CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
I’d just stepped out of the building when I saw eight crows on a power line. Not the same ones, I was sure, but there were clearly eight. I kept glancing up, as if my gaze was magnetized.
“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked.
“Nothing.”
He peered up at the crows. “Do the birds mean something?”
“Death,” I blurted before I could stop myself. I sighed. “Yes, I’m superstitious.”
“Crows are a death omen, too?”
The hair on my neck rose. There was something about the way he said it. Death omen.
“Only when there’re eight of them.”
“Then everything’s fine, because there are only six.”
I looked up. I counted eight out to Gabriel, pointing at each.
“There are only six birds up there, Olivia.”
A chill stabbed my gut. I muttered something about one of us needing our eyes checked, then hurried on. Gabriel caught up with me in a few long strides.
“You saw eight, Olivia. Earlier, too, didn’t you? I noticed crows in a tree outside the parking lot. You were staring at them.”
“I’m tired. Stressed out. We’ve lost a viable lead—”
He gripped my elbow, turning me to face him. “My aunt is a psychic. Most of what she does is a con, but there’s something there, too. Something real. The second sight. Runs in my family, apparently. It passed me, for which I believe I should be grateful. But I know she has it. I’ve seen her use it. And I’ve seen how intrigued she is by you.”
“We share an interest in spiritualism.”
“It’s more than that. Last week, you saw poppies, and your mother escaped a potentially fatal stabbing.”
“Escaped. If poppies are a death omen, she shouldn’t have escaped.”
“But an omen is a warning, is it not? That’s how Rose’s powers work. She sees possibilities, nothing preordained.”
“I don’t—” I shook off his hand. “I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then humor me. Pretend it really is a death omen. Now what?”
“Now what?”
“If you did see omens, there would be a reason.” He gazed around the street. “What else do you see?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “That’s it. Just the—” I stopped as something caught my eye down the road. A flash, like light reflecting off a window.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go that way.”
“I never said—”
“I cheated you out of an exhilarating chase down filthy alleys. Let’s play follow-the-omens instead.”
He started off. I stayed where I was until two guys at the corner began calculating the distance between me and Gabriel. I hurried to catch up with him.
“You lied,” I said.
“Undoubtedly. Which particular instance are we talking about?”
“Your aunt told you something about me.”
“Only that I should trust your hunches, even when you don’t.” He stopped at the corner. “Now which way?”
I felt something tug my attention to the left, and he noticed.
“Excellent. Off we go, then. The game’s afoot.”
“I don’t believe you just said that.”
He smiled down at me and picked up his pace.
• • •
“Is that . . . ?” I whispered.
I stared at the foot protruding from a pile of moldy cardboard. I kept telling myself it was a coincidence. Another passed-out drunk.
Lying facedown.
Covered in cardboard.
Gabriel hauled off the moldy pieces and tossed them aside without so much as a fastidious wipe on his trousers.
When he was done, we were staring at a man with a bullet hole through his back.
Gabriel didn’t check for a pulse. There was no need, I suppose, but I did anyway, crouching and pressing my fingers to the man’s neck. He was still warm. But dead. Definitely dead. Blue eyes stared at the ground.
Gabriel checked the man’s pockets. “No wallet. No cell.”
“Robbery then,” I said.
Gabriel didn’t seem to hear me. He was tapping away at his phone. After a moment, he turned it to face me. On the screen was a photo of the man lying in front of us.
“Josh Gray?” I said.
Gabriel nodded.
“But the killer took his cell phone and wallet . . . ?”
“To delay identification.”
“Right.” I inhaled and collected my thoughts. “He hung up on you and came out to call someone without his girlfriend overhearing. Whoever he called told him to wait. He did.”
“That’s a plausible theory, yes, but—”
“Leave it as a theory until proven otherwise. I know.”
I looked around. There was a Dumpster ten feet away. I walked over and climbed up until I could see inside.
“It’s less than half full. If you’re trying to hide the body, why not dump him in here?”
“Lack of time. Or lack of strength. I could manage it, but it would be difficult, and it would leave me covered with blood.”
“Okay, so now we call the police.”
I took out my cell. He plucked it from my hand.
“Once the body is discovered, it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Gray’s girlfriend learns of his fate. Given that she was frightened enough to vault over her balcony, I don’t think news of his death will loosen her tongue.”
I looked down at Gray. Leaving a man dead in an alley was wrong. But that woman was our only hope of finding out what Peter Evans told Gray twenty-two years ago. Besides, did I really want to get pulled into a murder investigation?
“Should we put him in the bin?” I asked.
Gabriel’s brows shot over his shades.
“I just meant . . . Maybe we could buy some time. He hasn’t been dead long. Time of death is a vague science. If he’s found now, his girlfriend would ID us and we’d be suspects.”
“Good thinking.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it first.”
“I was going to return after I got you safely to the car. But if you’re offering to help, that will make the task easier.”
• • •
So I helped Gabriel Walsh move a body. What consumed my thoughts was not guilt, but how I’d found the corpse in the first place. I’d led Gabriel to a dead body based on omens and intuition, and he was as unperturbed as if we’d stumbled on Gray during a random shortcut.
I didn’t know what to make of that.
I remembered Rose asking me if I ever saw omens that weren’t really there. I had the answer now. I had a lot of answers now. I’d had them for a while and had just kept pretending otherwise.
Apparently, I could . . . I don’t know what exactly. Read the signs? Interpret omens? See portents? Was there a name for such a thing? Where would the ability come from?
I knew the answer to that—from the woman who’d taught me those rhymes and kept a chest of mystical supplies in her bedroom. The woman accused of murdering eight people in occult rituals.
I needed to speak to Pamela again. And I would, in a few hours. For now I had to focus on getting Gray’s girlfriend to talk before the cops found his body.
“So how do we do this?” I asked.
“I believe I know a way,” Gabriel said. “I’m going to drop you off in a better neighborhood, where you can find lunch. I’ll call when things are in place.”
“That’s very considerate, but I’m not hungry.”
“Perhaps not now, but—”
“That tone in my voice a moment ago? Sarcasm. I know you aren’t being considerate. You’re trying to dump me so I don’t see how you get this woman to talk. I’m not hiding in a sandwich shop.”
He looked at me over the roof of his car. “I’d really rather you did.”
I opened the door. “As the song says, we can’t always get what we want.”
• • •
We drove through about ten miles of farmland before Gabriel pulled into a wooded lane marked Private Property. The rutted drive made him wince with each bump. After a couple of hundred feet, the drive widened. It was lined with motorcycles. Big-ass motorcycles.
“First you buy me a mocha. Then you let me help you hide a body. Now you take me to a biker clubhouse. Best. Day. Ever.”
His lips tightened. “You’re staying in the car.”
“Hell, no. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
I reached for the door handle. He smacked down the automatic locks. “This isn’t a game, Olivia.”
“I’m kidding. But I did just move a corpse. I think I can handle this.”
“I’m their lawyer. It’s a relationship based on mutual respect. I cannot waltz in there with another client.”
Damn. Why did he have to make such a good point?
I sighed. “All right.”
He hesitated.
“I said all right. Go. I’ll wait.”