Death & Honey Page 6
You’re both cute. Listen, I don’t want to miss any of this.
“Whoever owns those dogs probably did it!” Evelyn declared, a note of triumph in her voice.
“I know about those dogs already,” Inspector Badgely said, “and we have spoken to the owner. He’s the one who called in the murder and he cannot physically fire a bow. He has only one arm. So I ask again, were you absent from the Range Rover long enough for your cousin to have killed him and returned to the vehicle without your knowledge?”
“Do not answer,” Cordelia said. “This interview is over.”
“It is not,” the inspector said. “She found the body but did not report it. She might be involved.”
“She thought the bees killed him.”
“Oh, yes, I heard what she said. But she could have wanted William dead for all kinds of reasons. If she didn’t pull the bowstring herself, she could have had her cousin do it for her.”
“What? No, I—I would never!”
“Then why would Royston want to kill him?”
“I don’t know!”
The inspector pointed a finger. “But you have a suspicion.”
“It’s just—”
“Evelyn,” Cordelia interrupted, “I advise you to say nothing.”
“All right, I appreciate that. But Royston can deal with his own defense. This is mine.”
Cordelia simply nodded, and Evelyn continued, her voice steely now and bereft of tears, maybe even a little fierce.
“I can’t speak to anything Royston may have had against William. It would be irresponsible for me to speculate. But I myself have no motive whatsoever to kill him. I was—and still am—fully intending to start a honey business. William and I had no trouble.”
“Okay. Leave motive out of it for the moment. Let’s simply consider a basic fact: did Royston have enough time to leave the vehicle after you, shoot William before you reached him, and return to the vehicle before you did?”
She blinked and considered before replying. “Yes. I’m not saying it’s likely, but it’s technically possible. Because I was in no particular hurry to get to the rendezvous point. I was looking around at the flora to see what else the bees might have been feeding on. And William was texting me. In fact, I have his last text”—her voice quavered again as she reached for her phone—“which simply says, Almost there. And you can see my response: On my way! See you soon. But when I got there he was dead.”
Inspector Badgely noted the times of the texts and said she would need to admit Evelyn’s phone into evidence. “And afterward? Did you return straight to the vehicle?”
“No. After I found him, I was very distraught. A wreck, actually, even more than I am now, and I got a little lost. I was staggering more than walking, and I kept stopping to cry harder. When I got to the vehicle, I told Royston what I saw and asked what should we do and I didn’t want to go to jail, and he came up with the Tamar River story, said we would phone in an anonymous tip to make sure William was found, and it would all come to nothing.”
“Did you phone in a tip?”
“No.”
“Did you breakfast together beforehand?”
“Yes. Samuel Pepy’s in the square. I have celiac disease, so I love their gluten-free menu.”
“All right. Please remain here and I will return in a moment.”
Inspector Badgely exited the interview room and we left our room too, meeting her in the hall. She flashed a brief grin at us but then turned all serious as she called Sergeant Naseer and told her to arrest Royston Saxby for the murder of William Howe. “He lied to us all throughout his interview. Except about breakfast. Apparently, he has scruples there.”
We still don’t have a motive. It’s not over yet, he said. Atticus was right.
Hive Had Enough Isolation
WE WERE LITERALLY dog tired but could do nothing more that day and said farewell to the inspector, who was now super busy trying to clear her case. Atticus took us to dinner to truly finish us off—nothing like being tired and full—and then we returned to that Tasmanian devil den in the reserve as they were waking up for the evening. He cured the rest of them while we napped, and then we found a nice little hollow by the Esk River to curl up in together for the night.
About once a week, if we’re near a city, Atticus will buy a night in a hotel so he can clean up and trim his face fur and stuff, but we all prefer staying outdoors as long as the weather’s nice. He asks the elemental to watch over us while we sleep so that we don’t get insect eggs laid in our ears or something like that.
When we woke up and stretched and peed on trees—Atticus does that too—I asked him if we were going to stick around in the area or move on. My Druid grinned at me.
“We can stick around for a little while. A day or two, perhaps. We’ve earned it.”
“Yes. Do you remember me telling you about that bet I have going with Owen? Whoever heals more devils in Tasmania wins?”
“Well, he never came back after we left to fight in Ragnarok. He’s been busy teaching his apprentices. I just checked with the elemental and we have now healed over half the sick devils in the country. That means even if he returns now, he can’t possibly win.”
“He’s never going to tell anyone the story about me, the goat, and the Roman skirt again.”
“I’m never telling anyone about it either. Sorry.”
“A few months, if that is what you mean by a long time. Why do you ask?”
Atticus snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. He’s disappeared. The Morrigan doesn’t know where he went and neither does Brighid. He’s not been to any of the Irish planes since we talked. And honestly, it’s fine. When you look back and consider how other humans were punished for their hubris, I got off pretty easy. So I really don’t mind. This is my life now and it’s great. I like what we are doing and I like the elemental here. Perhaps we can work on something else in Australia after this, because I do like the flat whites in this country. Ready to go get breakfast?”
Starbuck performed a three-foot vertical leap.
We jogged to a place in town that served a very good flat white, according to Atticus, and I thought about what he said. Our lives truly are different now—we don’t have a home or a reliable source of gravy, for example. Orlaith’s puppies are all with Owen’s apprentices and Granuaile moved out of the cabin, so Atticus has put it up for sale. We are nomads. And he’s right: it’s great. We smell new stuff every day, meet new critters, and occasionally fight crime. That’s a dream life for most hounds.
I miss talking to Orlaith sometimes, but whenever we see each other, we just pick up where we left off. We will always be good friends, and since she had a litter, I think we did our part for the species. Hounds are not monogamous creatures and do not mate for life, so I am sure she will find a new hound to play with and be happy, and I will find someone new too. Maybe Atticus will take me to Melbourne, a magical place that he has suggested is full of poodles.
We sat outside in a patio area and Atticus ordered us all poached eggs and ham steaks. We squinted and smiled in the sun and then the phone rang. It was Inspector Badgely, and Atticus put her on speaker so we could hear.
“I know you’ve got your work to do,” she said, “but since your dogs alrea
dy have the scent of Royston Saxby and you’re obviously good in the bush, I’m wondering if you’d like to take a wee trip?”
“A trip to find him? He’s not in custody already?”
“No, turned out he was prepared for something like this. He scarpered off yesterday and we just got a report about his Range Rover parked outside the Savage River National Park. He’s in the wilderness there and it’s going to be tough to find him without a clue of his trail.”
Are you guys willing to hunt him down? Atticus asked us.
“We can try, Inspector, but that area is full of waterways. Any half-decent hunter will lose us in the streambeds.”
It’s better to underpromise and overdeliver, Atticus told us on the down-low.
“I appreciate you giving it a try. It’s about a two- or three-hour drive. I’m sending you with Sergeant Naseer and Constable Fosse.”
“You’re not going?”
“I’ll be along later; I have much to do here before I can leave—paperwork allowing us to put this trip together and operate outside our normal jurisdiction—but I didn’t want to let Saxby have any more time to extend his lead.”
“Okay, we’ll be at the station soon.” He looked delighted at this development, and that got me thinking. Starbuck and I were having a great time being nomads, but Atticus obviously needed more than hanging out with us to feel complete.
When he hung up he asked for the bill, I said,
He shrugged and spoke to us mentally since there were other people around on the patio. Maybe they’ll give me a medal.
Oh, I see. Are we in a negotiation for exotic meats?
What do you want, Oberon?
Oh, gods below, Oberon, don’t put it like that. Ever. Eughh.
Starbuck made a tiny whimpering noise.
Why is this so important to you?
“Yeah, well, being a bit antisocial can be good for you sometimes.”
Atticus exhaled heavily through his nose and drummed his fingers on the table. I haven’t…been sure anyone would be interested in me without my arm, you know? Living like this is new to me, obviously, and I’m not comfortable with it yet. I guess it’s been a rejection I’ve been trying to avoid. I’m conscious of the problem. I still don’t want to face it. It’s been easier to just work.
No, she’s too polite. But eventually, she’ll ask.
Yes. Because I’m not sure how best to answer.
You advise me well.
The bill came, Atticus paid, and then we trotted to the police station and piled into a car with Sergeant Naseer and Constable Fosse. The sergeant was kind enough to roll down the back window so that Starbuck and I could put our heads in the wind. I am not kidding: the air smelled of wombats and adventure.
We drove to some town called Burnie and then turned south down the A10 road. I only know this because Atticus asked. He still hadn’t visited this part of Tasmania, and he figured he might heal some devils while he was in the wilderness, or at least note their locations for later.
The Range Rover was parked on the side of the road and empty, but it was full of scent to me and Starbuck. We were off the leash because Atticus asked Constable Fosse if we could walk free since we were going into a wilderness and weren’t in range of Launceston’s city ordinance, and he said yes. There were other Tasmanian constables there too, and they were going to join us.
“Find the scent,” Atticus said, like this was something he always said to us. That was just performance for the coppers. Privately, he asked us, Did he go around to the back of the vehicle?
We sniffed around at the back and whoa dang, was Royston Saxby’s scent strong there!
Atticus pointed at us and looked at the sergeant. “He spent a lot of time at the back of the vehicle. He probably has a full backpack and weapons besides. Might have all kinds of gear if he’s a hunter—infrared, night-vision goggles. We should be careful.”
“So they have the scent?” Sergeant Naseer asked.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. We will gear up and I need to perform my midday prayer before we go in.”
“By all means,” Atticus said.
Not yet. The sergeant has duties to perform. Let me get you a snack in the meantime. He pulled out that bag of his.
Yes. You’ve been kind and considerate of me today and I appreciate it very much.
I have to say: those were not the greatest snacks, and he’d been feeding them to us for a while. They were dry and tasted like artificial chicken and vegetable fillers. Unholy vegetable fillers! But they were fed to me with love. That made them delicious.
After twenty million seconds, Sergeant Naseer and all the other police were ready to go. They had packs and vests and weapons on. It was all a lot of bother on everyone’s part, and I pointed it out to Atticus.
It’s a bit unusual. I suppose we’ll have to ask him when we find him.
It didn’t read that way to me, but I agree that we’re missing something. Time to pretend we can’t speak mind to mind.
“Okay, Oberon and Starbuck,” Atticus said aloud. “Let’s go catch ourselves a murderer. Follow the scent. Find the man. Find the man.”
We barked affirmatively and plunged into the Savage River wilderness.
Setting Up the Sting
THE WILDERNESS HAD significantly different plants to pee on than what we’d seen so far in Tasmania. Leaves were broad and spread out as if to offer luxurious beds to insects and frogs.
This is a cool temperate rain forest.
Probably not an entire episode, but I’m sure they were included in one of the forest episodes.
Without a doubt. But we need to find Royston Saxby first.
I’m built that way, though. If I can get close enough to jump on him.
We ran into our first stream after only a few minutes, but Saxby didn’t try to lose us there. We picked up his scent directly on the other side, and that worried Atticus.
Hey, you guys. That’s a li
ttle too easy, and this is a guy who likes to shoot people in the back. I want you to slow down. I’ll bet you he’s set up some kind of trap ahead. Look for wires or some dodgy footing that might be a pit, some leaves on the path that don’t look like they’d naturally fall there, concealing a snare…
“Take it slow,” Atticus said aloud for the benefit of the constables.
“Why slow?” Constable Fosse asked. “We want to catch up.”
“I suspect a trap. Triggering that trap and hurting my hounds would slow us down more than just being cautious.”
“A trap? What kind of—”
Starbuck yelped as his right front paw sank beneath some leaves and he was suddenly chest down on the forest floor, his eyes wide in panic, and then he scrambled back.
There was a hole where his paw had sunk, and Atticus came up to squat next to us.
“Hmm. Yes. A bit of a pit.” He reached out with his hands and brushed some leaves away, revealing a thin lattice of branches. Underneath that was a shallow ditch with sharpened stakes at the bottom, just enough to injure paws or feet. Starbuck was small enough that his leg didn’t go far enough down to get punctured. But if I had stepped in it first, it would have gotten me for sure. It was designed for me, I think.
“See here, constables?” Atticus said. “We need to be careful.”
“How did he have time to do that?” Constable Fosse said.
“He probably came here right after leaving the station yesterday, so he had all night and most of the morning,” Sergeant Naseer replied, then pointed at the pit. “That’s shallow enough that he could do it in a few minutes with a spade. Cutting and sharpening the stakes probably took longer. Maybe a half hour, tops. I imagine other traps will be quicker setups, snares and the like.”
Atticus carefully cleared away the edges so we could step around it. I saw him take off his sandals too, which meant he was probably talking to Tasmania.