and we forbid her to see him.”
“Did she listen?” I asked.
Petra snorted. “Did you listen to your mother at fourteen?” She had a point. At fourteen I’d been sneaking my father’s cheap scotch and smoking pot. The inappropriate boyfriends, too. One of them was the reason I had a monster in me now. A beach bonfire, a bite on the shoulder and a month later, the moon had pulled it free.
“One more thing,” I said. “Our preliminary findings indicate that magick may have been a factor in your daughter’s death. Was she associating with any magick-users that you knew about?”
The parents traded looks. Dating a witch was tantamount to spitting on your parents’ shoes in were packs. “No,” Petra said. “Just that son of a bitch, Russ. Russell Meyer. He lives somewhere over in Highland Park.”
“Thank you,” I said, making a note of the boyfriend’s name on my BlackBerry. “You can go home now … I’ll have the medical examiner call you as soon as your daughter’s body is released so you can make funeral arrangements. I also have the name of a departmental grief counselor…”
“We don’t need a counselor,” Petra snapped. “We need the bastard’s head.”
Petra started for the elevator, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Nathaniel followed her, and then turned back to me, halfway between the doors and where I stood in the entrance of the viewing room.
“You have to find who did this,” he said. “You’re a were. You find him and you give him to us. It’s your duty.”
“I have to find who killed Lily,” I said. “I have to give her justice for what happened. I don’t have to do a godsdamned thing for your pack.”
“I’d rethink that attitude, Insoli,” Nathaniel said with a sad smile. “Before you become a bigger problem then you’re worth.”
“Mr. Dubois, it’s been my experience that people under intense strain or grief say things that they don’t mean. I’d take that to heart, if I were you.”
Petra came and plucked at his sleeve. “Can we please just go home, Nate? I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“You remember what I said,” Nate Dubois said as the elevator doors closed on them.
“Oh,” I told the empty morgue. “I will.”
CHAPTER 3
I couldn’t interview Russ Meyer in the middle of the night, so I went to Fagin’s loft instead, slipping into bed next to him and wrapping my arms around his slim, strong frame. “Hey, gorgeous,” he murmured, and fell back to sleep almost instantly.
Sleeping next to Will wasn’t hard, but every time I shut my eyes I saw Lily’s face under the water, skin translucent, suspended in time.
I kept hoping that the visions of the dead would go away, get less, as I spent more
