Free A Charm of Magpies 03 Flight of Magpies by Kj Charles Page B

ring. A practitioner has murdered two retired police officers. We ought to have everyone on this, because the police will be angry beyond belief, but do you know how many people are working on it? Me. I’m the only justiciar dealing with this case, because there should be at least eight justiciars in London and there are currently five without Esther or Saint, and they won’t pay for any replacements or take on anyone new, so there is no way I will be able to go to Paris or anywhere else with you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go find that chap with the handkerchief, he’d be more use to you than I am.” He took a gasping breath after that rush of speech, and went on, more quietly but no less desperately, “If I stopped sleeping altogether, I still wouldn’t have enough time in the day. I don’t know what to do any more.”
    Of course he had lied about Paris. Crane wasn’t precisely surprised, but the realisation was still a scrape against his self-esteem. “I see. Things must be bad if you’re voluntarily telling me the truth.”
    “Don’t. Please. And don’t tell me I have to work less, either. We’ve been on a shoestring for eighteen months. Seven justiciars weren’t enough. What it’ll be like with five—”
    “I can tell you that, actually,” Crane said. “It’ll be like a slow attrition as you all work harder and harder on less and less until one by one you give up, walk away, break, or in your case, get yourself killed. Then your superiors will close down the justiciary altogether, and the survivors will realise that was what they had planned to do all along and everything you did was just pissing in a hole.”
    Stephen was looking up, eyes wide, angry and appalled. “Rubbish. Utter rubbish. They need the justiciary.”
    “Christ, you’re naive. If they needed you, or wanted you, they’d pay for you. Conversely, as they’re not paying, how important do you really think you are?”
    “It’s not like that.” Stephen looked sick. “The Council is short of funds—there’s internal disagreement—”
    “A hundred to a quid says you’re being shut down. If you walk away now, it will at least be over faster.”
    “Ah.” Stephen’s face was tight. “I see. Tell me, was all that simply wishful thinking, or is this a new line of persuasion to make me leave?”
    Crane bit off an angry response. “Believe it or don’t. One of us can say I told you so in a year’s time when we’ll see if you still have a job, or your skin. Meanwhile, if you could stop picking fights with me for just a moment, there’s something you need to know.”
    “What is it?”
    This was, Crane knew, not going to go well. He had hoped to have this conversation with Stephen sated and pliant in his bed, not prickling with this raw, angry mood. But there was no way he could dodge it.
    “I was wrong about Saint. It wasn’t her, last night.”
    “ What ?”
    Crane put both hands up as the astonished fury dawned on Stephen’s face. “Listen. I saw exactly what I told you, except that I didn’t actually see it. I was fluenced.” He rapidly explained, but Stephen was shaking his head, finally interrupting.
    “No. Stop. I found her last night—this morning, rather. She came in about four o’clock looking guilty as sin. If she’d had an alibi she’d have told me so, for heaven’s sake. There’s nothing to suggest you were wrong, except that you’re not sure of your memory now—”
    “And the fact that I saw moonlight on a moonless night.”
    Stephen paused, frowning. “Yes, except you didn’t say anything about moonlight at the time. Memories change. Look, be reasonable. The idea that someone fluenced you to incriminate her and steal my ring from your flat—you’re suggesting some kind of plot against me, or us, don’t you see that? Do you really think that’s more likely than that you were right the first time?”
    “Yes, I do. She has an alibi, Stephen. She was with someone.”
    “At two