I slipped back out the door and into the living area, where Jax crouched beside Donna, his voice calming as he told her she’d done the right thing by calling us.
“We both wanted to see the Barekusu come to town,” she said. “Now Saulie’s not gonna be there, and it’s my fault. We were gonna go down the street and be there when the procession came in.”
The phone sat on an end table. There wasn’t any blood on it. From what I’d seen in the bedroom, she’d have gotten gore all over the phone. She must have cleaned her hands after coming out of the bedroom.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “All them Barekusu, coming in from the ice plains. They’re finally gonna make sense of this town.”
I stared at the sink. The liquid that covered the dishes wasn’t red sauce.
“It’s gonna be beautiful,” Donna said, “just beautiful.”
She closed her eyes, letting her hair hang down like a curtain. Jax looked at me. I nodded, and in a softly musical voice, he told Donna her rights.
9
AFTER SHE’D HEARD HER RIGHTS, Donna sat quietly in her chair, head low, hair obscuring her eyes, hands restrained.
I exhaled, and said, “Okay. Let’s talk about your friend Sheena from down south.”
Donna didn’t respond. I stepped closer. “My partner explained your rights, and you don’t have to answer me.” Slowly, I dropped to a crouch, bringing my face to her eye level. “But I don’t think you wanted to hurt Saul, did you?”
Through strands of hair, Donna stared at me with red, tear-filled eyes.
“And I don’t think you want to see anyone else get hurt either.” I waited, and she answered with the slightest shake of her head.
“So I want to ask you,” I said, voice gentle as possible, “how do you know Sheena, and where did you get the snake oil you gave her?”
Donna’s jaw worked, but her voice was too soft to hear. I leaned closer, almost holding my breath. As she was about to speak, someone pounded on the door to the apartment, and a nasally voice commanded, “Titanshade PD! Open up!”
Jax crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw open the door, displaying his badge. But it was too late. Donna had retreated back into whatever mental prison she’d sought refuge in, and showed no further interest in talking to me.
The two patrol cops who’d responded to Donna’s emergency call were happy enough to see us, until they realized that the homicide meant they’d be babysitting the crime scene for the immediate future.
One of them was a younger officer named Chandler, who I figured had a few years on the streets. The other was an older guy, probably about ready to put in his transfer to an administrative position. His name was Dixon, and I’d run into him at cop bars like Hammer Head’s. I’d never cared for him much, until he started treating me better when I was all over the papers during the manna strike mess. After that, I really disliked him.
“Suspect’s in custody,” I said. “Get her downtown.”
The patrol cops traded a look. “That’ll be a while.”
“I don’t care about a damn parade, we need to secure this scene.”
Jax interjected. “It’s more than a parade,” he said. “The caravan is going to attract a ton of people, along with media.”
“And the military,” Chandler added. “Soldiers from the strike site are all over the streets.”
“Great.” The AFS military had occupied the site of the manna strike since the discovery had been made. They’d taken a serious PR blow when it was discovered that the feds were throttling manna production. The reasons why were for the talking heads on TV, but the lack of other drilling had made tensions flare on the streets and in homes across Titanshade. If there was a military escort for the Barekusu, it was both a PR move and show of force. Sooner or later, everything was a prop for the powerful to move around on the game board.
I peered out the dingy windows. The place didn’t have much of a view, but it was high enough that I could see the crowds and closed-off streets. I didn’t like it, but Dixon was right.
“Fine, we’ll stay here for now. But we still need to call it in.”
Since our suspect had used the phone, I instructed Dixon to keep the site secure as Jax, Chandler, and I headed outside. By the time we hit the sidewalk, there was clearly more foot traffic than when we arrived. The Barekusu caravan was getting closer.
Chandler led the way to her vehicle, to pick up crime scene material and allow us to use their car radio to call in a tech team and get the red tape rolling. The street had been emptied of moving vehicles, leaving only the occasional parallel-parked car or mopeds pulled onto the sidewalk. The crowd was thicker than a busy lunch-hour rush, but oddly still. Instead of rushing to the next meeting, or trying to get to work or home to the kids, everyone was almost motionless as they held their spot and waited for the arrival of the Barekusu.
The caravan came into view gradually. The crowd’s silent excitement grew. They were a cross section of the city, huddled together in heavy coats to protect against the deep chill of the Borderlands. Day laborers and shop owners stood with retirees and schoolchildren. All of them craning their necks and staring down the road like impatient public transit riders waiting for the next bus.
The first shapes to emerge were military vehicles, soldiers with fur-rimmed jackets riding in open-top vehicles. They must have come from the manna strike site, brought in
