“You signed this agreement, Mr. Kazarian. You clearly don’t understand what you’ve signed, so I will explain it to you.”

Marat sputtered.

“The contract requires you to comply with my investigation. I’m making a formal request to view the crime scene and interview you in regards to the death of Felix Morton. You’re refusing me access. Therefore, you are in breach of contract. That gives me the right to mothball this project until you decide to cooperate.”

I raised my voice. I had no idea if there was anyone within earshot, but it didn’t matter. “Starting today nobody gets paid. Drop what you’re doing and leave.”

Marat spun to Alessandro. “Are you going to let her do this?”

“Yes.”

“Every moment we’re not working, we’re losing money.”

Alessandro arranged his stunning face into an expression of concern. “I’d like to help. I really would. But she’s a very dangerous woman and you’ve made her angry.”

Marat swore. “Don’t be a fucking pussy!”

Weeks of visiting Grandma Victoria and controlling my face paid off. I didn’t laugh.

“Let’s be reasonable,” Alessandro said, his voice soothing.

“You signed the contract,” I told Marat. “Nobody twisted your arm to do it. This can end any time you’re ready. Show me to the crime scene and answer my questions, and I’ll go away.”

Marat whipped out his phone and stalked away.

I reached out and patted Alessandro’s arm.

“What’s that for?”

“Superhuman self-restraint.”

Marat turned around and marched back to us, his face dark. “Fine. Fucking fine. Let’s go. I’ll show you the damn crime scene.”

We trudged along a series of bridges. One guard, an older, balding man with a Texas tan, in the lead, and the other, a man in his late twenties with hair so pale it was almost white and a brick-red sunburn, bringing up the rear. Both were armed with shotguns and both looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. Alessandro stuck close to me, blocking the rear guard’s view of me with his wide back. I had a feeling if that shotgun came up, he would grab me and throw me into the murky water.

Around us the Pit bloomed in neon colors. The air smelled of honey and spice, the fragrance drifting from the bloodred lilies. Here and there, half-drowned construction equipment stuck out of the dark water, accumulating plastic garbage that was floating on the surface. The equipment still had bright new paint. Either the water level rose suddenly, or something had dragged bulldozers and backhoes into it and not that long ago.

Another bridge. More drowned equipment. Holy crap, they had sunk a lot of money into this, and they were getting nowhere. They had to be desperate.

“Compared to the rest of this, your main building has a rather nice setup,” Alessandro said.

“It was in decent shape and already wired,” Marat said over his shoulder. “Which is why we chose it. The joke was on us though. Took weeks to make it safe.”

“What was wrong with it?” Alessandro asked.

“Some fool had booby-trapped the whole place. Trip wires everywhere. My demolition guy said he hadn’t seen anything like that since the Army.”

Finally, we clopped our way to a half-flooded industrial building thrusting from the mire. A metal walkway, bordered by a thin metal rail, clung to its second story, only five feet above the water. The front guard went up the stairs to the walkway and waved to us. Marat followed, and we trailed him all the way to the back of the building.

The lobster-red rear guard halted on the side, visibly nervous. Great. That’s what you want with you in a dangerous arcane garbage dump—a panicky guy with a shotgun.

The bulk of the structure shielded us from the rest of the Pit. Directly in front of us, past a twenty-yard stretch of murky water, the overgrown shore presented a wall of green. We were isolated and hidden, but close enough to the main building to get back in under five minutes if we ran. A perfect spot to kill someone. The murderer could stab their victim and dump the body into the water and return before most people realized they were missing.

Marat leaned on the rail and pointed to the electric cable, strung horizontally on wooden poles rising from the water fifty yards apart. The cable sagged in the middle, where Felix’s body must’ve hung.

My original theory was that someone had looped the cable around Felix’s neck and shoved him off the edge. Shoving a grown man over hip-high fence was one thing, but this railing reached to my chest. Too high.

“Walk me through July 15th, please,” I asked.

Marat shrugged. “Got up, took a piss, brushed my teeth, got dressed, drove to the gym—”

“What time did you leave for the gym?”

To my left, Alessandro studied the metal railing, a calculating look in his eyes. He was thinking along the same lines I was.

“Six,” Marat said. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I leave the house at six, get to the gym, work with my trainer, leave at seven-thirty, get home, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast with the family, get to the office or here by nine.”

I glanced to the roof. The cable ran too far to the side. Too low for someone to grab it from the roof yet too high to snag it from the walkway.

Alessandro tested the rail with his hand. It didn’t move. Solid as a rock.

How did they get the cable around Felix’s neck? The only way his hanging made sense was if the wire caught his neck and then sprang straight up, jerking his body upward. It would break his neck.

Hmm.

“Where were you by nine on the day Felix died?” I asked.

“Here,” Marat said. “I checked in at the gate, worked in my office until four, went home, then went out to dinner with my wife, my brother, his wife, and his wife’s brother at Steak 48.”

It took me a second to sort out all the wives and brothers. “What time did you arrive to the restaurant?”

“At 5:48.”

“That’s rather exact.”

Marat heaved a sigh. “My sister-in-law made a reservation for five-thirty. My wife wanted to leave earlier, but I stank like the swamp, so I took a shower. My wife hates to be late. I’m often late. If we’re late by more than fifteen minutes, she gets to pick a movie for Saturday night.”

“What did she pick?” Alessandro asked.

“Underneath.” Marat’s face assumed a long-suffering expression. “A family buys an old house and some kind of nastiness is under it and eats them one by one. Why she likes that scary crap, I’ll never know. I had to hold her the whole time. Not that I mind that part.”

“What was the occasion for dinner?” I asked.

Marat grimaced. “Tamara’s brother was looking for ‘a career change.’”

“Let me guess.” Alessandro raised his eyebrows. “He was let go.”

“Of course he was let go. He ran his department into the ground.”

“When did you leave the restaurant?” I asked.

“They gave up a little past seven,” Marat said.

“You told them no?” Alessandro asked.

“We can’t afford dead weight, especially now. Before you ask, my wife and I went to see my father to warn him that my brother and his wife would ambush him first thing in the morning and cry a river about how I don’t care about the family. We stayed there until nine, and then we went home, watched the new episode of Killer Wives, and went to bed.”

Unlike Nevada, I didn’t have the benefit of magic warning me every time someone lied, but I had interviewed many people, and so far everything about this conversation seemed genuine. His alibi would be easy to check, and even if he employed an illusion mage to impersonate himself, his family would know it wasn’t him. They would probably cover for him, however.

But Marat just didn’t seem like a man with a guilty conscience. He was visibly worried and trying not to show it, which was normal, he didn’t ask leading questions, and he didn’t try to steer the conversation. Nor did he give short answers.

“On the day of his death, Felix attended the Texas Assembly. So did your brother. Did they speak?”

“No. My brother never met Felix. Until Felix died, my brother didn’t even know what he looked like. This is the business side of things. My brother has different ambitions.”

It was time to up the stakes.

“How long have you been aware of the biomechanical magic activity in the Pit?”

Marat had recovered enough to look surprised. “What biomechanical activity?”

Really now? “How many workers are unaccounted for to date?”

“That’s confidential.”

My voice frosted over. “Nothing is confidential. Your procedures, your missing workers, your sister’s divorce settlement, your connection with Lebedev, nothing is off-limits.”

Marat’s eyes narrowed. “Now you listen to me. I don’t know what biomechanical bullshit—”

A tentacle studded with metal hooks burst from the water, wrapped itself around Marat’s chest, and jerked him into the swamp over the rail. He vanished under the surface.

Oh my God.

Alessandro laughed.

The sunburned guard next to us turned and ran, his boots thudding on the walkway. The other guard pounded toward us and fired at the water. Alessandro grabbed the shotgun and drove his elbow into the man’s face with casual ease. The guard let go and stumbled back. The chew flew out of his mouth and landed in the water.