Sun Broken (The Wild Hunt #11) - Yasmine Galenorn Page 0,19

she never mentioned anybody in particular who had been bothering her.” She sounded hesitant, then said, “There was one thing. Three days before she disappeared, she mentioned that she had stopped to help someone change a tire. She did things like that. Maybe somebody asked her for help and then yanked her into a van?”

“Did she happen to mention who it was?” Viktor was recording her and we’d translate the interview back at the office. I was taking notes longhand, particularly noting changes in Isolde’s demeanor—things that you couldn’t pick up on a recording.

“No, but Chaya was kind. She’d help anybody who asked. Well, within reason.”

“All right, so next question. The route she ran. Did she take that same route every day?”

Isolde nodded. “Yes. Chaya didn’t like changing her routine. She always ran the same route, she stopped at the same espresso stand for coffee—”

“What stand?” Viktor asked.

“The Grind House, down on Spring Street across from the Spring Street Mini Park. She runs past it every day, and usually stops there for a drink.” Isolde frowned. “Ran, I mean.”

“Did she have any other daily habits? What was her normal route?” I brought up a map of the Seattle area. “Where did she work?”

Isolde stared at the map. “Monday through Wednesday she worked for the Community Action Center, in the domestic violence unit. She helped women who need a safe place to stay. Thursday and Friday, she taught meditation and yoga at the Spiritual Bee—a metaphysical shop in the Viaduct Market. One Saturday a month she volunteered at the Golden Lasso Women’s Shelter. She manned the door.”

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked.

“Most shelters work this way. Though they try to keep their addresses private, there are times when some ex-boyfriend or abusive husband finds out where his girlfriend or wife ran to. Golden Lasso is a safe place and operates under a number of Sanctuary House rules, but for women of all races, not just Cryptos. Because of the danger of an abusive asshole trying to muscle his way in, there are two women on each shift—four shifts a day, around the clock—who guard the doors. All of the guards are trained in martial arts, and all of them are more than capable of taking down a grown man. Chaya could have taken you down,” she said, looking at Viktor. “She was that strong.”

“Did she belong to a magic guild? She was a bone witch. Was that innate, or did she study for it?” I asked.

“She was born that way. Few bone witches choose to learn their craft. As to magical guilds, no. Chaya didn’t like the elitist atmosphere and the snobbery so often found in the guilds. She was an outspoken advocate for revamping a lot of the rules of the local guilds and she did manage to antagonize a few of the local witches and sorcerers.” Isolde paused. “Could one of them be the killer?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want her to focus on an idea that might be false.

“I don’t know, but we’ll look into it. Right now, we’re dealing with multiple victims, and we have to figure out what ties them all together.” I pulled out a list of the murder victims and handed it to her. “Do any of these names ring a bell?” There was a small photograph by each name, along with a picture as they had looked when alive. She might remember a face where she wouldn’t remember the name.

Isolde studied the list. “All four of these others were killed by the same person who murdered my Chaya?”

Viktor shrugged. “We think so, but we’re not sure.”

“I don’t recognize any of them. I’m sorry, but neither the names nor faces ring a bell. I wish I could say yes.” She sounded wistful, a vulnerable, haunted look on her face. She wanted to help. I could tell that much. She wanted to find the freak who had murdered her wife and it was hurting her that she couldn’t do more.

I had a sudden hunch. “Isolde, did you and Chaya have an argument the morning she vanished?” I asked gently.

She froze, then her face crumbled and she began to cry. “How did you know? I’ll never forgive myself. The last thing I said to her when she left was, ‘Fine, if you’re that angry then just fuck off. Don’t come home till you’re ready to apologize.’ ” She leaned her elbows on the table, shaking. “The last words I said to her were angry ones. We had