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“In case you’ve forgotten, you have a bail hearing in a few hours. A hearing that I had to do a particularly complicated tap dance to get moved forward.”
“Then get Slater,” Luke said. “Tell him it’s a favor to me.”
“Will do,” Nick said. “If Caris is still in town, we’ll find her.”
“Tell him I want a location by the time this hearing is over. I haven’t seen Caris in years. I think it’s time to renew an old acquaintance.”
“What about Serge?”
Luke sagged. “He is more than kyne, Nicholas. Of all of us, Serge is the only one I can truly call brother. But if he did this…if he touched her…”
He closed his eyes, a barrier against the horror of his friend’s betrayal, and incongruously, he thought of Sara. Sara, searching for justice in a world where it was so rarely found. Sara, in whose arms he had forgotten, for just a moment, the sharp edges of the world in which he walked.
ChapterTwenty-Two
The Los Angeles branch of the International Order of Therians was housed in a refurbished 1940s historic mansion on South Highland Boulevard, two blocks from the local Starbucks. Doyle and Tucker had stopped in for a caffeine hit before heading on to their scheduled interview with Ytalia Leon, the organization’s acting president. So far, the coffee had been the best part of their day, as the investigation was turning up a big, fat zero.
Specifically, their inquiries into Braddock had revealed a dozen or so colleagues who thought the shapeshifter was a royal prick, but nobody was spouting specifics other than the bribery and blackmail charges, and at least to Doyle’s way of thinking, that was old news.
“Our man’s either very good at keeping secrets,” Doyle said, “or Constantine’s got us running in circles.” The prosecutor had latched onto the bribery complaints that peppered Braddock’s history and insisted they dig, so they were digging. And while Doyle agreed with her theory that bribery often cloaked a multitude of sins, so far the theory that he was into something else that got him killed wasn’t panning out.
Tucker flipped through his notes. “Sanctioned for taking bribes. A few allegations of blackmail. Some undisclosed financial accounts. Yeah, I’d say the guy was a natural on the secret front.”
The steady clip-clip of heels on wood echoed down the hall, shutting off further speculation. A moment later, the sound was followed by a petite woman with short red hair, an angular nose, and sharp, small eyes. Following her was a young woman with long straggly hair and a face bent perpetually toward the floor. She shuffled to a corner of the room and began to sort a stack of papers into neat piles. Ytalia ignored the girl, but focused exclusively on the agents, her hand extended in a formal greeting.
Doyle took it, gave it a firm shake, then indicated for her to sit. He mentally flipped through her file, remembering that Ytalia was a were-coyote. Yeah, he thought. That fit.
“You wish to discuss Judge Braddock?”
“That’s right,” Doyle said, noticing that on the far side of the room, the younger woman stiffened.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“You were his secretary when he was on the bench, right?”
“That’s right. And after his retirement, he was very active in the Order. In the fight for equal rights for all were-creatures. He was a most vigorous advocate for our cause, and we’re all extremely distressed by his unfortunate demise.”
“Yeah, murder’s a bitch.”
She peered down her nose at him. Beside him, Tucker cleared his throat.
“We’ve talked to quite a few people, ma’am,” Tucker said, “and the picture we’re getting is interesting, to say the least.”
“The man is dead, sir. I’ll not have you besmirching his good name.”
“Did he have a good name?” Doyle asked. At Ytalia’s glare, he spread his hands. “Just asking.”
“The judge had some vices, it’s true. But he worked very hard to overcome them. He should be honored for his fortitude and determination. Not vilified.”
“What vices, exactly?”
“Is this relevant?”
“Everything’s relevant in murder.”
She sighed, then shifted so that she was speaking more to Tucker than to Doyle. “He was…proud of his position. He had worked very hard to rise so far, and while he deserved the honor, I think in some ways it went to his head.”
“Sure,” Tucker said, nailing the role of good cop with such precision that Doyle was sure an Oscar was in the boy’s future. “Who wouldn’t get a swelled head?”
