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“Not great.” George uses a rusty spoon she picked off the floor to lift the skull and examine underneath. Now her initial shock has worn off, she has this look on her face I’d seen her get when she’s deep in research. I’m not sure I’m proud or concerned that she’s getting more used to seeing dead bodies. “Whoever this is, they died from a massive blow to the head.”
“Accidentally fell down the stairs and hit his head on some replica medieval furniture?” I try again, hoping for a tiny piece of good news.
“More like accidentally had his skull caved in by something heavy and pointy.” George nods at a large sword lying on the floor by a broken glass display case. “I’m betting that’s the murder weapon. It’s a replica for the display, no sharp edges, but it’s heavy enough to make these injuries, especially if the blow came from above. I think he came toward the staircase and she swung down at him from above.”
Eli leans over the body, his face screwed up as he reaches for something in the man’s pocket. He pulls out a wallet and flips through the cards. His aristocratic mouth falls into a frown as he drags out a square of paper and holds it up to the light. His face pales.
“I know this man.” Eli flips the business card around so I can see the name. “This is the private investigator I hired to find Mackenzie.”
Noah
“Watch your step, Dark Horse. I’m starting to think you’re trying to send me over the edge.”
I grunt in reply as Antony’s boot slides on ice again, sending a hail of rocks skittering over the cliff. He leans into the crumbling wall as we shuffle along the narrow ledge, the body swinging between us.
It’s snowing harder now, the bitter wind driving ice into my face as I plant each foot firmly on the slippery rock. I’d rather be back in the warm van or inside hunting through Mackenzie’s belongings with the others, but Antony’s right about one thing – we can’t risk leaving the corpse here for anyone to find and connect back to us.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Claudia safe.
We tipped the body into Mackenzie’s discarded sleeping bag and are using that to drag it into the dense trees beyond the castle walls. The ledge widens as the curtain wall descends into the overgrown forest. We shuffle and swear and grunt as we heft the body deeper into the trees. Finally, Antony drops his end to the ground and picks up the spade he found when we broke into the old caretaker’s shed.
“This will do.” Antony tosses me the spade. “Start digging.”
“Why am I digging first?”
“Because I’ll slit your throat if you don’t make with the diggity dig.”
Sure, whatever.
Dick.
I’m not afraid of Antony. I’ve fought him in the arena before, and I’m confident if the need arose I can kill him. But now’s not the time for macho bullshit – he knows this world better than I do, and he’s not wrong about covering our tracks. I drive the spade into the snow.
The ground is rock-hard. Each bite and scrape of the spade sends a spasm of pain along my back and shoulders, but I keep at it. I won’t show weakness in front of Antony.
By the time I lean back and wipe the sweat from my brow, my body burns with pain, but I’ve made a two-foot grave in the earth. I toss the spade to Antony. “All things being equal, I much prefer dissolving a body in a bathtub.”
“Noted.” Antony jumps down into the hole and throws dirt out like it’s nothing.
I slump down in the snow next to Antony’s travel bag. With my eyes on Antony’s back, I reach over and dig my hand inside the flap. My fingers rustle through his things, skimming the sheath of his knife, several folded shirts, a paperback, and the edge of a small leather case.
What’s this?
Antony remains focused on the hole. I dare a glance down at the case in my hands as the zipper slides through my fingers. Contacts, cleaning solution, a pair of reading glasses folded away into a pocket.
He’s not lying, then.
I’m almost disappointed.
“Stop fucking about, Dark Horse, and help me get him in the hole.”
Shit. I drop the case back into the bag with a start just as Antony whirls around to glare at me. I don’t think he sees.
Antony frowns. “You’re as useless as the Emo King today.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I grab the corner of the sleeping bag and help Antony drag the corpse into the hole and pile the dirt back on top. As we work, my mind turns over everything I know about this guy, which isn’t much even though I’ve been secretly fighting at the Colosseum for years.
When Antony said he’d been having trouble with his eyes, I didn’t believe him. It seemed too convenient that he allowed Mackenzie to escape. Claudia won’t question his loyalty, so it’s up to me to do it, but he checks out. Which leaves me with a big question mark. If Antony isn’t helping Mackenzie in Emerald Beach, then who is?
