things difficult if he didn’t cooperate.
Cooperate how? What did they want? She glanced at Randall, who spoke without looking up from her report. “Your written reports will be copied to these gentlemen after I’ve seen them. Go ahead and hit the high points for them.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Croft said. “But we can wait and read the report. Between your briefing and what’s in the papers, we have the basics, I think. Except for one thing. I need to know how sure you are, Detective, that the murder was committed by a lupus.”
“For proof, you’ll have to speak with the coroner’s office. But I’m pretty sure of it.” She couldn’t tell them why she was so certain, and it would be inadmissible, anyway. But there were plenty of of other indicators.
Lily reconstructed the attack, describing the wounds, blood splatter, and severed hand. “One of the first-on-scene officers used to be X-Squad,” she finished. “Fifteen years’ service. He believes the attacker was a werewolf.”
“Lupus,” Croft corrected her absently. “It is consistent with a lupus attack.”
Karonski scowled. “Consistent isn’t conclusive. Now and then someone who wants to get away with murder tries to make it look like a lupus kill. Though most attempts are crude,” he admitted. “This isn’t.”
She studied him. Average height, bad suit, built like a barrel. A little younger than Croft, and a wedding ring on his left hand, which Croft lacked. “The killer almost certainly left saliva in the wounds. The lab may not be able to run a DNA match on it, but they can tell if it came from one of the Blood. Someone clever enough to fake those wounds—which I do not think were faked—would know that.”
“Magic can create some great fakes.”
That jolted her. “Is that possible? I mean . . . I suppose the wounds themselves could be faked, but could magic duplicate the kind of weird results typical of body fluids from a lupus?”
“I don’t know,” he said gloomily. “Do you?”
It was a disquieting thought. Magic on that level was illegal, of course—but so was murder. “If such a thing were possible, it would constitute murder by magical means. Is that why you’re here?”
Croft shrugged. “Partly. We need to confirm or deny the possibility. There’s also a concern that this will have political repercussions.”
Lily frowned. “The Species Citizenship Bill?” Congress had almost managed to duck its responsibility by losing the bill in committee, but its sponsors were pushing for a vote.
“Politics.” Randall spat out the word, putting down Lily’s report. “Not my job, thank God. When you talk about magically faking things, you’re talking sorcery.”
True. Witchcraft couldn’t change the basic nature of things, and she’d know if sorcery were involved . . . wouldn’t she?
Croft was unmoved. “It’s a possibility.”
“It’s a dead art,” the captain said impatiently. “Sure, we run across a dabbler now and then, someone who thinks he’s found a fragment of the Codex Arcanum. But no one’s been capable of transformative magic since the Purge.”
“Which was a European phenomenon,” Croft pointed out. “There are African sorcerers, and rumors of sorcerers who escaped the Communist cleansing of the sixties.”
Randall shrugged. “There are always rumors, and African sorcery is more like witchcraft than true sorcery. Or so I’ve read. You saying different?”
Croft and Karonski exchanged one of those impenetrable looks shared by longtime partners and married couples. Croft spoke. “We’re not suggesting you should doubt your laboratory results.”
“That’s good, because I don’t intend to. You two are supposed to be hoodoo experts, not stringers for the Rational Inquirer. ”
That irritated Croft. “The only real experts in magic are its practitioners. Abel and I can advise you about investigative procedures and apprehension, and we know a few things about lupi that aren’t
Cooperate how? What did they want? She glanced at Randall, who spoke without looking up from her report. “Your written reports will be copied to these gentlemen after I’ve seen them. Go ahead and hit the high points for them.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Croft said. “But we can wait and read the report. Between your briefing and what’s in the papers, we have the basics, I think. Except for one thing. I need to know how sure you are, Detective, that the murder was committed by a lupus.”
“For proof, you’ll have to speak with the coroner’s office. But I’m pretty sure of it.” She couldn’t tell them why she was so certain, and it would be inadmissible, anyway. But there were plenty of of other indicators.
Lily reconstructed the attack, describing the wounds, blood splatter, and severed hand. “One of the first-on-scene officers used to be X-Squad,” she finished. “Fifteen years’ service. He believes the attacker was a werewolf.”
“Lupus,” Croft corrected her absently. “It is consistent with a lupus attack.”
Karonski scowled. “Consistent isn’t conclusive. Now and then someone who wants to get away with murder tries to make it look like a lupus kill. Though most attempts are crude,” he admitted. “This isn’t.”
She studied him. Average height, bad suit, built like a barrel. A little younger than Croft, and a wedding ring on his left hand, which Croft lacked. “The killer almost certainly left saliva in the wounds. The lab may not be able to run a DNA match on it, but they can tell if it came from one of the Blood. Someone clever enough to fake those wounds—which I do not think were faked—would know that.”
“Magic can create some great fakes.”
That jolted her. “Is that possible? I mean . . . I suppose the wounds themselves could be faked, but could magic duplicate the kind of weird results typical of body fluids from a lupus?”
“I don’t know,” he said gloomily. “Do you?”
It was a disquieting thought. Magic on that level was illegal, of course—but so was murder. “If such a thing were possible, it would constitute murder by magical means. Is that why you’re here?”
Croft shrugged. “Partly. We need to confirm or deny the possibility. There’s also a concern that this will have political repercussions.”
Lily frowned. “The Species Citizenship Bill?” Congress had almost managed to duck its responsibility by losing the bill in committee, but its sponsors were pushing for a vote.
“Politics.” Randall spat out the word, putting down Lily’s report. “Not my job, thank God. When you talk about magically faking things, you’re talking sorcery.”
True. Witchcraft couldn’t change the basic nature of things, and she’d know if sorcery were involved . . . wouldn’t she?
Croft was unmoved. “It’s a possibility.”
“It’s a dead art,” the captain said impatiently. “Sure, we run across a dabbler now and then, someone who thinks he’s found a fragment of the Codex Arcanum. But no one’s been capable of transformative magic since the Purge.”
“Which was a European phenomenon,” Croft pointed out. “There are African sorcerers, and rumors of sorcerers who escaped the Communist cleansing of the sixties.”
Randall shrugged. “There are always rumors, and African sorcery is more like witchcraft than true sorcery. Or so I’ve read. You saying different?”
Croft and Karonski exchanged one of those impenetrable looks shared by longtime partners and married couples. Croft spoke. “We’re not suggesting you should doubt your laboratory results.”
“That’s good, because I don’t intend to. You two are supposed to be hoodoo experts, not stringers for the Rational Inquirer. ”
That irritated Croft. “The only real experts in magic are its practitioners. Abel and I can advise you about investigative procedures and apprehension, and we know a few things about lupi that aren’t
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