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He rolled his eyes, then walked over, flipped the freezer latch, and dramatically thrust the lid up.
And froze.
“Don’t tell me,” I said, voice dry. “We have a body.”
His gaze came to mine, and my amusement died.
“Not just any body,” he said softly. “But Aram himself.”
ChapterFive
“How canyou be sure it’s him?”
“I’ve seen the file the IIT have on him.”
Meaning Ruadhán had once again ignored legalities and given his son access. Which really shouldn’t have surprised me, given Mathi was his only son. I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked over.
Aram had been a large man, with russet-colored hair and blue eyes that were wide and starey, matching the shock that was now forever frozen onto his face.
He’d known his killer, I thought. Trusted him.
“He was hit from behind and placed in here not long after his death,” Mathi said. “He’s also been in here for at least four or five months.”
My gaze shot to his. “How can you tell?”
“For a start, the back of his head has been caved in, and it was still bleeding when he was shoved in here. Then there’s the freezer burn on his extremities.”
“He can’t have been dead that long,” I said, doubt evident in my voice. “He only broke into the tavern last week.”
“We won’t have a proper ID until an autopsy is done, of course, but if thisishim, then it was someone else at the tavern.”
Someone who was very good at magic. “Kaitlyn hired him, though, and she would have seen through any sort of concealing spell.”
Kaitlyn was a half-elven broker of goods and services, some legal, but most not. She ran an antique shop over on Falkner Street, and she and I had clashed after Aram and his crew had stolen a moonstone from me.
“He was working with the Looisearch, as was Maran Gordon,” Mathi was saying, “andshespecialized in body morphing and concealment spells, remember.”
“Yes, but no matter how good the concealing spell, they all have one flaw—they only work well if you’re dealing with someone unfamiliar with the person you’re impersonating. From what I could gather, he was one of Kaitlyn’s regular contractors.”
“If she dealt with him on a professional level, she might not have noted any inconsistencies in his personal behavior.”
I guess. Plus, if he had been killed and replaced by someone he knew and trusted, that person was probably familiar enough with his foibles to get by, short-term.
I rubbed my arms, chilled more by the thought of a murderous acquaintance than the air.
And I could only hope like hellthatwasn’t second sight delivering a sly warning.
“I suppose it’s pointless searching the rest of the house,” I said. “Whoever did this wouldn’t have hung around, even if he did steal Aram’s identity.”
“If he wanted to maintain cover, he might have had to.” Mathi pulled out his phone. “Why don’t you do a quick check upstairs while I call my father?”
I nodded and returned to the entrance hall, first checking the door next to the stairs—which turned out to be a cloakroom—before moving into the kitchen-living area. It was a large, open, and very modern space featuring lots of grays—not to my taste atall.
I continued to explore, finding a snug, and then an office that held little more than a chair and a desk. I tugged a sleeve over my hand and quickly checked all the drawers, but all I really found—aside from the usual assortment of pens, paperclips, and random single staples—was a stack of bills, the last of which had been paid back in September. If Mathi’s conjecture about the time of Aram’s death was right, this bill might have been the last one Aram had dealt with before his death.
What there wasn’t was a computer, modem, diary, or anything else that came with running a business from home. Granted, Aram had had an office in Elsmoot, but it was rare for someone who was self-employed not to keep at leastsomerecords at home.
Did that indicate this house had been a rarely used bolthole? Perhaps someplace he could lie low until ill winds had blown over?
