Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

getting done.”
    The waitress brought our food and left. It started raining again outside our window.
    “How do you know?” I asked.
    He bit his doughnut. “Paper. They don’t use any. A working business like that makes paper waste. You know, copies, notes, shredded documents, empty boxes from office supplies they order. I work for a janitorial company. I have other clients on my route that have staff half Input’s size. They make three, four times Input’s paper waste. I go into Input’s copy room, their waste bins are empty. Two-thirds of the time I don’t have to touch them. This week was my biggest trash haul to date for them, and that’s because they sent a memo out about Anapa’s birthday.” He finished his doughnut. “They do send packages to his house sometimes by a personal courier. I’ve seen receipts from it in the receptionist’s trash. Thanks for the food.”
    “Thank you for the information.”
    He left. I ate all the yolks out of my eggs and poked the eggs whites with my fork. If the man was right, then whatever business Anapa actually did took place from his house. Well, there was one way to check on that.
    I waited until the waitress came by with the check, paid for my meal, and let her see that I was leaving a nice tip. “Got an odd question for you.”
    “Sure.”
    “What day do garbage men empty the Dumpsters on this street?”
    “Friday.”
    “Thanks.”
    It was Wednesday. The Input Dumpster should be almost full. I took myself and my duster out into the rain, walked back to the Input building, and circled it. A narrow alley led from the back of the building’s lot to a larger street. Two Dumpsters sat in the alley, against a brick wall, one blue, one green. I flipped open the lids. Since the intrusion of magicmade the mass production of plastic a thing of the past, all trash had to be divided and sorted. Food garbage was packed into wooden barrels or recycled metal drums, set in the green Dumpster, and picked up by composters. The recyclable waste—wood and metal—was simply thrown into the blue Dumpster, together with paper waste packed into burlap sacks.
    Input’s green Dumpster had a single drum, half-filled with remnants of rotting lunches. The blue Dumpster contained a sad, half-deflated burlap sack. I ruffled through it. Lots of copies of the memo about Anapa’s party, some crumpled doodles, most featuring boobs of various sizes and an ugly but exceptionally endowed man doing X-rated things to said boobs, and a legal pad half soaked with coffee.
    I abandoned the garbage and headed back to Rise & Shine.
    I had to get into Anapa’s house.
    The solution to the dilemma appeared in my mind.
    No. No, there had to be some other way. Any other way.
    Any way at all.
    Anything would do.
    I clenched my teeth. It didn’t help me produce any brilliant alternatives.
    Fine.
    I walked into the restaurant, offered them ten bucks to use their phone, and called the office. Ascanio answered.
    “Cutting Edge Investigations.”
    “It’s me.”
    “You didn’t take me with you this morning,” he said. “I was good yesterday.”
    Oh bother. “Ascanio, you can’t come with me every time. Any news for me?”
    “There’s an autopsy report from Doolittle,” he said. “Raphael called.”
    Think of the devil. “What did he want?”
    “He asked when you’re going to release the building site crime scene to his crew, because ‘that damn cat’ won’t let him do anything until you say it’s okay and he isn’t ‘made of money.’ Could’ve fooled me. I told him you were out, and he asked who with, and I told him that I wasn’t at liberty to say. Then he chewed me out.”
    Christ. Just what I needed. “Did he leave a number?”
    “He said he’s at his main office. Also that guy from the service station yesterday found the check he received for towing that woman’s car. He says if you come by his place after five, he’ll give it to you. He said to bring the money.”
    Well, it was thin but at least it was something. “Please open Doolittle’s report and look for the estimated time of death.”
    The phone went silent. I tapped my fingers on the counter.
    “Between two and four a.m.,” Ascanio said.
    “And the cause of death?”
    “Death resulted from anaphylactic shock due to a snakebite. Symptoms included respiratory failure, multisystem organ failure, and acute renal failure…What does severe ecchymosis mean?”
    “It means subcutaneous accumulation of blood.