San Diego Noir

A buzzing vibration at my hip interrupted my attempt to stop Maggiano’s overshare. Nonetheless, he stopped talking as I pulled the phone from my pocket. The text was short. Traces of vanilla & lavender oils—skin, hair, lungs. Suffocated b4 wounds. The message came from one of my buddies at the crime lab. I quickly sent my own text, this one to Abe.

Glad for the fae funds that had kick-started a supreme effort to fund crime labs, I turned to Maggiano with a smile, now recognizing something my tired brain had overlooked.

“Apologies, Mr. Maggiano,” I said. “Work.”

He gave me a small smile. “I understand.”

I returned his smile with one of my own, employing my best trust me vibe. “I’m afraid the circumstances prevented me from paying you a compliment, Mr. Maggiano.”

He looked puzzled but didn’t say anything.

“The hotel,” I said, nodding toward the other part of the lobby area. “So beautiful. A lovely setting.”

Maggiano preened. “We do our best, detective. Our patrons enjoy the finer things.”

“Of course.” I leaned forward a little, as if to invite his confidence. “That lovely scent,” I said, and drew in a big breath, allowing a look of pleasure on my face.

“Yes?” Maggiano beamed. “It is delicious, is it not?”

“Indeed. Is it possible …” I dropped my voice to just above a whisper. “Would it be possible for you to share the secret of the scent?” I leaned closer, preparing myself.

He swallowed hard and began to shake a little.

“He was a good boy,” Maggiano said in a quiet voice. “They all are. Such good boys to have such horrible—” His voice broke as he stifled a sob.

“You knew him?”

“All of them,” he said. “This last one, Donal, had just begun here at the Leaf. Until last month, I was concierge at the Ivy Branch. When I got promoted to the Leaf as manager, I would see some of the other regulars on occasion at the bar.”

“But you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

He shook his head again. “Not a thing, detective. I wish I could’ve stopped …” He sighed and wiped his brow. “I’m sorry. This is just so terrible. If there’s nothing else, might I return to the day’s business?” Another flash of gold, the Patek Philippe shining in the light. “They were all good boys, if only …”

I nodded. “Sure, that’s fine, Mr. Maggiano.” I dug out a card and presented it to him. “If you think of anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

He took the card and tucked it into his jacket pocket, the silver gray of the suit material soft in the dim lighting.

“Thank you, detective. I certainly hope you catch the man who did this.”

I stood and offered my hand. “I will, Mr. Maggiano, I will.”

“Why?” I asked. “They were good boys.” I deliberately repeated his own words back to him. “They were legal.”

He struggled, tried to pull his hand out of my grip. I simply waited until he eventually realized there was no way he’d win this. I was stronger.

He bowed his head and I let him go. All bravado left him, and he looked like used-up rag.

“How did you … ?”

“The oil in the lotion,” I said. “The lavender scent is everywhere in the hotel, but the oil in that lotion is on your hands, and on Donny’s body.”

He seemed to accept my very simple explanation. Yes, it was that and then some.

“Did you get blood on your watch?” I asked, probing.

He glanced at his wrist then frowned. “How did you know that?”

“It’s gold,” I said. “Everything else you’re wearing today is gray and shades of silver. Gold doesn’t match and you look like the kind of man who would never be caught dead—”

He gasped, his eyes growing wide as I continued to explain. He’d given little away in his speech, but everything else pointed to him. The lotion, the watch, his nervousness. The fact that he’d been a concierge at the hotel where the other two men had worked. That he knew Donny’s legal name—something that was only on his license paperwork.

“All I wanted to do was help them,” he stated.

“Help them what?” I was genuinely confused.

“Get out of this life. This depravity. Selling their bodies to men and women old enough to be their fathers, their mothers.”

“They were fae,” I reminded him. “Donny was entering his second century. The others were older.”

“They were boys,” he insisted. “They bore the mark of Sodom on their wrists.”

“You’re part fae yourself. That’s how you were able to remove the tattoo.”

“My mother was half fae,” Maggiano admitted. “She was once a licenser. She taught me the ritual to remove the marks.”

“You drugged them?”

“With absinthe and sleeping pills.” He sent me a pleading look. “I didn’t want them to suffer. After they were asleep, it was easy. A pillow on their faces, then I took them to the alley. Lay them gently down.”

“Gently?” I slammed my hands against the polished wood of his desk. “Both Donny’s legs were broken. His face and body were mutilated. That’s brutality.”