Her mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. “You said it was a joke! That I wasn’t in any trouble!”
“You aren’t,” he said. “But your principal doesn’t feel it’s right to have a girl who’s been carted off by prætorians back in school right away. Sets a bad example, violates the school’s code of conduct…something like that. You’re off for a week.”
Once she accepted she wasn’t being deported, Tessa was okay with it. Cynthia was the outraged one. “What? That’s absurd! They can’t suspend her for personal activities. They’re a public institution, obligated to provide her education.”
“Well, technically, she attacked the public. I’m joking,” he added quickly, seeing Cynthia’s face darken.
“You should’ve sent her to a private school. Surely you’ve got enough money for them to overlook where she’s from.”
“I’ve tried.” Tessa never complained, but he knew that there was still a little friction in her adjustment to the school. She would’ve done better elsewhere, but the places he wanted her in had strict admissions policies. If he’d foreseen that problem, he would’ve worked it into his initial employment agreement. “Look, if you want to go in and fight to get her back sooner, be my guest. I would, but I’ve got to go see the Nordics today.”
Cynthia glowered. “I’ll try. My day’s not much better. The least you can do is take her with you.”
Justin, Mae, and Tessa all turned to her in surprise. “I’m going to work, Cyn,” he said. “It’s not a vacation I can just bring her along on.”
“What are you doing? Renewing some licenses? It’s all formality and paperwork,” said Cynthia, who apparently had little regard for his job. “I’m sure you’ll have downtime.”
“I’m fine here,” said Tessa.
Cynthia was obstinate. “Glued to the living room screen? No. That’s not what Justin brought you here for. You need to live. Go experience how the other half lives. Think of the photo ops for your class.”
Tessa brightened at that, and Justin deliberated. Tessa really had no business going along on SCI’s most important case, but Cynthia was right about how Tessa would spend her day if left behind. He looked at Mae for help.
“The downtown area’s safe,” she said after a moment’s thought. “She’d be fine exploring on her own while we’re out.”
That was good enough for Justin, largely because they were running out of time before they needed to go. He managed to book Tessa a ticket on the way to the airport, and they decided she could just share Mae’s hotel room, lest another expense get back to Cornelia.
To the girl’s credit, Tessa handled this trip much better than her first flight. Sure, she still kept a white-knuckled grip on the seat, but she didn’t look like she was on the verge of passing out. She entertained herself with a reader and made occasional conversation. All in all, she handled it like a pro, even when Justin had to send her off on her own. They’d checked in at a hotel on one side of downtown New Stockholm and then traveled to a police station on the opposite side. Tessa went with them to the station and then prepared to strike out.
Mae pointed out a trolley running up and down the street. “This whole stretch and the adjacent streets are shopping and touristy stuff. Plenty to see and do. You can just work your way back to the hotel.”
Tessa nodded, eyes wide. “Everyone’s so…blond.”
“Yes, they are,” Justin said, glancing at the sea of golden hair. It made everyone look alike, and he could understand how that might actually make her fear of crowds worse. But, just like with everything else on the trip, Tessa mustered her courage and gave a resolved nod. “Here,” he said. “Let me see your ego.” He made a few adjustments on his and then scanned it over hers when she offered it up. “There you go. Walking-around money. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
She grinned and surprised him with a hug, promising she’d call if there was a problem. He watched her disappear into the crowd, hoping an area this tourist-friendly wouldn’t go too hard on a provincial girl.
Their contact among the Nordic police was a woman named Dahlia Johansson, a veteran detective who obviously didn’t like federal involvement but disliked having an open case even more. She escorted them to her office and then leaned against the wall with crossed arms.
“Clara Arnarsson.” Johansson pointed at a screen on her desk, displaying a head shot of a young woman with strawberry blond hair. “Twenty-seven, killed with a silver dagger.”
Justin was following along with the victim’s profile on his ego. “And she was an eight, of course. Looks like she’s the only one who wasn’t killed at home, but…I’m guessing there were still no witnesses and a mostly inaccessible room?”
“Correct. She was killed in her office.” Johansson glanced at Mae. “Do you know the Sturluson Building? She was on the tenth floor, in a secure hall only accessible to those with the correct key cards.”
“Was there a window in her office?” asked Justin.
“I can’t imagine that being used as an entrance,” said Mae, eyes narrowed in thought. “That building wouldn’t be easy to climb, and it’s on a pretty visible corner. Was it during business hours?”
Johansson nodded. “Yes, which makes it even more unbelievable.”
“Let’s head over and take a look, then,” said Justin. He didn’t exactly feel defeated yet, but he had a suspicion the same pattern was coming: no clues at the scene, no obvious religious involvement, and security info sent to Leo that would reveal no obvious alteration.
That wasn’t far from the truth. The office was just as difficult to penetrate as Johansson had implied. The police had at least documented an extensive amount of information on the place, meaning Leo would have solid evidence to sift through later. In a surprisingly helpful gesture, Johansson’s team cleared out most of the staff on that floor of the building, so that Justin and Mae could have an easier walk-through. Johansson even saved them a trip by bringing the victim’s husband in for questioning. Justin went through the usual interrogation and couldn’t help but feel bad for Mr. Arnarsson. He was clearly grief-stricken and wore the look of someone who couldn’t yet accept his reality. And just like all the others Justin had interviewed, Mr. Arnarsson firmly denied any religious involvement on his wife’s part.
When Justin finished, he sought out Johansson to wrap things up but found her engrossed in a heated discussion with a few of her officers. “Come on,” Mae told him as they waited a respectful distance away. “Let’s wander. I saw a vending machine by the elevators. They might have this drink I used to love.”
The section by the elevators had actually remained unsecured, and a few curious coworkers lingered near the edge of the police lines, whispering and speculative as they waited for the authorities to leave. There was a counter along the wall that contained assorted beverage machines, and Mae bought some sort of carbonated fruit beverage that she assured him he’d adore.
“Needs vodka,” he told her.
While they lingered, a nervous Nordic woman in her forties approached. She gave them tentative smiles and then glanced around for any onlookers. Satisfied, she moved closer and said, “You’re with SCI, right? I heard they think there’s a cult involved in this.”
Mae looked understandably annoyed at the security leak. “I’m sorry, we can’t discuss the investigation.”
“Of course, of course.” The woman’s eyes darted around again, first to her colleagues, then to the police, and then back to Justin and Mae. “Have any of you looked into…the man?” Despite her unease, the woman seemed to enjoy the drama of the moment, and Justin’s senses went on high alert. Interpersonal gossip could crack something like this wide open.
“The man?” Justin asked, giving the woman one of his best smiles. Whether she went for plebeians or not, she seemed to like the attention and flushed with pleasure.
“Clara’s boyfriend. She tried to keep it quiet, but I saw them at restaurants a couple of times. They always seemed to be having really intense conversations. I don’t know if I can blame her. The guy was gorgeous—a little different from Siegfried, if you catch what I’m saying.”
Yes, Justin certainly did. The victim had been beautiful, as would be expected from an eight, but her husband showed heavy damage from Cain. It was the same pattern they’d observed in the other murders.
The woman had overcome her anxiety now and was loving her captive audience. “If you want my opinion, you shouldn’t be checking out cults. Look to her husband or her boyfriend. One of them might not have liked the, uh, arrangement anymore.”
“That’s good insight,” Justin told her, which pleased her more. “And astute of you to notice all that at the time. You’re in the wrong line of work. You should be a cop with those instincts. Do you know his name or anything else that could be helpful?”
Her face fell a little. “No…but I could tell you what he looked like. And I can tell you the restaurants they were at.”
Mae called over an officer and asked him to take a thorough description of the alleged boyfriend and the couple’s outings. Meanwhile, Justin sought out Johansson.
“Is her husband still here?” he asked her. “We might want to ask him if he knew about any affairs.”
As Johansson went to retrieve him, Justin wondered if this new lead could actually be useful. Naturally, he’d take any piece of knowledge they could get. On the other hand, something as mundane as an act of passion didn’t fit into the neat raging-geneticist theory or even the murderous-cult theory. Nonetheless, he interrogated Mr. Arnarsson and was met with even greater incredulity than the religious questions had received.
“He seems sincere,” Justin told Mae afterward. “But if he did do it, he may have had a while to prepare himself. There’s also the small question of how he or the other guy would’ve gotten into this inaccessible office. Who knows? Maybe the boyfriend’s a contortionist or something. That might add to his appeal, along with his good genes.”