Farquhar shrugged. “Her mother and I have drifted apart over the years, but I still have a soft spot for Crystal, which results in giving her advice. Which, as you’ve noticed, she does not appreciate.”
“She’s like a puppy,” Deacon said. “Chews up your shoes, gets underfoot, then doesn’t understand why you’re mad. Means well, I guess. Never saw an underdog she didn’t want to champion.” He gave Lily a smile that held a hint of a taunt. “Poor Crystal’s probably got the same problem with you she does with me. I’m black, which oughta make me an underdog, but this badge makes me one of the oppressors.”
Lily’s eyebrows lifted. “I can’t imagine why someone would mistake me for an underdog.” Underdog, to Lily, meant victim. She’d been one once, when she was nine. Not since.
“Not you so much, maybe. That weer you’re hooked up with. Crystal’s big cause these days is werewolf rights.”
To Lily’s surprise, it was Farquhar who corrected him. “Lupus, Jay. We don’t call them werewolves now. Agent Yu.” She flicked a glance at her wrist, where a dainty gold watch rested. “I’ve got a great deal to do before the arraignment.”
And Lily had allowed herself to be distracted, taking out some of her feelings on the ineffectual Kessenblaum. Maybe that was just as well. She’d been pretty pissed. “There won’t be an arraignment.”
Farquhar’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon.”
“Kessenblaum is annoying, but she’s right. Meacham isn’t competent. He doesn’t belong in a jail cell, and he isn’t guilty.”
Farquhar’s voice dropped into the freezer. “I’ve got more than enough evidence to prove that he is.”
“He hasn’t got a Gift, not the tiniest trace of one. He can’t use magic. Magic was used in the deaths of Becky Meacham and her children. He was used.”
“Oh, come on, now. You aren’t claiming he was possessed.”
Deacon scowled. “You said he wasn’t. When I asked, you said there were no traces of demon on the bodies.”
“I don’t know what was done to Meacham. I don’t know who did it or how. But Roy Don Meacham, like his wife and children, has traces of death magic clinging to him, and there’s no way he could have put it there. Someone else did, and that’s our perp.”
“You’re babbling,” Farquhar snapped as she started for the door. “If that’s all you wanted to discuss—”
“Not quite everything.” Lily had hoped they could work this out without her pulling out the big guns. Wasn’t going to happen. “I also need to notify you that the FBI will be taking custody of Roy Don Meacham today. The marshals should be here in a couple hours.”
Farquhar stopped. Turned. “Oh, no, you’re not. If you think I’m going to roll over because you’ve got some crazy idea that a man who clubbed his wife and children to death is a victim—”
“I realize that you’ve only my word about the magic. However, his lack of magic makes it—”
“I don’t give a good damn whether Roy Don Meacham has magic or not. He killed those kids.”
Lily heard that broken voice again: Not my hand. Got no hands. “His hands killed those children and their mother. Roy Don wasn’t in charge of them at the time. Someone or something used Meacham, and somewhere in his head is information about that. I’m not taking chances with him. He’ll be examined by competent experts, both medical and magical, and placed on suicide watch.”
Farquhar sniffed. “I might let your experts see him—after the arraignment. But—”
“Marcia,” Deacon said.
“But there is no way I’m going to let you—”
“Marcia,” Deacon repeated, louder. “She’s Unit Twelve and she’s claimed jurisdiction. How you gonna stop her?”
Silence. Then Farquhar flung one furious glance at Lily and left. She didn’t slam the door behind her. She closed it carefully, as if she were too angry to let even a little steam out that way.
Lily sighed. She was making friends all over the place today. “I guess it would be awkward for you to storm out, too, seeing as this is your office.”
Deacon resumed his seat. “Guess it would. You going to need some work space here?”
He’d surprised her again. “Probably. This didn’t seem like the best time to mention it.”
He shrugged. “You burst Marcia’s bubble. I’m not Marcia. She doesn’t have a whiff of a Gift, does she?”
“If Ms. Farquhar asks what I felt when I touched her hand, I’ll tell her.” She paused. “Just as I told you what I felt when we shook hands.” The implication being that she considered such information private.
He nodded. “You’ve got a careful way of putting things. I appreciate caution. Marcia does, too, but she doesn’t appreciate magic. She thinks you’re grandstanding. I’ve got a little edge on her there. I can tell you believe what you’re saying, and I’ve got reason to think you know what you’re talking about. Now.” He leaned back in his chair. “About that work space—best I can offer you is the conference room.”
“I’ll take it. Ah . . . I’ve put in for some backup, but I’m not sure when I’ll get them. Noon, maybe later.”
“Conference room should hold more’n one person. Who’s coming to pick up Meacham?”
“A pair of federal marshals and a medevac unit.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Medevac?”
“He needs medical attention. Possession tends to screw up the host’s mind. Sometimes the body, too. We don’t know that he was possessed, exactly, but something sure screwed with him. And I think he’ll travel better sedated.”
“Your marshals will have an easier time if he is,” Deacon said dryly. “Where will you put him?”
“Georgetown in D.C.” There was no such thing as true magical shielding, not in their realm, anyway. But Georgetown University Hospital had a couple of rooms that were circled and heavily warded. It was the best they could do.
Deacon leaned forward, pressed a button on his phone. “Edna? Could you come in here a minute?” He leaned back. “I’ve got a few things to do that don’t have a blame thing to do with Roy Don Meacham, so I’m going to let Edna get you settled. She’s been copying the case file for you. I hope you’ll be able to bring in your own office supplies and such. The budget’s tight.”
“SOP is for me to order in what I need, then donate to the host jurisdiction whatever’s left when I leave. Which means you’ll probably come out ahead by a fax machine, copier, and whiteboard.”
He smiled, satisfied. “Sometimes it pays to be the nice guy.”
“Sometimes it does. Here’s another chance to play nice.
I’m going to need to look at the crime scene—Meacham’s home. I also need to talk to your witness, the mailman with the broken skull.” This time the name was there, waiting, like it was supposed to be. “Watkins, right?”
“Bill Watkins. He’s still hospitalized, but stable. Shouldn’t be any problem seeing him. The key to Meacham’s place is in Evidence. Edna’ll get it for you.”
“Great. Quick question. You said the physical evidence at the scene suggested the two kids were killed in bed. How far apart are their rooms?”
He frowned suspiciously, as if it were a trick question. “They’re right next to each other.”
“And the mother, Becky Meacham. Where was she killed?”
“From the look of the blood, all over the damned place.”
She sighed, nodded, and reached for the door.
“Ah . . .”
Lily paused with her hand on the doorknob. Deacon was fiddling with a pen. He spoke without looking at her. “I’m going to ask you something that’s none of my business.”
Her eyebrows shot up as curiosity fought with common sense. Whatever he wanted to ask, it would probably annoy her and possibly make it hard to work with the man.