CHAPTER 16

It wasn't long after she'd put her siblings to bed that she'd gotten a phone call.

It was Lovino. He and Antonio had arrived in Britain, and guess where they arranged to meet her at?

A fucking haunted asylum with a tower.

"You have serious mental issues." Alice glared at Lovino and Antonio.

"Sí, pero él es mi psico!" Antonio's emerald eyes fucking glittered.

Alice just stared at him in disgust, watching Lovino sputter and try to hide his bright red face. "Just give-a me-a the-a note, ragazza." She gave him the three letters.

"A man gave me them on the dirigible," Alice said. "He was lanky and dark freckles, thick American accent, too."

"This man?" Antonio asked, giving her a picture.

"That's him."

"Johnny Tucker. He's dead."

"What?" Alice's jaw went slack. "When?"

"Last week, suicide." Antonio grimaced. "Hanged himself in his room."

"So he killed himself after he delivered the letter?"

Antonio nodded. "He'd been slightly distant the past couple of weeks." He continued, "But we never thought much about it. He was known for having the occasional mood swings."

Alice resisted the large urge to smack her forehead. "Does he have any family?" They shook their head. "Fucking hell, did you get any pictures of the scene?"

"Se podría privar a un hombre muerto de su dignidad?" Antonio hissed at her.

"Clearly he didn't have enough dignity to keep himself alive." She glared. "And besides, I doubt it was suicide."

"¿Qué?" At the same time, Lovino said, "Pensi che sia stato ucciso?"

Alice nodded. "When I talked to him, he'd said something about working for someone else. Someone else besides this nutter." She casually pointed to Antonio with her thumb.

"I'm sorry," Antonio snorted. "Were you the one that knew Johnny for most of his life?"

"If you're going to be a smartass, first you need to be smart. Otherwise, you're just an ass." Alice shot back.

"Why, you little perra-!" Lovino grabbed his husband's wrist before he could do anything.

"What makes you think it was murder?"

"You said he had mood swings for a couple of weeks, probably longer than normal usual, right?" Alice continued, "The bags under his eyes meant he wasn't getting good sleep, which means either insomnia or he was meeting up with someone."

"The killer." Lovino said.

"Now, you're catching on." She turned to them. "So, gentlemen, why would your cowboy-pirate have anything to do with my mass murderer?"

"Lover, maybe?" Antonio shrugged. "Johnny was gay."

Alice shook her head. "Not likely. Lovers give each other trinkets, to show off how in love they are. It takes the same amount of time to get close enough to want to shower a person with love as it does to want to kill them. Next option?"

"Long-time grudge?"

"Mmm, no." She started pacing back and forth. "Something like that would've shown through. Cowboy would've told you, he seemed liked he trusted you two enough. And that leaves..."

An awkward pause seemed to surround them in a sort of bubble.

"Debt."

"Debt? Johnny wasn't-a low on-a money, he always had some sort-a of greenbacks with him." Lovino said.

"Doesn't have to be money." Alice looked at him. "I saved your brother and Ludwig, didn't I?"

"We'll-a get you all the-a information we-a can on Tucker." Lovino nodded. "Anything else?"

"Zwingli." She pointed to her arm. "He shot me twice after I showed him the dagger."

"Merda! Che deficiente del cazzo." Lovino growled, smacking his forehead a few times. "What the-a hell-a happened?"

Alice shrugged. "They threw him in jail and it's not looking too good for him." She continued, "I need a list of every person in the world that's had one of those daggers, not just Britain. Otherwise, Swiss-cheese is going to have a hell of a time getting out."

"Sì, sì." Antonio nodded. "Estaremos en contacto."

XXX

The Englishwoman unlocked the front door and stepped into the drafty apartment.

She didn't bother taking off her clothes or shoes, collapsing on the old couch in the living room. It creaked and groaned, probably pleading for mercy and just wishing someone would throw the damn thing out after fifteen years. Alice rubbed her face, tiredly. Fucking hell, she just wished all of this was over.

Why'd she even become a homicide detective?

Her father's face ran through her mind. Right. For him.

"I need a drink." Alice got up to the kitchen, body groaning for exhaustion. Patrick always had an extra glass or two of whiskey around.

"Where the bluudy hella have youuu been?" Alice looked down. Alistair sat on the kitchen floor, an empty bottle of ale in his hand. He glared up at her with bloodshot eyes, a slight trickle of vomit on the side of his mouth.

"You should be asleep." Alice said, taking the bottle from his hand. A pungent wave of vomit, piss and ale slammed into her. Her free hand shot up to her nose in an attempt to block the smell. Alice threw the bottle away. "How long were you up?"

The Scotsman just sulked. "I asked ye te bluudy question fiiiiirst." His head bobbed a bit.

"I had an errand to run."

"Cén fáth?" Patrick stumbled downstairs, Wilma pushing Dylan along, too. He hadn't sobered up, no, any proper Irishman came out of his mother drunk and ready for the nearest bar fight. Patrick was just a little less drunk.

"Just work stuff."

"Nae," Patrick hissed at her, jabbing a pale finger in her direction. "Cén fáth didja teacht ar ais, ye bollix?"

"What are you blabbing on about?" Alice asked, not exactly all that irritated that he'd called her a bollix. She'd heard it plenty of times before. "This is my home, dumb-ass."

"Nae, tis ain't." Wilma hissed at her darkly. "Má cheap tú i ndáiríre go raibh sé do bhaile, ba mhaith leat atá riamh d'fhág. Ní bheadh tú a d'fhág dúinn má cúram tú."

Alice felt like something was stabbing her repeatedly in the chest. The medications for the bullet wounds had worn off. "That's not true." She could barely protest. How did she not notice the pain before? Was it just the wound or something else? "Dylan?"

He just looked at her blankly. "You're always actin' so high an' mighty. Oh, look at you, you're the only one in the house with a stable job. Oh, you take just after tad." He mocked Alice, his voice pitch raised until it wounded squeaky.

"High and mighty?" Alice scoffed.

She didn't even realize that Alastair had left and then come back down from the stair until he shoved a case in front of her. "What's-"

"Ye're bag. Now leave."

Translations:

Sí, pero él es mi psico! = Yes, but he's my psycho!

Ragazza = Girl.

Se podría privar a un hombre muerto de su dignidad? = And deprive a dead man of his dignity?

¿Qué? = What?

Pensi che sia stato ucciso? = Do you think he was killed?

Perra = Bitch.

Merda! Che deficiente del cazzo. = Shit! What a fucking idiot!

Sì, sì. = Yes, yes.

Estaremos en contacto. = We'll be in touch.

Cén fáth? = Why?

Cén fáth didja teacht ar ais, ye bollix? = Why didja come back, ye bollix?

Má cheap tú i ndáiríre go raibh sé do bhaile, ba mhaith leat atá riamh d'fhág. Ní bheadh tú a d'fhág dúinn má cúram tú. = If you really thought that it was your home, you would've never left. You would not have left us if you care.

Tad = Dad.