‘The blood?’ Winter asked the woman briskly. ‘Do we have a match yet for Diall?’
She shook her head. ‘Preliminary testing tells us it’s definitely not Marsh’s own blood and it’s the same type as Diall’s, but we can’t say anything for sure yet.’ She looked troubled. ‘We’ve turned over his house and there’s no sign of the missing Cypher Manuscript. People are starting to panic.’
The cat was well and truly out of the bag. ‘So it’s common knowledge what we’re looking for?’
She nodded uneasily. Winter hissed in irritation. ‘In that case,’ he muttered, ‘we’d better find it quickly before all hell breaks loose and there are pointed fingers and harsh whispers in every corner.’
The witch’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll do what I can to keep people calm. We’ll send out a statement as soon as possible.’ She turned and sprinted away. People around here certainly liked conducting everything at breakneck speed.
‘You’re expecting a large number of honourable Order witches to take advantage of this situation and start blaming their colleagues,’ I said to Winter.
He was silent for a long moment. ‘As you have stated on many occasions, Ivy, the Order is filled with ambition. Regardless of your opinion, ambition is a good thing. Everyone should want to better themselves and, yes, I do believe that the majority of the witches here are honourable in their ambitions. But they are also under great pressure to succeed. If a few can cast suspicion on others, they may have the opportunity to advance themselves.’
‘That’s why you need more people like me around.’ I wasn’t joking. ‘People who are content with their lot in life.’
He regarded me thoughtfully. ‘So you’re admitting that you’re glad to be here?’
I held up my palms. ‘Whoa! I didn’t say that. Besides, it’s clear you don’t really need me. What ever happened to good cop, bad cop? You’re the one asking all the questions in there. I wanted to be the tough guy while you played all sweet and nice.’
‘I’ve been trained,’ he pointed out gently. ‘It is probably better if I take the lead. Although it was a good idea of yours to probe Marsh about his other indiscretions.’
I wasn’t sure that describing murder as an indiscretion was appropriate but I wisely kept my mouth shut.
‘We’ll have to check out Marsh’s desk,’ Winter mused. ‘And it would be helpful to find his personnel file.’ He glanced at me sideways. ‘Perhaps you could put some pressure on that old boyfriend of yours.’
‘Tarquin?’ My lip curled. ‘He’s more likely to jump to your bidding than mine.’
The corner of Winter’s mouth lifted. ‘Just use some of that bubbly charm, Ivy. He’ll be eating out of your hand like everyone else in no time.’ Winter turned on his heel and went back into the interrogation room, leaving me with my jaw hanging open. Was Winter eating of my hand, then? I smoothed back my curls and blinked. Well, well, well.
***
I ambled over to Human Resources, taking advantage of the time on my own to shuffle instead of march like a soldier. There was no need to rush; Tarquin wasn’t going anywhere. When I arrived, the frowny receptionist seemed keen to put me off now that I wasn’t with Winter until I brandished his name around, together with insubstantial but dire threats about the might of Arcane Branch, and she let me pass.
Adeptus Price’s door was open. I peered inside but he didn’t seem to be there. I made a beeline for Tarquin’s desk. His floppy hair was bobbing around as he tapped furiously at his keyboard. He was probably playing Candy Crush – that’s what I would have been doing.
He didn’t notice I was there until I was standing right over him. It wasn’t Candy Crush; he was filling an application for Arcane Branch. I smirked. Too late.
‘Hey, traitor,’ I said chattily.
Tarquin grimaced, the expression giving his normally handsome face an ugly slant. ‘What do you want?’
I perched on the edge of his desk, making myself at home. There was a bag of mint humbugs next to the computer screen so I helped myself to one. It was a mistake because the sweet immediately attached itself to the underside of several of my teeth, making it difficult to talk. ‘I want Oscar Marsh’s file,’ I said. My words were indistinct but I thought he got the gist.
A sneer crossed Tarquin’s face. ‘Ah, yes. It’s all over the campus, you know. Why on earth would Marsh, of all people, want the Cypher Manuscripts? He couldn’t read even the simplest volumes.’
‘Just hand over the damn file,’ I said, unwilling to gossip with Tarquin.
‘We’ve been through this. His file was checked out. Your partner didn’t want to say who took it. It’s your problem, not ours.’
‘Let me see the logbook again,’ I demanded.
Tarquin grinned. ‘Make me.’
I shrugged. ‘Okay.’ I pulled back my shoulders and raised my voice, ensuring that everyone in the HR office could hear me. ‘I am here from Arcane Branch, investigating the most serious matter that the Order has experienced for decades.’ That was probably true; I couldn’t say for sure. Whatever: it sounded impressive. ‘If you continue to obstruct this grave investigation, I shall have no option but to arrest you and assume that you…’
‘Fine!’ Tarquin snapped.
I smiled. Winter might think I could charm the pants off Tarquin but all that was actually needed was the threat of public humiliation.
He pushed back his chair, sending it flying into the poor woman sitting behind him, and stomped over to the Records section. I tailed behind him so closely that I stepped on his heels. He glowered but didn’t say anything. Ha! He was learning.
Tarquin grabbed the logbook and thrust it at me. ‘Here.’
I took it and found the page that Price had shown us earlier. I tracked my finger along the line: it was definitely Oscar Marsh’s file that was noted and the signature, which was almost illegible, could belong to Tobias Worth-Jones. It would be possible to alter the logbook using magic but I had the feeling that such a spell would be more trouble than it was worth. The logbook was probably warded against such magic. Worth-Jones’s signature didn’t look as if it would be easy to replicate free hand and Winter didn’t seem to think there was anything untoward about his casual denial of involvement.
I adjusted my grip on the book while Tarquin looked on, amused. The darn thing was bloody heavy. As I moved my thumb, I realised that the page opposite was indented from the writing on the other side. I flipped back, then forward, then back again. No magic at all: Worth-Jones had been implicated through an action that even a child could manage.
‘What is it?’ Tarquin asked.
‘You lot are incompetent,’ I said. ‘Don’t you pay any attention to who wanders in and takes files out?’
‘That’s Rebecca’s job,’ he answered, gesturing irritably at the receptionist.