“Oh, please.”
“Hey, between the two of us, who has actually been shot?” Even mentioning it as a jibe, Khlid flinched at the memory of Samuel taking a bullet to his gut.
“That was only because I was the first one through the door. If I was the senior inspector like yourself, it never woulda happened.”
“Solve more cases and maybe one day you will be. I might even write you a recommendation.”
“The captain is just fond of you.”
“He has impeccable taste.” Khlid looked at a clock on the wall. “We need to meet Chapman.”
“You said he wanted us there in two hours? We’ll be early.”
Khlid picked up her civilian coat and tugged it on. “Yeah. I want to catch him in the act.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows at her. “In what act?”
“Speaking with an informant.”
“Informant? Who would Chapman know that knows something about this?”
Husband and wife had the same realization as his question hung in the air. “Khlid—does Chapman have an informant with the rebellion?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon. But I do have a feeling Chapman is even further out of line than usual.”
* * *
They made it to the market about half an hour before Chapman expected them. If Chapman was conducting some private business here, Khlid intended to violate that privacy, and find out how exactly he had ripped his pocket.
Why is a torn pocket bothering me?
She looked to Samuel at her side. “Go left.”
He nodded. “Mm-hm.”
The outdoor market had over a hundred vendors, selling everything from sweets to southern-decorated daggers. A tobacco vendor near Khlid eyed her with a toothless, dark-gummed grin, and the black of his mouth suddenly brought back the taste of that putrid liquid from the demon. She heaved, and began to turn away.
“Ain’t true what the Health Ministry’s saying! Smoking is good for ye. I should know!” The vendor flashed his rotting mouth again.
In response, Khlid pulled open the lapel of her jacket and flashed her badge. The vendor’s words were not explicitly illegal—civilians could disagree with the Ministries—but men had been beaten for less.
“I didn’t mean...” He stepped further behind his booth. “It was a joke!”
Khlid just raised her eyebrow and walked on. The toothless man would be looking over his shoulder for a week, worried about catching a beating from off-duty cops for seditious thoughts. (Some precincts did partake in such practices. Not the Seventh. They never beat civilians unnecessarily. Captain’s orders; orders she agreed with. Mostly.)
Over the next twenty minutes, Khlid scoured for Chapman. He was not at the market—which meant he had sent them here not to meet them, but to know where they would be while he did… something he didn't want them in on. What the fuck are you up to, Chapman?
Looking at the large display clock in the center of the market, Khlid knew Chapman had out-schemed her. Ten minutes from now, Chapman would be finished with whatever he had been doing and waiting innocently for their rendezvous. Khlid made her way over to the fat fruit vendor. Samuel already sat on a barrel nearby, munching away on a plump red apple. He seemed content.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Samuel wiped juice from his lips. “Chapman? He bothers me every time he opens his mouth.”
“I mean—” She looked down at him as he took another large bite. “Never mind.”
“Come on. I can’t eat?”
No detective's coat stood out to Khlid in the mass of bodies around them. “You sure can.”
Samuel went back to devouring what remained of his apple.
As the market clock hit the appointed minute—a quarter past two—Chapman appeared out of the crowd.
“How is the investigative duo?” Chapman’s tone bubbled with forced cheer.
Khlid ignored his question. “What news do you have for us?”
“The murders and mutilations weren't done by the rebels,” Chapman said, as though stating an obvious and settled fact.
“Bullshit,” Samuel said tossing his defeated apple core to the ground. “It’s the only option.”
“No, that’s bullshit.”
Samuel stood up, impatience in his eyes. and approached Chapman. “Oh, I can’t wait to be talked down to even more today.”
Chapman stepped close enough to whisper. “Samuel, what imbecile would discuss this here?”
Samuel pushed his cheek with his tongue and looked to Khlid as if asking permission.
She shook her head no.
“Good boy, Sammy. Do as Mummy says. Now, there is a pub I like—”
“Chapman!” She was loud enough to make more than a few nearby shoppers turn their heads in alarm. “You will show your fellow officer his due respect,” she finished at a lower volume.
Chapman’s brain again seemed to catch up to his mouth. He at least had the wherewithal to look mildly ashamed. “Sorry.”
Samuel looked Chapman up and down, then lashed out and grabbed his lapel. Khlid thought Sam was finally about to deck his fellow inspector, before Samuel’s free hand reached into Chapman’s coat and grasped his service revolver. Sam then shoved Chapman back hard, cleanly separating him from the gun. Sam sniffed the barrel. “Recently fired. Definitely within the hour I’d say.” He looked to Khlid. “That would require an official report.” His eyes went forward again. “So, Chap, where the hell have you been?”
The two inspectors, on the cusp of a public row, were beginning to draw eyes. Too late to switch back to a whisper.
Chapman tried to snatch back his pistol, but Samuel shoved him hard in the chest. Chapman stumbled awkwardly into Khlid, who had to steady them both.
“No, Chap,” Samuel said with venom. Khlid eyed her husband for cues of what to expect next—his face bore the same look it had when the two had last come to blows. “Explain how you know what happened at the manor wasn’t rebels—and what really happened to your damn coat.”
Khlid had no problem whatsoever with Chap taking a few well-deserved shoves from Sam—but the situation was in danger of escalating out of control. She knew Sam well enough to see he was not going to resolve this peacefully. Sam, your damn temper is why you’re not a senior fucking inspector.
“Inspector Whitkins!” Khlid’s use of his formal name shook Sam, briefly, from his mounting rage. She hadn’t called him that (not outside of their bedroom, anyway) in years. “Mishandling of a firearm in public. Discussion of classified matters. Disrespect of an officer of the law. Creating a disturbance.” She looked to Chapman, rubbing a sore chest. “Assault. Do I need to continue?” Suspects’ rights dictated that an officer of any rank must list the crimes witnessed before an arrest was made. Khlid had no intention of arresting her husband—hopefully he knew that—but the message was clear. Snap out of it, you childish embarrassment.
Samuel looked at her askance, then at the gun in his hand. The realization that a dozen shoppers had stopped to gawk suddenly seemed to hit him.
Khlid wasn't done. She got in Sam’s face, but didn't drop her volume. “You will apologize to Inspector Chapman and return to the precinct at once. Report to the captain exactly what happened here. Am I clear?”