It is as unpleasant as it sounds. Still, isn’t it wonderful a word exists for it specifically?
Chapter 21
Avery
Reporting back to Detective Lahiri about Alistair Campbell had resulted in the request for a warrant to search his home from a magistrate of the Winter Council. The warrant took a few hours to acquire, and even once it had been, it limited their field of search specifically for items found in the partial fetches such as straw or documentation relating to the creation of fetches. This irritating bout of red tape was insisted upon as “proper protocol.”
Avery suspected it was more likely the council feared backlash from a powerful family like the Goffs, especially as it was clear now that fey ran somewhere in their bloodline. Were all parties involved Mundane, she knew all too well there would be little need in the council’s eyes to make time for proper procedure.
They arrived in Mayfair late in the afternoon in Lahiri’s unmarked car, their fancy bit of authoritative paper in the detective’s hand. Calls to Alistair Campbell’s office had confirmed he had not been in since prior to the funeral.
Avery exited the car barely after they’d stopped, taking a sweeping appraisal of the location.
Park Street was a narrow lane, bordered by a majority of redbrick and stone buildings. It was a wealthy neighborhood, and judging by the uniform buildings, it was held to a very specific set of standards by some sort of housing authority. Beyond its lack of personality, Avery found nothing that qualified as suspicious or nefarious.58
“You should wait in the car.” Detective Lahiri scowled at Saga as they both joined Avery on the sidewalk. It was the most disagreeable Avery had ever seen him. His face seemed unnatural without what she had come to believe was a permanent grin.
“I’m consulting on this case,” defended Saga.
“You’re emotionally compromised.”
“I’m emotionallyinvested. There’s a difference.”
Avery didn’t agree with that assessment, but she knew better than to insert herself into a family squabble. Instead, she drew their attention back to the case at hand. “What sort of vehicle does the doctor drive?”
Detective Lahiri fumbled through the file on hand. “A silver Audi e-tron S A8 is registered to one Alistair Campbell. Purchased earlier this year.”
Avery hadn’t the foggiest idea why she thought that question would yield any answer she would have understood. There were many cars parked on the street, but damned if she could identify them by what sounded like little more than a chemical equation—and nearly all of the cars were silver. She cleared her throat, attempting to maintain any air of authority she could muster. “Do you…see that…anywhere?”
Lahiri checked the file, then one of the parked cars. “License plates match too.”
That was unexpected. She’d assumed Dr. Campbell would be gone at that point—or at least in hiding—why else would he not be present at his job without a word? Avery’s stomach churned. It was possible he’d taken a cab, or perhaps even public transport. It was possible he had fled the country and didn’t wish to be easily followed—there were multiple options for a man of Alistair Campbell’s means, and yet…
She approached the door. The threshold—in its physical sense, anyway—appeared undisturbed. She knocked.
Then again, what reason did Alistair Campbell have to think he wouldneed to cover his tracks? Had Saga said something? Unlikely. She was untrained but intelligent, and the only time they had spoken, he had not yet been considered a viable suspect.
If Alistair Campbell was not on the run, yet had failed to call out for work as well as return the calls of his employees, then there was only one other likely, yet unfortunate possibility.
No answer.
“We should have called for backup,” Lahiri murmured.
“No need,” said Avery. “In order to remove the organs, he would have had to genuinely believe he was not going to harm anyone. Truly, if it was possible to create an organ from a fetch—completely artificial and powered by magic—one could reason that it would have been even stronger than its original counterpart. It would have been impervious to disease, perhaps it could even heal the organs around it depending on the exact spell components—”
“What’s your point?” The frustration Lahiri felt at Saga’s involvement in the investigation was starting to spill out in other ways.
“A man whose modus operandi is not only to bring back his late great patient, but to improve the lives of the organ donors he used to give her that second wind is not a violent criminal. We do not need to arm ourselves with force, merely the truth. The good doctor may not even be truly aware that his plan has taken an unsavory turn.”
That was, of course, if he was stillalive. A theory Avery was finding harder and harder to believe in. She knocked again. “Doctor Campbell?”
Of course, there was still room for alternatives—and Avery was willing to believe her own margin for error was much wider these days. She believed Esteri when she said that it would improve in time, but it felt too brazen to hope it would be anytime soon. Much had happened in two hundred years, and it wouldn’t be learned in a few days.
Reza reached forward and more or less banged on the door with the side of his fist. “Alistair Campbell, this is Scotland Yard, we have a warrant, sir.”
The silence that followed left a ringing in Avery’s ears—the imperceptible death knell.
