“None taken,” I said, staring down at Spleen. “I think both sides of the Edge see me as a citizen of the other.”
An ambulance screeched up next to Philip’s Prius.
“Oh, Phil,” I said. “This looks bad for Wulf—”
“Yeah,” he said, staring off into the distance. “Spleen was about to meet our werewolf friend, who told us himself he had trouble with control. That gives him means, motive and opportunity—or maybe Wulf’s supposed ‘enemies’ want us to think that. You heard Spleen— he didn’t blame Wulf. A defense lawyer would make hay with that.”
“But he never saw him as a werewolf,” I said. “So… it still could have been Wulf.”
“So Wulf is a leading suspect;” Philip said. “I love that word: ‘suspect’. I love its precision. Suspect. That’s it, until we get more hard evidence, one way or the other.”
“But how are we going to do that?” I said. “Spleen was his contact. We’re never gonna know where Wulf was when—”
“Cell phone records. Irritated hospital staff. Rental car records or bus terminal cameras,” Philip said. “We’ll find out, one way or the other. Eventually, we’ll find out—but right now, I have a question for you.”
“For me?” I asked.
“Did Spleen ever give any hint that Wulf was hostile to him?” Immediately he caught it in my eyes. “What was it?”
“Before I was attacked, Wulf called Spleen, agitated, asking about his tattoo,” I said. “Spleen called him ‘a goddamn menace.’ “
“‘Goddamn menace,’ “ Philip repeated. “Sure sounds like he was threatened by Wulf—”
“But he met Wulf that night,” I said. “That’s why Wulf was even there to save me—”
“I remember,” Philip said. “But something’s just not adding up. Spleen wasn’t an idiot—he said stay clear of them. Plural them. But who was the ‘them’ he was talking about, his attacker and—who? Whoever took a potshot at you? Whoever was messing at Wulf? That vamp? Someone else? There’s an awful lot of ‘incidents’ around you, Wulf and that tattoo.”
“You don’t think,” I said, “all of them are connected?”
“What I think,” Philip said quietly as the paramedics came up, “is that we’d better find your ‘friend,’ Wulf—because if he didn’t kill Spleen, he may be next.”
29. WORKING IT OUT
I stomped towards Emory’s Student Activity and Athletics Center on my crutches. In the back of my mind, I knew time was running out on Wulf’s tattoo, but with Spleen gone the whole picture had changed. First, I now had no way of contacting Wulf; second, I now felt very unsafe in his presence—whether from him or from his enemies, I couldn’t say. So it was time to visit the only person who seemed like he really wanted to help me kick ass: Darren Briggs.
You need to buy at least a fourteen-day pass to use the Athletics Center, but I had no intention of paying for that until I’d seen the goods. I’m no Philip; I can’t pull his Jedi mind tricks to just make anyone do what I want. But I am a six-foot-two, attractive, large-breasted woman, and that—plus a little preparatory research on Google—usually turns the trick.
“Hello,” I said, friendly but firm, propping my crutches over the counter of the Center and leaning down on the tousle-haired college boy behind the counter. “Where can I find Darren Briggs? He witnessed an assault on a police asset, and I need to ask him a few questions.”
I started to pull out my Stratton Police Department booster card, which my dad got for me years ago when we were still speaking. It’s horribly out of date, but it has the Stratton police shield, my Mohawked picture on it and no expiration date, so it can pass as some kind of official ID as long as I’m showing it off to a complete idiot. But this time it didn’t turn out to be necessary; the kid got up immediately and walked around the counter.
“No problem, I’ll escort you,” he said, a bit too eagerly, while glancing at his counter mate. “Wendy, can you—”
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I take it you are the police asset?” he said, eyeing me as he escorted me through the turnstiles and down to the elevator. “And Darren is more than a witness?”
“He was the savior of my ass, is what he was,” I admitted.
“The guy is a machine,” he said, walking me up to room 211, a large classroom with double doors, beyond which I could hear rhythmic shouting. “I sneak down here to watch his Taido class sometimes—”