HUNTER AND THE WILLOW

The doorman was an Ogre. That wouldn't have been all that unusual had this been a Human or Dwarven club. But the Blue Griffon was an Elven speakeasy. Elves, as everyone knows, have a strong dislike for anything that doesn't meet their own standards of beauty. And let's face it, Ogres are about three hundred pounds of ugly. I had to hand it to them, though. They'd done all they could with what they had to work with. The tux he wore fit like it was tailor made, which it probably was, and the huge shoes were patent leather and polished to a mirror shine.

As I got out of my car and headed toward the entrance, the Ogre stepped sideways in front of the door. I could see the anticipation on his face. He was hoping I'd raise a fuss when he refused to let me in so he'd have a chance to bounce me around on the street for a while. So as I approached, I pulled out my badge and held it up in front of his face.

“James Hunter,” I said, “Chicago PD.”

The disappointment on his face was as obvious as the anticipation had been. No speakeasy in the city was going to refuse entry to a cop. That was a sure way to earn a lot of unwanted attention.

“What can I do for you, officer?” he asked in a surprisingly cultured tone. As he spoke, he crossed his hands in front of him and I saw him tap a large ruby ring on his right hand with the index finger of his left. Ogres are as non-magical as Dwarves, so I knew the ring wasn't a focus like the one my partner wore. I figured it was probably an enchanted signaling device to let the people inside know a cop was on the way in. That would give them time to hide all the booze and dreampotions.

“You can move out of the way and let me in,” I replied.

“May I ask your business here?” he said, not moving.

“Police business. But don't worry, I'm not here looking for Prohibition violations. I'll leave that to the feds. I just want to talk to your boss.”

“About?” He was stalling to give the people inside time to clean up.

“About police business. Look, you're too big for small talk. Why don't we just wait here while they hide all the booze?”

“Booze? Why officer...”

“Detective.”

He looked annoyed for a moment, but then smiled. Ogre smiles are very intimidating, but I was damned if I was going to let him see me flinch.

“Detective,” he said. “This is a respectable establishment. We serve only legal beverages.” Right then I saw his right hand twitch. Probably the signal to let him know the coast was clear. That had been quick.

“But see for yourself,” he said, stepping aside. “Go right in.”

I walked past him through the door and into a forest. Or at least that's the way it appeared. Whether through illusion or just clever decorating, the room appeared to be a clearing in a dense forest. Tables and chairs sat on what looked and felt like real grass. Muted light filtered down from a ceiling made to look like a canopy of overhanging branches. There was even a small stream running from one corner of the room to another. There was a stage at the far end of the room for live entertainment, but it was empty. Instead, Elven jazz played from some unseen source,

I walked past the hatcheck stand, keeping my hat, and down a short flight of stairs onto the floor. Suddenly the place got very quiet and every eye in the joint turned to stare. Obviously a Human was not a common sight here. And not a welcome one. I ignored the stares and walked across a small bridge to the bar along the right wall. The bartender, an Elven woman in a tight blue dress, was glaring at me. I sat down on a stool and dropped my hat on the bar.

“I'll have a lemonade,” I said. “And I'm here to see your boss.”

“Boss ain't here.” Her accent marked her as being from Quebec, which is the shortened name for the Canadian province dominated by Elves. I'd seen the full name once. It was some thirty letters long and I had no clue how it was pronounced.

“Look, sweetheart. You're obviously new in town, so let me tell you how things work in Chicago. In Chicago, when a cop says he wants to see the boss, you go get the boss. Otherwise, the cop may start noticing things. Like that guy in the corner who is obviously soused on dreampotion. And if the cop notices something like that, he would feel obligated to report it to the feds. That would lead to a visit from Elliott Ness.” That was a bit of a bluff. Ness and his people were more concerned with shutting down breweries and distilleries, and disrupting supply routes, to worry about a single speakeasy. But his name was always guaranteed to give a shiver of fear to anyone in the bootlegging biz. “And I don't think your boss would like that very much,” I continued. “So, let's try this again. I'm here to see the boss.”

She glared a moment longer then said “Just a minute,” and turned to walk away. I stopped her.

“Hold it there doll. Aren't you forgetting something?” She turned and stared back at me. “My lemonade.”

She stormed back to the bar, grabbed a glass from behind it, poured some lemonade into it from an iced pitcher, slammed it down on the bar, spilling a good part of it, then turned and flounced off again. I watched her go, the tight dress and high heels making that a rather pleasant experience, until she disappeared into a door cleverly disguised as a tree trunk. Once she was gone I turned around and leaned back against the bar. I went over the events of the last couple of days to prepare myself for the coming interview.

It started the previous afternoon, Tuesday, June 13th 1932. I arrived for the 4 to midnight shift and was met by the captain before I even had a chance to hang up my hat. My partner, Harvey Blackwood, was already out on a report of a dead body. I got back in my car and drove to the scene, a middle class neighborhood near Douglas park.

The house was surrounded by a high hedge broken by a gate in the center. I could see the heads of several people in the yard, including my partner. Two uniformed officers stood outside the gate. As I entered the yard, I noticed black powder on the open gate. It had already been dusted for fingerprints. A man in plain clothes with a camera was taking pictures of what looked like a blood stain on the walkway leading to the house. A trail of blood led over to where Harvey stood by the body of a man lying beside the hedge. Bill Howell from the coroner's office knelt by the body. On the porch an Elven woman in uniform was sitting with an obviously distraught Human woman.

The man with the camera stopped what he was doing and approached me with his hand outstretched.

“Hi. Tony Scarpetti from the crime lab,” he said as I shook his hand. “You must be Detective Hunter.”

The Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory, usually just called the crime lab, was a part of the Northwestern University Law School. It was founded in 1929 in the aftermath of the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre. It had helped convict several of the Saint Valentine's killers by matching bullets from the crime with Tommy guns found in their possession. It had since become an invaluable tool for Chicago law enforcement.

“Good to have you here. Find anything?”

“Not much. I've dusted the gate and the front door for prints, and I'm getting pictures of the blood trail. I'm guessing most of the prints will turn out to be the victim's. Looks like he was shot here and dragged over there so he'd be out of sight from the street. The coroner can tell you more.”

I thanked him and walked over to where Harvey and Bill were examining the body. As I approached, Harvey looked up and nodded.

“What have we got, Harv?” I asked.

“Victim is John Russell”

“Judge Russell?” He nodded. “Shit,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Judge John Russell was a criminal court judge, known for being incorruptible. He was one of the only judges in the system who wasn't owned by one of the three mobs.

I turned to Howell. “What can you tell us, Bill?”

“Not much,” he replied. “I'll need to get the body back to the office and do a full exam. All I can tell you right now is he was killed by two shots to the back of the head. Size of the entry wounds indicate a small caliber weapon, probably a .22. Looks like the shots entered at an upward angle, so the killer was either very short or was kneeling. My guess is it was a Dwarf. No shell casings anywhere, so the killer either used a revolver or cleaned up after himself. Can't give you a time of death, though from the amount of drying of the blood stains, I'd guess more than twelve hours, so sometime last night.”

I nodded to him, then turned to Harvey. “You find anything Harv?”

“Not much. I think I might have detected a residual over there on the other side of the gate, but the grass and hedge are enough to mask anything else that might be there.”

By “residual” Harvey was referring to a residual aura. All living things have an aura, which a magician can see. If someone stays in one place for a while, the place will take on an imprint of that person's aura. An aura is as distinctive as a fingerprint, and can prove that the person was at the place. A residual aura will fade over time, however, and because auras are generated by anything living, including plants, it is especially hard to read an aura out of doors.

“How about you take a look?” Harvey asked. “See if you notice anything.”

“Sure,” I said, walking over the the place Harvey had indicated. I knelt down and put my face close to the ground. After a moment I looked up.

“You were right Harv. This is where the killer waited. And he was definitely a Dwarf.”

Scarpetti's eyes went wide and he said “How can you tell all that?” Harvey shot me a sharp look.

“There are some blades of grass broken here, and some slight scuff marks in the soil. Looks like someone waited here long enough to get antsy and shuffle his feet, which scuffed out any usable footprints there might have been. He was standing, because he couldn't have made these marks if he was sitting or kneeling. Since he was standing, he must have been a Dwarf, because a Human or Elf would have been visible over the top of the hedge. And I can see one hair here partially covered by loose grass.” I looked over at Scarpetti. “You're going to want to get some pictures of this area, and take this hair back to the lab”

“Could have been a Troll,” Bill said. “Or a Goblin, they're both short enough.”

“No,” I replied.” A single Goblin wouldn't have been strong enough to move the body. Maybe a Troll, but the hair looks more like Dwarven beard hair than Troll hair. No, I'm going to stick with my first choice and say Dwarf.”

“Looks like I'm not the only one who works with a Sherlock,” Scarpetti said. William Sherlock was the tool mark expert at the crime lab, and of course was constantly hit with the inevitable jokes about his name.

Bill shook his head in admiration. “I can see why the captain says you're his top detective.” Then he quickly looked up at Harvey and said “No offense, Harv.”

“None taken. Remember, I work with him all the time. I know what he can do. It's the Indian background, you know”

“You're an Indian?” Scarpetti asked.

I nodded. “Chippewa. When I was a kid, my grandfather used to take me out on weekends to teach me to hunt and track. Said they were skills every Chippewa boy should learn. Tracking is really just teaching yourself to notice small details, and that ability comes in real handy in detective work, too.”

I stood up, brushed off my hands and walked over to Harv. “Any of the neighbors report hearing anything last night? Gunshots, a scream?”

“Not so far. We have people doing interviews now, but none have them have reported anything.”

“Have them keep asking around” I said and indicated the woman on the porch. “Who's the skirt?”

“Marianne Wells. Russell's secretary. She found the body.”

“Have you interviewed her yet?”

He shook his head. “Haven't had time.”

“Let's talk to her,” I said.

We went up to the porch. I nodded to the officer and she got up and moved away.

“Mrs. Wells,” I started, but she interrupted.

“Miss,” she said. She was attractive in a girl next door kind of way, brunette with big eyes, now red with crying. She wore the kind of conservative dress you would expect from the secretary of a judge.

“Sorry. Miss Wells, I'm detective Hunter,” I said showing my badge. “This is detective mage Blackwood.

She nodded in acknowledgment and said, “I'm an adept. I understand I'm required to tell you that.”

Everyone knows that about half the Human population can use magic to some extent. With Elves and Goblins, it's 100 percent. Dwarves, Trolls and Ogres can't use magic at all. But if you listen to the radio dramas or read the pulps you might get the idea that every magic user can throw around fireballs and cast death spells at will. The truth is, the great majority of magic capable people, of any race, only have very limited power. They might be able to float a small item, or lower or raise the temperature of a small amount of stuff a little, handy for chilling a glass of water or heating up a cup of coffee. Such people are called “adepts.” Many adepts find jobs as secretaries because one simple spell almost any adept can learn is the scribe spell, which allows the magician to copy writing from one document to another. Others get jobs at laundries, because another simple spell can remove stains from fabrics.

Only magicians who can cast the most powerful spells, like fireballs or full sensory illusions, qualify for the title “mage.” And only the most powerful of mages can cast a spell as potent as a death spell.

“Thank you for informing us,” I replied to Miss Wells. “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” She nodded. “Can you tell us how you came to find the body?”

“Well, the judge didn't show up for work this morning, which was strange. He's always very punctual, nine o'clock every morning. Today, he didn't show up. Luckily, he didn't have any cases scheduled today. When he hadn't come in by ten, I tried calling him here at home. No answer. I tried again at noon, but no answer again. Finally, at two, I closed up the office and drove here to see if he was home. I came through the gate and saw...him. There.” She pointed to the body, then began to sob again. I waited for her to calm down again.

“Go on,” I said, quietly.

She took a deep breath to calm her sElf and continued, “I tried to go inside to use his phone to call the police, but the door was locked and I knew I shouldn't touch him to look for the keys, so I ran next door and used their phone, then came back and waited for you to arrive.”

“Tell me, have you noticed anything strange in the last few days?” I asked.

“Strange? Like what?”

“Have you noticed anyone you've never seen before, who suddenly was around a lot? Someone who seemed to be watching the judge?'

She shook her head. “No, not that I can think of.”

“That's okay. What about last night? Did anything unusual happen?”

Again she shook her head. “No. We closed up the office at six, as usual. He seemed perfectly normal.”

“So, as far as you know, the judge came straight home.”

“No, It was Tuesday. On Tuesday nights, Judge Russell always goes for dinner at Giovanni's, his favorite restaurant. Tuesday they have a special on Veal Parmigiana. He loves... loved... Veal Parmigiana”

“Do you know the address of this restaurant?”

“No. I have it back at the office, but I don't know it off the top of my head.”

“That's all right. If you think of anything else, anything at all, that seemed strange in the last couple of weeks, call the station and ask for me or detective Blackwood.” She nodded. I thanked her, turned to the female officer and instructed her to make sure Miss Wells got home. Then I checked with Bill and Scarpetti to see if they needed anything else. Both said no, he'd wait for the coroner's van to pick up the body and head back to his office to begin his exam. Scarpetti said he needed to get those pictures of the place where the killer had waited and collect the hair.

Harv and I turned to leave but stopped. Outside, the vultures were already descending. Reporters, just a few so far, trying to force their way into the yard. The cops at the gate were keeping them out.

“Well, shit,” I said to Harvey. “I had hoped they wouldn't get word of this until we had finished with the scene and prepared a statement.”

“No such luck,” he said. “But we'll have to tell them something.”

We steeled ourselves and went out to meet them. We were immediately bombarded with a fusillade of questions. I held up my hands and refused to speak until they all shut up.

“Okay,” I said. “Now listen up, because this is all we're going to say on the matter at this time. Yes the victim was Judge John Russell, and yes, it appears he was murdered. That's all we know for right now.” The pack of reporters immediately began shouting out more questions, which I ignored. I turned to the officers at the gate. “Any of these people try to interfere with you, or the coroner or the crime lab, arrest them for interfering with an investigation.” I looked back at the reporters to make sure they got the message.

We instructed the officers at the gate to wait until the scene was fully photographed, dusted and the body was picked up by the coroner, disperse the reporters, then head back to the station to file their reports. I assigned one of them to take my car back since I'd be traveling with Harvey. Then we went to his car and drove to the nearest pay phone. I called the station and had them look up the address of the restaurant. It wasn't far, so we drove there to interview the staff.

On the way to the restaurant Harvey glanced over at me and said “That was some quick thinking back there, about how you knew the killer was a Dwarf.”

“Well,” I said, “I couldn't very well tell them how I really knew. Besides, everything I said was true, and when Scarpetti takes a close look at the spot, he'll see it all himself. And you know they always buy the Chippewa explanation”

The restaurant wasn't very helpful. The judge had come in a little before seven, ordered his usual meal, and left around eight thirty. No one had noticed anything or anyone unusual. As we were finishing up the interviews, the phone rang. The manager answered it, then held out the receiver.

“It's for you,” he said. Harvey and I glanced at each other, then Harvey went to take the call. He listened for a few seconds, the said “Right. We're on our way.”

“That was the captain,” he said as he hung up the phone. They just got an anonymous tip that someone saw a Dwarf toss what looked like a gun into the north end of the lagoon in Douglas Park.”

“Right. Let's go.”

When we got to the park, the area was already cordoned off, with uniformed officers posted to keep onlookers away. We approached Jerry Kent, the officer in charge,

“This the place?'” I asked.

“Yes sir, from what the woman said on the phone.”

“The caller was a woman?”

Jerry nodded. “According to the officer that took the call, it was an Elven woman. She gave a pretty good description of the place.”

“Did someone bring a freeze box?” Harvey asked.

A freeze box is a lead-lined container used to hold evidence that might have a residual aura. It helps keep the aura from fading.

“Yeah. It's over there,” Kent said, nodding toward the bank.

I thanked him and Harvey and I walked to the edge of the lagoon.

“If this is the gun that killed Russell, we got lucky,” Harvey said. “The still water won't wash away any residual, and the cold temperature at the bottom will have helped keep it from fading.”

Just as a place where a person stands for a long time can take on an aura imprint, an object which a person keeps on them for a while will also take on a residual aura, which can be used to prove possession. A residual aura will fade over time and can be washed away by running water. Only running water however. Still water does nothing to an aura, and the fading can be slowed by keeping the item cold or contained in lead.

“Now we just have to find the damned thing,” I said. “Think you can find it with a scrying spell?”

“I'll try. Lot of area to cover, though.”

“Can't hurt. Give it a try”

He nodded, closed his eyes and concentrated for a few seconds, then held out his right hand, where he wore the ring he used as a focus, toward the lagoon.

While certain people can manipulate magical energies, that energy is, as Harvey explained it to me, very wild and unfocused. To make any real use of it, it has to be channeled, or focused, through a specially created object. The most common type of focus is of course the wand. Harvey preferred a ring. As he explained, a wand can be knocked out of someone's hand, and a mage without a focus has no more ability to cast spells than anyone else. A ring, he said, is a lot harder to disarm.

For several minutes, he stood there, not moving. Then he said in a strained voice “Jim, I think I found it. Get the box.”

I quickly picked up the freeze box and held it open. After a few more seconds, something rose out of the water. It was a pistol, a .22 automatic with a silencer attached. Harv opened his eyes, and used the focus to direct the gun to the box and lower it in. I quickly closed it. Harvey sagged, and had to brace himself against me to keep from falling. Using magic can be physically exhausting.

“You okay, partner?” I asked. After a moment he nodded and stood up.

“Yeah, That was tougher than I expected,” he said. Then his face lit up in a grin. “But we got it.”

“Now we just need to find out if it's the right one. We'll need to get it to the lab and have them run a ballistics comparison with the bullets Bill pulls from the body. I hope they're not too deformed to be able to make a match. And I suppose we should have them dust it for fingerprints, though I'm pretty sure they won't find anything. This guy was a pro, he would have worn gloves.”

“And we need to make sure those things are done quick and with as little handling of the gun as possible. There's a good aura on there and we want to preserve it as much as possible.”

“That shouldn't be an issue. The lab boys may not be mages, but they know how to handle magical evidence.”

There wasn't much else to do at the scene, so we told Jerry to have someone take the box to the lab, and told him it was urgent that they call the court first thing in the morning and have them send over a mage to make an aura print.

There is no way to photograph an aura, though Harvey says some Russian named Kirlian is working on a method. However, a mage who knows the right spell, an advanced version of the scribe spell, is able to transfer an image of an aura to paper. If a residual aura from an object, like a gun, can be matched to the aura of a person, possession can be proven in court. There were many legal restrictions however. Only a mage appointed by the court could make an aura print. No police mage was ever permitted to do so. And the aura print from an object must be made by a different mage than the aura print of the suspect.

We headed back to the station and filed our reports. Once that was done we took some time to discuss what we knew.

“This was obviously a hit,” Harv said.

I nodded. “Now, it's just possible that the hit was contracted for some personal reason, but from what I know of the judge, that's unlikely. Pretty safe bet it was one of the Three.”

The Three were the three leaders of the main mob factions in Chicago. Until last year, the mob in Chicago, and some would say the city itself, was run by one man: Al Capone.

When Bugs Moran fled to Vegas after narrowly escaping death on Valentine's Day, the North Side Gang, now leaderless, quickly fell apart, and Capone finally had what he had wanted for years: complete control over crime in Chicago. Or so it seemed.

In truth, no operation that big could be controlled solely by one man, so Capone did what any good businessman would do, he relegated. On the South side the rackets, particularly the Policy or “numbers” games, were run on a day to day basis by racially segregated gangs of Dwarves, Trolls and Ogres. The most powerful of these was a Dwarven gang run by Dahl Lundgrom, known as “Steelbeard”. Along the Gold Cost, the high end brothels, which featured mainly Elven prostitutes, were run by an Elf known only as “The Willow”.

When the feds finally put Capone away for income tax evasion, his chosen successor, Frank Nitti, was already in prison serving his own 19 month tax evasion sentence. With both Capone and Nitti in prison and the Chicago Outfit in the hands of Paul Accardo, the others made their moves.

On the South side, Steelbeard quickly wiped out all the other gangs with troops surprisingly well equipped, not only with Tommy guns and shotguns, but with hand grenades as well. He then declared his independence from the Chicago Outfit.

The Willow, it turned out, had for months been secretly recruiting powerful Elven mages from around the country, from Quebec and even as far away as France. Then, in one night, Elven forces took over every speakeasy and gambling den along the Lakefront. Of course, the historical enmity between Dwarves and Elves soon came to a flashpoint and Steelbeard and The Willow quickly went to war against each other. Accardo, meanwhile, tried desperately to regain the lost territories.

For the next few months, the city was a battleground. Dwarves with Tommy guns fought Elves with wands while Accardo sent his triggermen and spellslingers against both. By early spring, all three sides were becoming exhausted. The war was costing them highly, both in soldiers and, more importantly, in money.

Frank Nitti, despite his nickname “The Enforcer” was always more reasonable, and frankly just smarter, than Capone had ever been. So, when he was released in March and took his place as head of the Outfit, the first thing he did was arrange a meeting with the other two bosses. At that meeting, he proposed a deal very similar to the one Capone's mentor Johnny Torrio had made with his rival Deon O'Bannion back in 1920. Territorial boundaries were established. The city was divided into three parts. Steelbeard got most of the South Side, The Willow got the lakefront, including the lucrative “Gold Coast,” and Nitti got the rest. Arrangements were made for each to provide the others, at a cost of course, with things they might find hard to obtain. Steelbeard could supply Dwarven ale and beer from his own breweries and from those in the Dwarven mines in the Alleghenies, which the feds never could seem to find and shut down. The Willow could supply Elven wine and dreampotions, though what she supplied to Nitti and Steelbeard was low quality locally produced stuff. The good stuff, which had to be shipped all the way down the lakes from Quebec, she kept for her own patrons in her Gold Coast speaks, who could afford it. Nitti had connections for whiskey, gin and other hard liquor both in the city and from the other provinces in Canada.

Finally, a non-aggression pact was worked out. Basically, it was agreed that if any of the three took an overt action against any one of the others, the third party would come in on the side of the one attacked. Since none of them had the strength to go up against the combined forces of the other two, it worked. For now.

“Well,” Harvey said, “we know the killer was a Dwarf, so that puts Steelbeard at the top of the list.”

“Yeah,” I answered, “but we can't completely rule out the other two.”

“So, our next move is to interview all three.”

I nodded. “We'll do that tomorrow. Let's finish up and call it a night.”

We finished our paperwork, left it in the basket for the day shift adepts to copy using scribe spells, and headed home.

I decided on the way home to stop at Lazlo's butcher shop. It was quite a bit out of the way, but Lazlo was the best butcher in the city. He was also one of my most reliable snitches.

Lazlo was a Troll, and his shop was located at the edge of Trolltown, that area of South Chicago where the majority of the city's Trolls, Ogres and Goblins lived. Since most of his customers were nocturnal by nature, his shop was closed during the day and open all night. That made it fit very well with my schedule.

I found a parking space about half a block from the shop and walked the rest of the way. When I entered, Lazlo was just finishing up an order for an Ogre woman and her child. The kid was maybe five years old, which meant she was almost as tall as me. She gave me a frightened look and clung to her mother's skirts as they walked past me out the door.

Lazlo was a typical Troll, about 4 ½ feet tall and nearly as broad. He had the flat, squashed-in facial features and large eyes that exemplified his race. When working, he always wore gloves over his furred hands and a chef's hat to reign in his shock of wiry hair. Many of his customers didn't mind Troll hair in their meat, but others, like me, did. He saw me approaching and nodded in greeting.

“Detective Hunter,” he said, “what can I get for you tonight?”

“Steak. Porterhouse. About three-quarters of an inch thick.”

He sighed. “Sure. Always hate selling a good cut of meat like that to a Human though, 'cause I just know you're going to burn all the flavor out of it.”

“C'mon, Lazlo,” I replied. “You know I like my steaks rare.”

“Yeah,” he said, “ I'll give you credit for that, you're not as bad as most Humans. Still don't know why you all insist on scorching good food, though.” He headed over to his cutting table and began to work. “By the way, one of my other customers said he saw a friend of yours up by Douglas Park last night.”

“Oh, yeah? Who was that?”

“Arkey Arkessson.”

Arkey Akesson was a Dwarf. I'd never actually met him, but every cop in the force had heard of Arky. He was a torpedo, a gun for hire. If he'd been seen near Douglas Park, it was a pretty safe bet he was the one who did the hit on Judge Russell.

“Arky, huh? Any idea where he's staying these days? Wouldn't mind talking to old Arky.”

Lazlo shook his head. “No idea. Just thought you'd be interested to know he was in town.” He finished wrapping the steak and brought it over to the counter.

“Thanks,” I said. “I'll definitely see if I can look him up.” I paid Lazlo for the steak, and the information, and left the shop.

I drove home, threw the steak in a pan and seared it lightly on both sides, then washed it down with a ginger ale. I don't drink alcohol. I know most cops would have a beer or two when they could. Rumor had it even Elliot Ness was known to take a drink on occasion. Me, I'd seen first hand what alcohol had done to too many good people in my tribe, so I never touched it.

Then, with my meal finished, I went to bed.

When we checked in for work the next afternoon, the results of the ballistics test were waiting for us. They confirmed the gun Harvey pulled from the lagoon was the one that killed Judge Russell. They also sent over the aura print that had been made from the gun.

“So,” I said, “we have the murder weapon. And we have a suspect.” And I told Harv what I'd learned from Lazlo.

“Interesting,” he said. “But it doesn't really narrow things down. Everyone knows Arkesson will work for whoever pays him.”

“Still leaves Steelbeard at the top of the list. And I have to think The Willow is at the bottom. I mean, Arkeson may be willing to work for Elves, but how many Elves would be willing to hire a Dwarf?”

“What is it with Elves and Dwarves anyway?” Harvey asked. “I mean, why do they hate each other so much?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “I don't think any really knows anymore. I understand it all goes back to the twelfth century, to the Goblin Suppression Wars. Apparently, a mixed force of Elves and Dwarves was supposed to join up to assault a Goblin stronghold. It was a disaster. The Elves blame the Dwarves, the Dwarves blame the Elves. I don't think anyone, even the few Elves and Dwarves who were alive back then, knows the truth anymore.”

“But didn't they work together during the war fifteen years ago?”

“They were kind of forced to work on the same side, but they did it with as little contact with each other as possible.”

Harvey chuckled. “So, in a way, Nitti's deal is the first working peace between the two in eight hundred years or so,”

“Yeah,” I said. “Ironic, isn't it? But that reminds me. We have interviews to do. Let's start with Nitti. He's the closest.”

Harvey agreed and we left the station to begin our interviews.

We drove to North LaSalle street where Nitti had his headquarters. We were ushered into a waiting room and told, not asked, to wait. So we waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, after over two hours, we were ushered into an office, There was a large desk and two comfortable looking chairs had been placed in front of it. But the man behind the desk wasn't Frank Nitti. It was Paul Accardo.

“Detective Hunter, Detective Blackwood,” he said, smiling. “I seem to recall we've met before.”

We had met before. Two years earlier, Harvey and I were working on the case of a series of murders where the victims had all had their throats slashed. Accardo had, not entirely willingly, given us a lead which did, in fact, lead us to the killer. I wondered if that's why Nitti had sent him to talk to us, thinking the fact that Accardo had helped us before would make us more likely to believe what he told us now.

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember. But we're here now to see Nitti.”

The smile disappeared. “Mister Nitti is unavailable now. So, I can either have Sam escort you back outside and you can cool your heels for a couple more hours until Frank can see you, or you can talk to me.”

I glanced at Harv, who nodded, and we took the two seats in front of the desk. Accardo nodded at the goon, Sam, who left the room.

“Now then,” he said, turning his attention to us, “how can I help you?'

“You've heard about the murder of Judge Russell?” I asked. I always took the lead in interrogations so Harvey would be free to concentrate on assensing the subject. A mage can tell a lot by examining the aura of a person under questioning. Like if they're telling the truth or not.

“How could I not?” Accardo replied. “it's in all the papers and on all the radio stations.”

“Do you know anything about it?” I asked.

“Now, why would I know anything about the murder of a criminal court judge?”

“I get the impression that there aren't too many things that happen in this city that you and Frank Nitti don't know about.”

“Is that what you've heard? I'm flattered.”

“Do you know of a Dwarf by the name of Arky Arkesson?”

“Should I?”

“Many people in... your line of work... do. Have you or Frank Nitti ever had occasion to hire Arky Arkesson?”

“Why on earth would we need to hire this person?”

“Let's just say he's someone who can do certain jobs that you might not want to be associated with.”

“Do you really believe that there is any job we might want done that we couldn't handle ourselves.?”

“That's not an answer. So, straight up, did you or Frank Nitti, or anyone in your organization hire Arky Akesson to murder Judge John Russell.”

He was silent for a while. Then he looked directly at Harvey and said “That's a very insulting question. But I will answer it. No, no one in our organization hired a Dwarf named Arky Akesson to murder Judge John Russell. Now, I believe this interview is over. Sam!”

The goon appeared at the door immediately.

“Please show the detectives out.” He turned back to us. “Good night, gentlemen. And good luck with your search.”

Sam followed us out of the building, then stood in the doorway and watched until we got in the car and drove away.

“So,” I said to Harvey as we drove off, “what did you sense?”

He shook his head. “He's a clever one. He knew he was being assensed. Did you notice how he answered questions with questions? It's an old trick. By responding with a question, you're not actually answering, so it's easier to keep your aura from showing a lie. Still, the one question he did answer directly, when he said that they didn't hire Arky for the murder, his aura indicated he was telling the truth. Of course, a good enough liar can fool a read, just like they can fool a lie detector. That's why neither one is admissible in court.”

“Still, I tend to believe him,” I said. “I never really thought Nitti was our guy.”

“Me neither. So, who next?”

“Well, that took so much time, maybe we should split up for the next two. Why don't you take Steelbeard? Maybe knowing he's being interviewed by a mage will rattle him. Dwarves don't like mages.”

Harvey agreed, so we drove back to the station so he could pick up his car. And I had a couple of things I wanted to get for my interview with The Willow.

We knew The Willow lived in an apartment above the Blue Griffon, so that would be the place to go at this time of night. So once I had the things I needed, I headed to the lakefront. And that brought me here.

About this time, I became aware of a new presence behind me.

“You must be The Willow,” I said, then turned and beheld the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I knew The Willow was supposed to be beautiful. After all, she was an Elf, and beauty is pretty much what defines that race. But this dame was special even by that standard.

She was tall for an Elven woman, about 5 foot two. Her hair was a bright flaming red and flowed in waves halfway down her back. The tips of her pointed ears just peeked out from underneath it. The almond shaped eyes were large, and a vibrant shade of green you just don't see in other races. Her mouth was small, but the lips were full, pouty and painted a shade of red that perfectly matched her hair. She wore a long white evening gown that, while loose fitting, somehow managed to emphasis her figure instead of hide it.

She laughed a musical tinkle as I turned and said, “I'm impressed. Not many Humans could have heard me approach, especially with the music playing.”

“I didn't hear you,” I answered, “but that's a very distinctive perfume you're wearing.”

She laughed again. “It better be. I have it made exclusively for me by one of the finest perfumeries in France.”

“That must be expensive. I had no idea the nightclub business was so lucrative.”

“Oh, I have other sources of income.” I was aware of them. Bootlegging, protection, smuggling, gambling and prostitution. But I didn't say anything. No point in antagonizing her before the interview actually started.

She came around the bar, and every eye in the place turned to watch her. Well, except that guy in the corner booth still staring at something the dreampotion allowed only him to see. As she seated herself on the stool next to mine, I saw that her feet were bare. No wonder she was surprised that I might have heard her. A barefoot Elf walking on grass makes about as much noise as a snowflake falling.

When she was seated, she turned to look at the barmaid, who had followed her out of the office. “Ciel, darling,” she said, “please clean up that mess.”

The girls reaction was sudden and shocking. She stiffened, he eyes went wide and color drained from her face.

“Y-yes Delonnasidhe,” she stammered. “I'm sorry. Right away.” And she pulled a wand from the sleeve of her dress and began using it to dry up the spilled lemonade from the bar.

That reaction told me a lot about this woman called The Willow. This was a dame who expected her people know how she wanted things done, and didn't expect to have to ask. And I got the impression she never asked twice.

I covered the awkward moment by asking a question. “Delonnasidhe. Is that your real name?”

“Delonnasidhe is an honorific among my people. The closest term in English would be... Godmother.” I smiled inwardly at the thought that this would make her a fairy godmother, but held my tongue. Elves hate being called fairies. “My real name is unpronounceable to Humans. A rough translation would be 'The Willow Bathed In The Ruby Light Of Sunset.' Or just The Willow for short. Now, how can I help you, Detective Hunter?”

I hadn't given my name to either her or to the barmaid, so I could only assume that she had been tipped off that I was coming. That would also explain how they'd been able to hide all the booze so quickly, because they'd had a head start.

“I'm investigating the murder of Judge John Russell. I assume you've heard about that?

“I doubt very much if there is anyone in the city who hasn't heard about it by now. So why come to me? Am I a suspect?”

“It occurs to me that some of your 'other sources of income' might benefit by having this particular judge out of the picture.”

“And even if that were true, why suspect me in particular?”

“Oh, we're questioning others as well. Tell me, are you familiar with a Dwarf by the name of Arky Akesson?”

She laughed again, and swept back her hair on one side to fully expose one pointed ear. “Your powers of observation must be very poor if you haven't noticed that I'm an Elf. You may have heard that Elves and Dwarves don't tend to travel in the same circles.”

“I'm well aware of that. But this Dwarf isn't very particular about who he works for.”

“That may be. I, on the other hand, am very particular about who I employ. Now, if there's nothing else, I have a business to run.”

I stood, took a dollar bill out of my shirt pocket and set it on the bar in front of her.

“For the lemonade,” I said.

She did exactly what I had hoped she would do. She slid the bill back along the bar toward me. “It's on the house. Good night, Detective Hunter.”

The paper used to make money is very good at retaining fingerprints. I'd made sure this bill was clean of prints before leaving the station, so now the only prints on it were mine and The Willow's. I picked it up, folded it so the part she'd touched was on the inside, and put it back in my pocket. I retrieved my hat from the bar, nodded to both her and the barmaid, and left the club.

As I walked past the the Ogre, it occurred to me that the Blue Griffon didn't seem like the type of place that would require a bouncer very often, and especially not an Ogre. I figured his real job was something else, probably as a collector for The Willow's protection rackets. The doorman job was just a smokescreen, so he'd have a legitimate source of income to report on his income tax returns. Ever since the feds had got Capone for tax evasion, the mobsters in the city had been very careful about filing their taxes.

The Ogre smirked at me as I passed and said “Good evening, detective.” I nodded and went back to my car.

I got back to the station first and settled down to do some paperwork while waiting for Harv. He came in about 20 minutes later, hung up his hat and came over to his desk.

“How'd it go with The Willow?” he asked.

I shrugged. “About as expected. She denied everything, of course. She was actually pretty convincing, but then, it was pretty clear she'd been tipped off that I was coming, so she'd had time to prepare. What about you?”

“Pretty sure Steelbeard had been tipped off too. First thing they did when I got there was tell me I would have to leave my weapon outside before I could go in to see him. I pointed out that I'm a cop, and they pointed out that Capone's men had claimed to be cops on Valentine's Day, and some had even worn uniforms. Well, I couldn't really argue with that, so I gave them my revolver. Then they insisted I also give up my focus. I hadn't even identified myself as a mage yet, so they must have been tipped off.

“Well, I put up quite a fight about that one. But eventually I realized I wouldn't be able to see Steelbeard until I gave in, so I handed over my wand.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “you're focus isn't a wand.”

“No, it isn't, is it?” I laughed. “Anyway, I finally got in to see Steelbeard. As expected, he also denied everything, and his aura indicated he was telling the truth. Mostly. He was obviously lying when he said he'd never heard of Arky Arkesson. But other than that, his aura read clean.”

“Well,” I said, “the interviews were a long shot anyway. No surprise we came up empty.”

“Oh, I didn't say I came up empty,” Harvey said, with a bit of a smirk.

“All right, spill. What do you mean you didn't come up empty?”

“After the interview I came back out to the lobby and retrieved by revolver and wand. First thing I did was check the gun to see if it had been tampered with. It had, in a way. One of the cartridges had been removed and a small rolled up slip of paper put in it's place.

“I figured that whoever put it there didn't want everyone to know they'd done it, so I decided to wait until I got back to look at it. So let's see what they gave me.” He took out his revolver, broke the cylinder and fished the small piece of paper out of a chamber. He re-holstered the weapon and unrolled the note.

“Oh my god,” he breathed and handed the slip to me. I read it:

THE PERSON YOU WANT IS THE DWARF ARKY ARKESSON. And it gave an address.

I looked up at Harvey. “You think this is jake?” I asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, I suppose it could be a setup for an ambush, but they had me, or thought they had me, disarmed at the office. If they wanted to off me they could have just done it there.”

“Well, hell then. Let's go bring the bastard in for questioning.”

We grabbed our hats and the first two uniformed officers we came across and headed out.

The address was a very nice apartment building on the west side. Arkesson's apartment was on the third floor. I left Harvey and one of the uniforms, a Human named O'Shaughnessy, down below to watch the entrance and the fire escape, and took the other officer, a Dwarf named Angrim, upstairs.

We found the door to Arkesson's apartment and took positions on either side. Both of us drew our weapons, then I reached over and knocked loudly.

“Arky Arkesson,” I called,” Chicago police! Open up!”

A couple of seconds passed then three shots smashed through the door from inside and buried themselves in the wall opposite. The guy was a pro. The first shot would have been about head level for an average Human and each of the others was a a few inches lower than the one before it. Good spacing to assure a serious hit on a Human, Elf or Dwarf.

We gave it about 10 seconds after the last shot, then I nodded to Angrim and we both stepped in front of the door, him in front and me behind. We raised our weapons and he lifted one stout muscular leg and kicked the door. The jamb splintered and the door flew open, leaving us with a clear shot into the room, Angrim low and me high.

The room was empty. We quickly moved inside, Angrim sweeping left and me right. There was a small kitchen through an open doorway to the right and to the left another open door led into what was probably a bedroom. All the furnishings were sized for a Dwarf. Angrim kept the bedroom door covered while I made sure the kitchen was empty, then we both moved cautiously into the bedroom. It was empty also, with another door leading to a bathroom and an open window onto a fire escape. I nodded to Angrim to check the bathroom, and when he confirmed it was empty too, I went to the window and looked out.

Harv and O'Shaughnessy were in the alley below, standing over the prone body of a Dwarf. Harvey called up, “He'll be okay. Maybe little sore. He fell about ten feet when I hit him with the stun spell. Spells. I had to hit him twice. Forgot how tough Dwarves can be.” Then he bent down and began to cuff the unconscious Dwarf.

I sent Angrim down to help Harvey and O'Shaughnessy and began to search the apartment. Since Arkesson had shot at us, the place was an active crime scene and could be searched without a warrant. I hit paydirt almost immediately. In the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed was a cigar box. I used a handkerchief to carefully lift it out and open it. What I found completely changed every assumption I had made about the case to this point. Inside was about five hundred dollars worth of twenty-dollar gold coins.

Only Elves prefer to use gold as a method of tender. It's pretty. They find paper money to be crass and ugly. Dwarves are more pragmatic. They actually prefer paper money, it's easier to carry around. I doubted if a Dwarf would keep that much money in gold for long, so I figured there was a good chance it was payment for a recent job. Arky's most recent job would have been Judge Russell. And the fact that the payment was in gold pointed to the person I had put at the bottom of my list of suspects, The Willow.

I searched the rest of the apartment and found a couple more guns, but nothing else of interest. I wrapped the cigar box carefully so as not to smudge any fingerprints and went down to join the others.

Harvey and the two officers had put the still unconscious Dwarf into the back of the car. We got in, O'Shaughnessy and Angrim in the back on either side of Arkesson, Harvey and me up front, and drove back to the station. We gave the cigar box and the dollar bill I'd got from The Willow to to desk sergeant and told him to make sure they got to the crime lab first thing in the morning, and to tell them to put a rush on printing the coins and the bill.

We secured Arkesson in a cell and went back to our desks.

“Is he the killer?” Havey asked. I nodded.

“Positive. Knew it as soon as I entered the apartment. What about his aura? Does it match the print from the gun?”

“Yeah. We'll get a court-appointed mage in tomorrow to take his print.”

By the time we finished our reports, Arkesson was still out and our shift was over, so we signed out and went home.

The next afternoon when we got to work, Tony Scarpetti was waiting. He said he'd dusted the cigar box and the coins. The only prints on the box were Arkesson's. But on a couple of the coins, he'd found prints that matched the ones I'd obtained from The Willow. My suspicions were confirmed.

We had Arkesson brought into one of the interrogation rooms. When he'd been seated, I tossed a pack of Luckys onto the table in front of him, waited for him to fumble one out of the pack, made awkward by the fact that his hands were cuffed, then lit if for him. We seated ourselves across from him and waited for him to speak.

After a few seconds he said, “What's all this about? I ain't done nothin'.”

“Arky,” I said, “you shot at me through the door after I had identified myself as police.”

“So,” he shrugged, “how was I supposed to know you was a real cop? Coulda been pretendin' to get me to open the door so you could kill me.” Yeah, that stunt Capone pulled on Valentine's Day back in '29 was still giving us real cops trouble three years later.

“It's still illegal. But that not what this is about.”

“Then what? You got nothing else on me.”

“That's where you're wrong, my friend. We have the gun.”

“What gun?”

“Then one you used to kill Judge Russell. We pulled it out of the lagoon in Douglas Park.”

“So, you got a gun. Can't prove I had anything to do with it. I mean, if I were to do something like that, you can bet I'd wear gloves any time I touched the gun, so you couldn't have any fingerprints.”

Harvey chimed in. “There you're right. We don't have any fingerprints. But we have something just as good. We have an aura print. You know what an aura print is?”

Arkesson shrugged. “I heard of it. But you're bluffing. You said you pulled the gun out of a lagoon, so the water would have washed away any of those..”

Harvey laughed. “Is that what you were told? I'm afraid you've been sold a bill of goods, Arky. Water can wash away an aura, but only running water. Still water like in the lagoon does nothing. In fact, the cold at the bottom of the lagoon actually helped keep the aura from fading. So we have a strong print, and that mage that came to see you this morning? She did a print of your aura. Guess what? They match.”

“So,” I continued, “You're going away for the murder. The only question is whether that will be to a cell for the rest of your life, or to the death spell chamber. Cooperate with us, tell us who hired you, and we can try to get the death penalty off the table.”

“I ain't tellin' you nothin'.” He replied defiantly. “I ain't no stoolie.”

“Arky,” Harvey said. “you're not getting the picture here. We found gold coins in your apartment which tells us you were hired by an Elf. You were told to ditch the gun in the lagoon to wash away the aura print, something which any Elf would know wouldn't work. Then we got a call from an Elven woman telling us exactly where to find it. You were set up, get it? Someone was watching you, maybe with magic, so they could tip us off.”

Arkesson took a long drag on the cigarette, then I heard him mutter, “That bitch.”

“Bitch? What bitch is that?” I asked. He didn't answer. “Look, you don't owe her anything. She set you up to take the fall.”

Finally, he nodded. “You're right. Okay, here's what happened. About a month ago I got a call. It was a woman. An Elf. Said she had a job she wanted done. Offered me five hundred up front and another grand when it was done. I agreed, she said she'd be in touch. The next day there was an envelope in my mailbox. No address, no stamp. Inside was a key to a locker in Union Station. So I went there and spent a while casing the lockers to make sure it wasn't a trap. When I was sure no one was watching me or the locker, I checked inside. All that was in it was a cigar box. I took the box home and opened it. There was a gun, a note, and five hundred dollars in gold coins. Damned Elves and their gold. The note gave me the name of the target, his home and work addresses, and told me when the job was done, to ditch the gun in the lagoon because it would wash off the aura.

“So, I spent a couple weeks following the target, learning his routines. I decided the best time to do the job would be Tuesday night after his weekly dinner, because he got home late those nights and it would be dark. So Tuesday night, I waited in the yard for him to come home. Did the job, then walked to the park and ditched the gun. Then I went home to wait to be contacted about the rest of my money.”

“I think you know now that call was never going to come,” I said. He nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the call? Did you recognize the voice?'

He shook his head. “Never heard it before. But it sounded like the call was coming from a speakeasy. I heard voices in the background, Elf voices, and laughter. And that shit Elves pass off as jazz. And I'm sure at one point I heard a cash register ring.”

“Would you be willing to testify to all of that in court if we can convince the D.A. not to push for the death penalty?” I asked.

He took another long pull on the smoke, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. You catch the bitch, I'll help you put her away.”

We had Arkesson taken back to his cell. When he was gone, Harvey turned to me and said, “Well, I think we have all we need. Arky said the call came from an Elven woman at a speakeasy and we have The Willow's prints on the coins. It was almost too easy.”

“You know,” I said, after a moment's thought. “You're right. It is too easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well look at the evidence we have. First, the call. Why would the Willow make the call herself, or even have another Elven woman do it? I'm sure she could have found a man, even a Human or Dwarf, to make the call. And why call from the Blue Griffon? Why not call from a pay phone, or at least shut the damned office door so Arky couldn't hear the noise from outside. Then the gun. Okay, we could assume she told him to ditch the gun in the lagoon then tipped us where to find it in order to avoid paying him the rest of the money. But why take the chance? She had to have known that when Arky found out how he'd been set up, there was a good chance he'd roll over on her. Finally, the gold. Why make the payment in gold? It's a dead give-away that the payment came from an Elf. Or, if for some reason she had to use gold, why not wipe it clean to get rid of any fingerprints? She would have had to be stupid to make all these mistakes. And the one thing I can tell you about the dame I met, she was not stupid. No. This is a frame-up. And I think we know who's hanging the frame.”

“Steelbeard,” Harvey answered.

“Right. If we hadn't gotten hold of Arkesson, all we'd have is a gun with an aura print we couldn't match up to anyone. Arky gave us everything else. And who gave us Arkesson? Steelbeard.”

“Okay,” he agreed, “but one question. How did Steelbeard get his hands on gold coins with The Willow's fingerprints on them?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. We know that the deal Nitti brokered allows him to sell his beer and ale in her territory. Maybe he got the coins that way. Then there's that special perfume she gets from France. I'm sure she takes delivery of that in person. Maybe he made a deal with the delivery guy to turn over any coins she gave him. If he's been planning this for a while, he would have come up with some way to get some coins with her prints.”

“The logic is sound. But how do we prove it?”

I thought for a few minutes. “One thing we know about Dwarves is that they are obsessive about keeping records. We need to get hold of his books. I'd bet there's something in them to prove he set up the frame.”

“But how do we get them? We'll need a warrant, and all we have is that Steelbeard led us to the guy who killed a judge. Going to be hard to get a warrant with that.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Let's go to Judge Wilson. Everyone knows he's in The Willow's pocket. If we tell him we're sure that Steelbeard is trying to frame her, I'm guessing we get our warrant.”

I guessed right. So, the next day we took our warrant and a few uniforms to Steelbeard's office. They tried the same bullshit they'd pulled on Harvey on his first visit, but instead of turning over our weapons, we had the uniforms escort all the goons out of the room and Harv and I went in. Steelbeard was sitting at his desk. He glanced up when we entered and a momentary flash of irritation crossed his face, but then he smiled and stood.

“How can I help you, detectives?”

I handed him the warrant and said, “We need your ledgers for the past six months.”

“Of course,” he said, still smiling. “I have nothing to hide.” He walked over to a bookcase along one wall and pulled down two ledger binders. He brought them over and set them on the desk in front of us. We didn't take them.

“Now, let's have the real books,” I said.

“Don't know what you mean,” he said. “Those are the only books.”

“Look,” I said, “we know those are the doctored books, you know we know those are the doctored books. So just give us the real ones and we'll save ourselves a lot of time.”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

I sighed. “Okay, Harv.” He nodded and pulled a wand out of his pocket. After all, Steelbeard already thought Harvey's focus was a wand, and I guess Harv saw no reason to disabuse him. He held the wand in the same hand where he wore the real focus and began to scan the room. After a minute or so, he lowered the wand and nodded.

“Under the desk,” he said. “Floor safe.”.

I turned to Steelbeard. “Open it.”

He did a not very convincing impression of astonishment.

“There's a floor safe under there? I had no idea. The previous owner must have put that in.”

“Look,” Harvey said, “you can open it for us, or I'll rip it out of the floor with magic. Of course, doing that might damage the structure enough that the whole building might have to be condemned.”

“In fact,” I added, “I have many friends among the building inspectors, and I can pretty much guarantee that it will.”

He hesitated, then resignedly pushed the desk a few feet and opened a cleverly hidden trap door in the floor. Underneath was the safe. He dialed in the combination, pulled open the door and stood back. I went over and looked in. Inside, as I knew there would be, was another set of books. I pulled them out, took the ones we wanted and handed them to Harv.

“Thank you,” I said to Steelbeard, and I tipped my hat and we left.

When we got back to the station, Harv and I took the books into one of the interview rooms where the light was better and there were no prying eyes watching. We couldn't be sure which cops were on whose payroll. I gave one to Harv, took the other myself, and we began going through them. I didn't take long. As soon as I opened mine, I knew this would have what we were looking for. And I found it almost immediately.

“Do you still have that magnifying glass in your desk?” I asked Harv. He nodded. “Get it for me, would you?”

“Sure,” he nodded, and left the room. He was back in a few seconds with the glass. I took it and used it to look closer at what I'd found. When I was sure, I slid the book over to Harv.

“Well, I said the books would give us the proof we needed. I was right.” I told him what I'd found. He quickly confirmed it.

“Son of a bitch,” he said. “it's not what I expected, but it does give us the proof we need. Should we go now?”

“No,” I replied. “Let's wait 'til tomorrow. Let's get in early. I want to get it done before evening.”

So the next day we came in at noon, conferred with the Captain, then headed out to make the arrest. At the Blue Griffon.

We wanted to get to the Blue Griffon before it opened. We didn't want to make the arrest with a bunch of magic using Elves looking on. And we wanted to make sure we were gone before that Ogre doorman showed up.

We got there just after one o'clock. We went up to the door and knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened a crack and the face of Ciele the barmaid peeked out. When she saw me, she tried to close the door, but I put out my hand and pushed it open the rest of the way. Harvey followed me in and closed the door behind us.

“Get her,” I said to Ciele, The girl didn't try to deny that The Willow was there this time, she just backed away a few steps then turned and literally ran into the office. Harv and I went over to the bar and waited.

It wasn't a long wait. After only a few seconds, The Willow came out of the office. She was wearing green this time, but was barefoot again. She came over to us, smiling, and sat on one of the stools.

“How can I help you today, detective? Detectives.” she said, nodding at Harv.

“We're placing you under arrest,” I said, “for the murder of Judge John Russell.”

She laughed that musical laugh. “I'm afraid, Detective, you have the wrong person. I was here the entire night that the judge was killed. I have dozens of witnesses.”

“Oh, we know you didn't commit the murder yourself. But we know you hired the Dwarf who did.”

“And how exactly do you know that”

“Let me tell you exactly what happened.,” I said, and I went over all the evidence we had: the phone call as Arky had described it to us, the gun from the lagoon, and the gold coins with her fingerprints.

“But you needed to make sure we arrested Arkesson or none of the rest of it would have been worth anything. So you paid one of Steelbeard's people to slip us his address..”

“Really, detective, I gave you more credit that this,” she said. “Do you think I'm stupid? Why would I do all that when all it would do would be to incriminate me? This is obviously a frame.”

“And that's what we thought, too. As you knew we would. And the obvious person to be framing you would be Steelbeard. So, we went to his office to find evidence.”

“So why do you still think I was involved?”

“Well, here's the rest of the story. At some point in the past few weeks you broke into Steelbeard's office late one night. Wouldn't have been hard for a mage of your ability. You located the secret safe, probably the same way Harvey here did, using a scrying spell. You opened the safe, maybe by magic, or maybe you got the combination some other way. Inside you found his ledgers. The real ones.

“It was dark, of course, but you didn't want to turn on any lights because someone might see them. But Elves have very good night vision, so you depended on that to do what you came to do.”

“And what was that?” she asked.

“You used a scribe spell to erase two entries in the latest ledger, then created two new ones, one indicating that Steelbeard had stolen five hundred dollars in gold from the Blue Griffon, and another showing that he'd paid that gold to the Dwarf Arky Arkesson. But that was where you made your first mistake.

“Elven night vision is, as I understand it, not very good at distinguishing colors. So, when you were creating your new entries by copying bits and pieces from other parts of the ledger, you didn't notice that some time earlier, Steelbeard's bookkeeper had refilled his fountain pen, and the new ink was a slightly different shade than the ink that was in it before. So the two new entries each had both shades of ink. And that proves that they're forgeries.”

Okay,” she said, “I'll give you that. But there are plenty of mages in the city who can cast a scribe spell.”

“And you should have used one of them. But that's where you made your second mistake. Maybe you didn't trust anyone else to do it, or maybe you just liked the idea of personally putting the last nail in Steelbeard's coffin, but for whatever reason, you did the job yourself. And when you did, you left traces of your perfume on the book. That perfume that you yourself told me is made exclusively for you. So we can prove the entries are forged and we can prove you forged them. In other words, we can prove that you tried to frame Steelbeard for framing you.”

I reached for my cuffs. “Put your hands behind your back.” But suddenly there was a wand in her hand, pointed at me. She spoke a word and a thin beam of greenish light shot out and hit me in the chest.

And nothing happened.

For the first time, I saw her cool composure slip. I took advantage of her momentary hesitation to draw my weapon and train it on her.

“How...?” she started.

“Spell absorption talisman,” I said using my free hand to tap my chest where the amulet was hidden beneath my shirt. “Handy when going to arrest a mage. Now drop the wand.”

For a moment, I thought she would. But then she gave the wand a flick and suddenly it was dark. Not the kind of dark you get when someone turns out the lights. This was a complete and total lack of light. A dark that can only be achieved by magic.

I knew that eventually Harvey would be able to dispel the darkness. But I also knew that The Willow would take advantage of the lack of light to move, as silently as only a barefoot Elf on grass can, to a new position and that I would only have a moment when the light came back before she acted. So I prepared myself.

After a few more seconds, the darkness cleared. The Willow had moved to behind the bar, and her hand was coming up from beneath it holding a small gold-plated automatic.

But she froze when she saw that I already had a bead on her.

“Put it down,” I said. “I don't want to shoot you, but don't think for a moment that I won't.” She hesitated for only a second, then carefully placed the gun on the bar. “Now the wand.” She slowly and carefully drew the wand from the sleeve of her dress and placed it on the bar next to the gun. “Now back away.” She did, making sure to keep her hands in sight and away from her body.. “Cover her, Harv.”

Harvey stepped forward and drew his revolver. Dispelling the darkness must have taken a lot out of him. Harv never drew his weapon unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use magic. I noticed how pale his face was, but his hand was steady as he held his gun on the Elf.

I holstered my own weapon and took out my cuffs. I went around the bar to behind The Willow, took her hands, drew them behind her back, and snapped on the cuffs.

I'd just fastened the second one when a shot rang out. I glanced up. Harv's gun was no longer aimed at The Willow, it was pointed past us toward the office door. I looked over. The barmaid, Ciele, lay outside the door. She wasn't moving. Blood soaked into the ground beneath her. Next to her outstretched hand was a small revolver. The Willow was also looking at the body. If she felt any remorse or anger at the girl's death, her face didn't show it.

“She came out, the gun was already pointed at you. I didn't have time to shout a warning, or anything. I had to shoot,” Harv was standing stock still, his gun still held in front of him. Harv had never killed anyone. He always used stun spells. It's not easy the first time. And it never really gets easier.

“It's all right,” I said. “You did the right thing. Come over here and make sure she's secured. I'm going to use the phone in the office to call the station and let them know what happened.” He nodded, holstered his weapon, came around and took The Willow's arm.

I went into the office, stepping carefully past the body on the floor, and used the phone there to call the station. I filled them in. They said they'd send someone over to photograph the scene and take our statements, and have someone from the coroners office come to take care of the body.

When I came back out, Harv had moved The Willow around to the front of the bar and seated her on one of the stools. He was still shaken, and kept glancing over at the body of the girl. I knew he needed to get out of there, so I sent him outside to wait for the others.

When he was gone, I sat down next to The Willow. She was staring at me with a mixture of curiosity and just a little fear. “How did you know where I'd be? You couldn't have heard me move.”

“Lady,” I said, “you may want to change your perfume. It's gotten you into a lot of trouble recently.”

A second of confusion, then realization dawned. She drew back involuntarily. Neither of us spoke again.

Eventually, more cops and a man from the crime lab, not Scarpetti, arrived. They photographed the scene and took our statements. Bill from the coroner's office arrived to deal with the body. Once everything was wrapped up, we escorted The Willow out to the car, drove to the station and I got her settled into a cell.

Once she was securely locked away, I went looking for Harv. He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. I went over and sat on the edge of his desk. I said, “You going to be okay, partner?”

He didn't answer, so I said, “Look, I know how you're feeling. Been there myself. But you just have to keep reminding yourself that you did the right thing. She was about to shoot me. You didn't have any other choice.

He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, then looked up at me. “We both know that gun couldn't have killed you,” he said quietly.

“Probably not,” I replied. “But I'm glad you didn't let her shoot me just the same. It hurts like hell. Learned that two years ago. And if she'd hit me somewhere that should have been fatal, that could have led to all sorts of trouble. Don't know if we could come up with a believable lie like we did last time.”

“Speaking of trouble, I noticed The Willow was giving you some strange looks on the way back here. Do you think she knows?”

“What? That I'm a werewolf? Yeah, pretty sure she does.”

“You don't seem too worried about it.”

“I'm not,” I shrugged.

“But what if she says something?

“What if she does? We'll just say she's lying to discredit me.”

“Will anyone believe us, or will they believe her?”

“Look, you know the truth, the captain knows the truth, but no one else does. No one has ever seen me change. And there are a lot of cops here that have worked with me on nights of the full moon and can testify that I stayed Human. Since most people still believe the myth that lycans have no control over the change, that alone will be enough to convince everyone she's lying.”

“Still, that heightened sense of smell of yours played a big part in cracking this case. It's how you knew the killer was a Dwarf and where he stood in the yard. It's how you knew that Arkesson was the killer as soon as you walked into his apartment. It's how you knew The Willow was the one who doctored Steelbeard's books. And it's how you knew where she moved in the darkness. What if she brings that up?”

“Well, Everything I told Bill at the crime scene was true. I might not have noticed all the signs if I hadn't already known that was the place the killer waited and that he was a Dwarf, but it was all there. You and I are the only ones who know that I identified Arky as the killer because the scent in his apartment was the same I smelled at the crime scene. The perfume scent on the books was subtle, but it was there. You could smell it yourself. I was just the only one who could identify it as the perfume The Willow wore. As for tracking her by scent, if she tries to make a big deal out of that, I'll just point out the fact that my ancestors were Chippewa. I'll tell some cock and bull story about how 'My people's senses are much more acute than those of the white man. It comes from centuries of hunting and tracking game in the wilderness.' No, I don't think we need to worry much about anything The Willow might say.”

And I was right. She never said anything.

“There is one thing I still can't figure out,” Harv said after a moment.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Why this elaborate charade? Why the double frame? Why not just frame Steelbeard directly for the murder?”

“I think I've figured that out,” I replied. “If she framed Steelbeard for the murder and we figured it out, then Steelbeard would be justified in invoking the treaty with Nitti, and the two of them could move on the Elves. But, by making the frame so obvious and then making it look like Steelbeard was framing her, she could get Nitti to help her get rid of the Dwarves. And this way, she made sure Steelbeard would know she was the one who set him up. And it would have worked, if it weren't for the huge stroke of luck that Steelbeard's bookkeeper changed the ink in his pen. And the the fact that the Willow didn't want anyone else to forge those entries. May be the first time a fountain pen cracked a murder case.”

“Yeah,” Harv said, and smiled for the first time that night. “sounds like something out of a Sherlock Holmes story.” He sighed, and the smile disappeared. “I get the feeling things are going to get tense for a while.”

He was right. When it came out what The Willow had tried to do to Steelbeard, he did in fact invoke the treaty with Nitti and the two of them quickly eliminated the Elven gang as a power in Chicago. A couple of months later, after some time to recuperate and rebuild, Nitti moved on Steelbeard and soon the Chicago Outfit was in control of the whole city again.

As for the Willow? Well, Arky Arkesson was killed in prison before he could testify, and both the gold coins and Steelbeard's ledger mysteriously disappeared from the evidence room. Without Arky's testimony and those two key pieces of evidence, the D.A. wasn't able to get a conviction on the murder of the judge. But we still had the aura print from the spell absorption talisman, a copy of which was on file at the crime lab. It proved that the amulet contained a death spell and that it had been cast by The Willow. She was convicted of use of black magic and the attempted murder of a police officer and sentenced to thirty years.

Elves live a long time, and thirty years is little more than an inconvenience. But we figured that if she was smart, and we knew she was, the first thing she would do when she got out would be to hop a boat up the lakes to Quebec. You see, the Dwarven mob may not have existed in Chicago anymore, but there were still a lot of Dwarves in the city, and every one of them knew how she tried to set up Steelbeard.

Dwarves have long lives too. And even longer memories.