doing more or less the same thing, but you don't think he's here to help the Skavis, whoever he is. But you do think he's working against the killer, along with this Passenger, whoever he is. You think those two left the clues you found on the bodies to pull you into an investigation and take out the Skavis."
"Even better," I said. "I think I know who Passenger was."
"Who?" Murphy asked.
"Beckitt," I said. "It makes sense. He's got his wife on the inside as an information source. He's gone up against me before, and walked away, and I cost him years of his life and a lucrative share of a criminal empire. He's got plenty of reasons not to like me. That's who Grey Cloak the Malvora was talking to."
"Whoa. Grey Cloak the Malvora? How'd you get that?"
"Because," I said, "he talked about sharing some tastes with the Skavis, when it came to letting the prey anticipate what was coming before the kill. The Malvora do it so that their prey will feel more fear. The Skavis do it so that they'll be more tired, be more ready to give in to despair."
Murphy nodded, lips pursed. "And the White Court loves manipulating everything indirectly. Using others to do their dirty work for them."
"Like using me to wipe out his Skavis competition," I said.
"Which makes sense because Malvora and Skavis are rivals."
"Right," I said. "And I'm fairly confident in my guess. Just like I'm fairly confident that Beckitt must be our passenger."
"That's a sound theory, Dresden," Murphy said.
"Thank you, I know."
"But Beckitt died almost seven years ago. He was killed in prison."
"I figure Beckitt must have made a deal with the Malvora and—" I blinked. "He what?"
"Died," Murphy said. "There was a riot. Three prisoners were killed, several injured. He was one of them. As near as anyone can tell, he was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. A prisoner was wrestling for a guard's gun. It discharged and killed Beckitt instantly."
"Um," I said, frowning. I hate it when the real world ignores a perfectly logical, rational assumption. "He faked it?"
She shook her head. "I looked into it, and I talked to the guard. There was an autopsy, an identification of the body from his family, a funeral, the whole nine yards. He's dead, Harry."
"Well, dammit," I said, and rubbed at my headache. "He made sense."
"That's life," Murphy said. "So this hidey-hole you found…"
"Long gone by now," I said.
"Might be worth going anyway, if you take Krypto here with you." She leaned down and planted a kiss on top of Mouse's head. My dog gets more play than me, sheesh. "Maybe Grey Cloak the theoretical Malvora left a good scent behind."
"Worth a shot, I guess," I said. "But I'm pretty sure he's going to be thorough enough to remove that, too."
"Who goes around removing their scent from places?" Murphy asked.
"Vampires. They can track that way, just like Mouse."
"Oh. Right." Murphy sighed. "Another burned building."
"Not—" I began.
"Not his fault!" Molly said.
"Not your fault," Murphy said, "I know. But it's going to look awfully odd. My car gets firebombed. A building less than a block away gets firebombed a few hours later."
I grunted. "Same device?"
"What do you think?"
"Same device."
Murphy nodded. "I'm sure it will be. It's going to take them time to figure it out, though. Were you seen?"
"Me and about a million other people," I said.
"That's something, at least. But a lot of people are going to be asking questions before long. The sooner we get this thing put to bed, the better."
I grimaced. "I shouldn't have gone for the subtle maneuver last night. I should have smashed him to paste right there. I don't have any way to find him now, and he's aware that we're looking."
"Yeah, but Grey Cloak isn't our first problem," Murphy said. "He's a sideshow. The Skavis is the real killer. Right?"
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Right. And we've got no clue who or where he is."
Murphy frowned. "But he's a vampire, right? I mean, you can tell if someone's a vampire, can't you?"
"It isn't so simple with the White Court," I said. "They hide themselves a lot better than any other breed. I had no idea what Thomas was when I met him. And you remember talking to Darby Crane."
"Yeah."
"Did you get 'vampire' off him?"
"Mostly I got 'player,' " Murphy said, "But you knew he was really Madrigal Raith."
"I guessed," I corrected her. "Probably because I unconsciously recognized the family resemblance to Lord Raith.