“What is it?” Lenoir repeated quietly.
“Sergeant Hardin is dead, and Kody is in a coma. They don’t think he’ll make it.”
Lenoir stared.
“One of the watchmen found them about two hours ago. Innes has already been to the scene. Sword through the gut, both of them.”
“They tried to make it look like a robbery,” Innes put in, rejoining them. “Didn’t do a very good job, though, Inspector.”
“No blood in the alley,” the chief said. “The bodies had obviously been moved. Plus, Kody took a nasty blow to the skull. Lucky, in a way—getting knocked out probably saved his life. The killer obviously didn’t realize the sword hadn’t done the job.” He paused again. “I’m sorry, Lenoir. I know he’s one of your best.”
Lenoir swallowed, finally able to speak. “Not just one of them, Chief. He is the best we have.” And a better man than any of us, he added silently.
Innes nodded; none of the sergeants would disagree. “When we find the bastard who did this, we’re going to hang him with his own guts.” The big man left to join the others, grabbing a brace of pistols off a desk as he passed.
The chief sighed, watching the sergeants quit the building with purposeful strides. “I think they might do just that. I’m going to have a serious discipline problem on my hands.” He looked back at Lenoir. “Any idea who might have done this?”
Lenoir sat heavily on a desk. “No. When I left him yesterday, we were riding back from Berryvine. We planned to question some of the local Adali community. If I were Kody, I would have started with Fort Hald.”
“Not very helpful,” the chief said, scratching the stubble on his chin. He had obviously been roused from sleep to attend matters at the station. “If they’d met with foul play at the prison, we would have heard about it from the guards. Besides, I saw Kody myself yesterday evening, coming out of your office. If you’re right about the prison, he must already have been there and back.”
“But if he found a lead . . .”
The chief nodded. “Sergeant Cale says he saw Kody talking to a couple of the other sergeants. Then he and Hardin left together. I’d wager he found something all right, and he decided to take Hardin with him to investigate. We’re looking for Izar now. Hopefully he’ll have some information.”
Lenoir would not have picked Hardin, but he kept the thought to himself, for there was no need to speak ill of the dead.
The chief pointed at one of the watchmen. “You there! Round up the inspectors! Probably still asleep, the lazy bastards. Send one of them to the scene, the other two to the prison. In the meantime, I want to speak personally to every single one of you who saw Kody yesterday. I want to know every move he made. I want to know what he had for lunch and when he went to the privy, understood?”
Lenoir passed a hand over his eyes, feeling more exhausted than he had in months. “And me, Chief?”
Reck regarded him gravely. “If I could, Lenoir, I’d send you home. You look bloody awful, and you smell worse. God only knows how you spend your nights. But I can’t spare you, even if you look like it’s your last day in this world.”
Lenoir snorted. If you only knew, Chief. “I will be fine. As much as I would like to find out what happened to Kody and Hardin, however, there are other lives at stake.”
“Oh?”
“The case Kody was working on involves kidnapped children. I have reason to fear that the life of at least one child is at imminent risk. I must continue my work. If I find those responsible, I believe we will have Hardin’s murderer.”
“We’d better. Nobody kills one of my hounds and lives to gloat about it.” He stalked away, raising his voice for the benefit of everyone in the kennel. “You hear me, people? I want this bastard dead by this time tomorrow, but it’ll be at the end of a rope and not on the point of a sword. Got that? Now let’s get moving!”
Lenoir headed up to his office. If Kody had been there, perhaps he had left a report of his findings that afternoon. It seemed unlikely that the sergeant could have found anything concrete from questioning random Adali, but the fact that he and Hardin had been attacked strongly suggested that he had found something, enough to set him on the path that ended in Hardin’s murder.
Sure enough, Lenoir found a note on his desk, scrawled with Kody’s crooked handwriting. He had not used a scribe, and he had not filed a full report. Kody was the most conscientious officer Lenoir had ever worked with, a fact Lenoir generally found irritating. If the sergeant had not filed a report, it meant that he had been in a hurry. Perhaps his lead had been time-sensitive. Or he might simply have been excited. As meticulous as the sergeant was, he was also overeager, another quality that annoyed Lenoir. Kody might have allowed his enthusiasm to get the better of his diligence.
The note did not shed much light. It confirmed that Kody had indeed visited the prison, and that he had found a lead he deemed worthy of follow-up. Beyond that, however, there were no details. I will brief you as soon as I get back, the note said, but it did not say where he was going, or what he had learned that had piqued his interest. Lenoir read it over twice. He crumpled it into a tight ball and threw it away.
He sat for a moment, twitching with fury. Then he leapt to his feet and swept his arm across the desk, knocking an inkpot and quill to the floor. His rage still unsatisfied, he grabbed his chair and threw it against the wall. That done, he leaned against the desk, feeling foolish and spent.
He cursed the sergeant for his impatience. The one time it really mattered, when his bureaucratic instincts might actually have been useful, Kody had gone off half-cocked. Instead of waiting for Lenoir, he had rounded up a bungling drunk of a sergeant who was utterly incapable of looking out for him if things went sour. His sloppiness had resulted in Hardin’s death, and quite possibly his own.
And now there was no one to help find Zach. For the first time, Lenoir needed Kody, and the sergeant was not there. Nor was anyone else; the entire Metropolitan Police force was out looking for Hardin’s murderer. Lenoir had no leads, and no support. He would never be able to convince the chief to spare any resources to help him, for there was nothing in this world more determined than a hound looking for a hound-killer. Nothing, perhaps, except the green-eyed man.
Lenoir paused.
The idea struck him with such force that he could not believe it had not occurred to him before. Perhaps some part of his mind, the part that looked to survival above all else, had blocked it out. Whatever the reason, Lenoir saw his path clearly now. It was not an easy one; it could only end in his death, even if he succeeded. But he had been staring death in the face for days now. Perhaps he was finally growing used to it. Kody might already have paid the ultimate price for trying to save Zach, and he had never even met the boy. Could Lenoir do any less?
He righted his chair and replaced the inkpot and quill on his desk, taking care not to step in the spatter of fresh ink on the floor. He closed the door to his office and headed down the stairs. The kennel was filling with watchmen and scribes, their faces angry or sorrowful. Some called to Lenoir, offering the condolences and expressions of hope they imagined he wanted to hear. He ignored them and made for the street.
He was famished. No longer pressed for time, he decided to head to the Courtier. He hoped they stocked the kitchen early; he was in the mood for a steak. There was a good chance this would be his last meal, and he wanted to enjoy it.