Page 39 of Investigation of a Quest

“Mrs. Diggs?” Bel interrupted the mourning scene. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“How could this have happened?” The woman pinned the detectives with a withering glare. “You were supposed to protect us. You said we’d be safe with all the cops.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bel said, guilt finding its ravenous way into her gut. She’d pushed for the contest to continue. She firmly believed the homeowners weren’t in danger… unless Oscar Diggs had always been a target.

“We understand how difficult this is, but if you can manage it, we need to ask you some questions,” Olivia said, sensing that the wife’s anger was mostly aimed at Bel since they’d dealt with each other during the planning phase of this haunted house.

“Maybe another time,” the neighbor answered for her.

“I know this is unbearable,” Olivia said. “Tonight differed from the others, which means we’re dealing with someone unpredictable. The faster we catch him, the safer our towns will be. I know that doesn’t ease your pain, but please help us.”

“Why?” Mrs. Diggs spat. “You didn’t help us.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bel repeated, fighting the urge to touch her scars because sometimes humans couldn’t help themselves. Sometimes, the creatures that ruled the darkness held all the power. “Maybe we should give her space.” Bel grabbed her partner’s wrist, the impulse to quit her job washing back over her. She shouldn’t be a cop. She just got people killed.

“No, wait,” Mrs. Diggs called after them. “I want you to catch who did this, so what do you need?”

“Do you have any other security cameras besides the one at the front door?” Olivia asked.

“There’s one in my husband’s office, but we locked that door,” she said. “Our safe and our valuables are in there, but that’s upstairs, so that won’t help you. We roped off the second floor.”

“We’ll collect the recordings just in case,” Olivia said. “Did your husband have any enemies? Or did he owe anyone money? Can you think of anyone who would do this?”

“No,” Mrs. Diggs said, “but he was rarely home. He traveled for work, so he was only around on weekends. His job paid very well, but his schedule was insane. I unfortunately know little about what he did. I doubt he had enemies, though, and I can’t imagine he owed anyone money. We’ve never had financial problems.”

“Can you give us the name of his company?” Olivia asked. “They might be able to shed more light on what happened when he wasn’t home.”

“Have you ever seen anything that looked like this among your husband’s things?” Bel aimed her phone screen at the wife so she could see a photo of the professor’s yellow brick.

“No,” the woman said. “Never.”

“If he did have something like this, where would he keep it?” she pressed.

“Probably his office. Why?”

“It might be relevant. Can we look?”

“Do you have to?” the woman asked.

“It would be helpful.”

“Fine.” Mrs. Diggs stood up and led them to the second floor. She unlocked the office door to reveal a sparsely decorated room, and it was instantly obvious that there was no yellow brick present.

“What about in the safe?” Bel asked.

“I’ve never seen it in there.”

“Please. Can you just check?”

The woman rolled her eyes, but she hid the keypad with her body and opened its thick door. She stepped aside for the detectives’ benefit, but she was right. No yellow brick. No photos of it. Not even yellow dust. This home held no trace of the odd stone, and Bel wondered if this wizard’s homicide wasn’t related to the others but instead a crime of opportunity. The missing organs were public knowledge, and cutting out a tongue was significantly easier than carving out a heart. Were they dealing with a copycat? Because what better time to murder someone than when there was a serial killer to blame?

“We got Oscar Diggs’ phone records,” Olivia said. After almost no sleep, the detectives joined Lina bright and early for the autopsy, which offered them nothing they didn’t already know. Mr. Diggs’ neck had been snapped before his tongue had been ripped out, the muscle missing like both Samuel’s brain and Calon’s heart. There was no usable evidence on his person or on his wizard costume, either. After a night of scaring trick-or-treaters, it was impossible to determine where the trace evidence covering his clothes had come from.

“Hopefully, it’s more of a help than the autopsy.” Bel handed her partner a cup of burnt station coffee before sliding into her neighboring desk.

“Um… yeah. I don’t think it will be,” Olivia said as she turned her computer screen for Bel’s benefit. “He mostly called two numbers,” she paused as she confirmed who owned them. “And they belong to his wife and oldest son. A few other numbers are peppered throughout his call log. They won’t be hard to trace, but they're rare. Who calls only their wife and kid? Where are the work calls? The friends?”

“His company phone?” Bel said.