“Weapons consultants,” Stowe said.
“Never thought I’d see the day when vampires were consulting for the CPD.”
“That’s because immortality would put you out of a job, Grant. We take our experts as we find them. We’ll get out of your way. We’d appreciate knowing TOD and cause as soon as you’ve got it.”
Lin grunted and moved toward the body as we stepped back. He inspected the wounds, and with the help of an assistant gently tilted Brett’s body, surveying the ground beneath him.
“Volume of blood loss suggests the insult occurred before death,” Lin said. “That blood loss could have been the cause, but the body will tell us that.”
“We’d appreciate knowing your findings as soon as possible,” my grandfather said.
“Jacobs is a good man,” Lin said. “You’ll get them.”
“He’s very good at his work,” Stowe quietly said when we’d followed her out of the barrier and into the courtyard again. “Kind of an ass, but good at his work.” She glanced at me. “You were saying you didn’t think this looked like a fight.”
I nodded. “But I doubt Brett just let himself be used to make a statement—or let the perp just plunge the swords into him. Who just stands there and lets it happen?”
“Maybe he wasn’t just standing here,” Ethan said, hands on his hips. “He could have been drugged, intoxicated. Magicked, although that seems unlikely.”
“Why?” Stowe asked.
“Because there’s no magic here,” Catcher said. “Magic would have left a trace.”
Her eyes widened incrementally. She must not have dealt with many supernaturals. “Which you could feel?”
We all nodded.
“So there’s no magic, and there’s no evidence of a fight,” Stowe said, brows knitted as she surveyed the scene. “No evidence Brett was injured other than the obvious insult. But that insult is grandiose. Not just one sword, but two. And not just left for dead, but displayed in the middle of a church courtyard.”
“It’s a message,” Jonah said, tucking his phone away again.
“Then who’s the audience?” my grandfather asked.
“Vampires are the obvious target,” I said. “We’re the supernaturals who use katanas.”
“That was our concern,” my grandfather said, caterpillar eyebrows bunched in as he looked at me.
“So the perp is trying to send a message to us, or he’s trying to put the blame on us?” I asked.
“Hard to say without more information,” Ethan said.
“We’ll handle the forensics, canvass the neighborhood, speak to his friends,” Stowe said. “But if you can get any additional information about the origin of the swords, we’d appreciate it.”
Jonah glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time before sunrise, but we’ll check our connections, be in touch with you tomorrow.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Stowe said. “We’ll let you know if we obtain any further information that would help.”
When one of the forensic techs approached her to discuss the case, my grandfather gestured toward the small parking lot on the other side of the courtyard.
“Let’s get out of their way.”
“Where’s Jeff tonight?” I asked.
“Actually, he’s waiting to show you his new office.”
We walked across the courtyard. Ethan and Catcher walked behind me, and Jonah stuck close to Ethan, gaze on the courtyard and any potential threats that might emerge.
On the edge of the lot was a gleaming white panel van, OMBUDSMAN stenciled across the side in black block letters. Jeff was just climbing out the open back. When he saw us approaching, he offered a muted smile—the circumstances weren’t exactly cheery—and a wave.
“Hey, Merit,” he said. We exchanged hugs, and then he offered manly grunts and nods to the rest of the guys in the way that guys do.
“Crappy night,” Jeff said, putting his hands on his hips. He’d swagged out his wardrobe, exchanging his usual button-down shirt for a pullover with OMBUDSMAN embroidered on the chest.
“The crappiest. Did you know Brett?”
“Not really. Seemed like a good guy, superquiet. I hear he played a mean violin. Has a degree in it.”
“That’s what Stowe said. Horrible way to lose a child.”
“I’m not sure there’s any non-horrible way,” Ethan put in.
“Fair point,” Jeff said, then rapped his knuckles on the side of the van. “And that’s where I come in.” We followed him to the back of the van, where the double doors were already opened. “Step inside my lair.”
And it was a lair—and a tech whiz’s dream. The van was outfitted with walls of built-in computers and monitors and equipment I couldn’t name, but which I didn’t doubt cost a lot of money.
The fact that they’d gotten an official van—and that it was filled with Jeff’s favorite variety of toys—was a very good sign. Chicago’s mayor, Diane Kowalcyzk, had fired my grandfather and hired a maniacal ex-military type to replace him. We’d managed to take down the crazy replacement and, supplemented with a little blackmail, get my grandfather hired again.
I guess she knew a good deal when she saw it.
Jeff offered a hand, helped me up into the vehicle. I sat down at a stool, glanced at the screens, which currently showed aerial photographs of the church and surrounding streets.
“This is impressive,” I said, turning around on the stool to glance back at Jeff.
Catcher, Ethan, Jonah, and my grandfather gathered outside the doors and looked in. My grandfather nodded, a supportive arm on the doorframe. “We’ll be able to do a lot more out there. Quick response. On-site research. And a hell of a lot more credibility with an official vehicle.”
“Can you do all your officing here?” I asked.
“Just about,” Catcher said. “Certainly anything you’d need on a mobile basis.”
Ethan glanced at my grandfather. “And a permanent office?”
“The mayor has graciously set aside office space at a community service center on the south side. We move in next week.”
“Successful blackmail is the best blackmail,” Jonah murmured.
“No kidding,” I said, then looked at my grandfather. “This is great. I know you’ll be glad to be settled.” Before he’d been fired, my grandfather had rented a small office on the south side. After he’d been fired, the team worked out of my grandfather’s basement. And then McKetrick, my grandfather’s replacement, had it firebombed.