Wanted (In More Ways Than One)

Patchwork Pony

“I’ve cracked it!”

Michael flicked his gaze to Ishani as she made a beeline for his desk. He c****d an eyebrow at her in query and she beamed at him excitedly, waving a familiar file around for emphasis.

“I’ve figured it out,” she said again as she slapped Ms. Hinderton’s file on Michael’s desk. He glanced at it briefly before returning his gaze to Ishani, and she rounded his desk to plop into the seat beside him. “I knew there was something shady about that woman. Here, look.” She flipped open the file for Michael to read a set of recently added notes.

Michael scanned through them quickly. “This doesn’t really prove that she’s done anything wrong.”

“But it does,” Ishani protested quickly as she leaned forward and pointed at a particular line. “Asif Baqri’s will altered two days before he passed away and his son read both wills. He told me that it was changed to include Ms. Hinderton as a major beneficiary.” Ishani shook her head. “She’s forcing them to change their wills before they die.”

“Or maybe she takes care of them and they want her to have some sort of reward?” Michael sighed. “It doesn’t exactly hold up in court.”

Ishani crossed her arms petulantly and glared at Michael. “Why are you so determined to defend her? Can we at least check it out?”

Shrugging, Michael stood and made to grab his coat when suddenly, Superintendent Cunliffe appeared in front of his desk with a piece of paper trapped between two fingers. Michael raised a querying eyebrow.

“Remember Old Spice?” he asked and it took a moment for Michael to realise that he was talking about the famous racehorse that had been stolen earlier that week and not an unflattering stage name for a new member of a certain pop group.

“We’ve just had a tip-off about where she could be. Our anonymous caller seems to think there’s an auction going on at a rundown dairy farm in Croxteth and that Old Spice will be there. I need someone to take a look. Either of you up for the job?”

Beside him, Ishani deflated and Michael c****d his head to one side thoughtfully. He turned to her. “You take over the Hinderton case. I’ll take the horse.”

Ishani perked up. “You want me to take a case by myself?”

“You’re more than capable,” Michael replied and his boss smiled fondly at them both as Ishani gazed at him with barely concealed excitement. 

She saluted him playfully before gathering up her notes and shuffling away, thoughts already cast to the care home.

Cunliffe chuckled softly at her enthusiasm and turned his crinkled gaze to Michael again. “That woman hangs onto your every word. Hard worker and clever to boot. Don’t find someone like her every day. If you want my advice; don’t let her slip away, Michael.”

Michael’s brows pinched together in confusion as Cunliffe stared at him pointedly.

“What do you mean, sir?”

Cunliffe rolled his eyes and straightened. “Nothing. Here are the details for the auction.” He thrust the paper at Michael and Michael squinted at the hastily-scribbled notes. 

“Any idea who called?”

“Didn’t leave a name.”

“This could be a prank.”

Cunliffe pursed his lips unhappily. “I’m aware.” They’d had a few incidences where teenagers had pranked the station with an anonymous call and officers had arrived at the discussed locations to find nothing wrong. Unfortunately, it was difficult to catch all the teens to reprimand them and so, the station still suffered from the occasional prank. 

“Check it out though, just in case,” Cunliffe said and Michael nodded obediently.

“Come to my office,” Cunliffe continued as he pushed away from Michael’s desk. “We can discuss what you need there.”

* * *

There was indeed an auction being held at the abandoned dairy farm – in one of the dilapidated barns to be precise. Gathered inside were around thirty people of varying nationalities, some wearing suits and dresses, whilst others donned jeans and T-shirts. 

Michael fastened his jacket; there was a slight chill to the air, exacerbated by the open walls of the barn and he shuffled towards the centre, hoping to shield himself from the breeze. He nodded politely to the other guests but made no attempts to interact further with them as he continued to observe the organisers. He wasn’t exactly certain why Old Spice would be auctioned off here, but the organisers seemed almost nervous as they whispered between themselves and ordered people around.

“You should wear a suit more often,” purred a familiar voice beside him.

Michael whirled around with a thick scowl and Romero smirked back, winking cheekily. He wore a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie that was two sizes too large and his hands were buried deep into his pockets as he sidled a little closer to Michael.

“I should arrest you,” Michael said lowly and Romero chuckled, flicking his caramel-coloured locks out of his face.

“You won’t though. Because that would blow your cover.”

Michael’s lips drew into a thin line and Romero sidled closer, voice hushed as he said, “All these people? They’re bidding for decadence. A chance to indulge on a famous athlete.”

Michael’s brows drew together as he flicked his gaze to the vampire. “Indulge? As in... eat?”

“I’ve heard horse meat is a delicacy in some parts of the world,” Romero muttered. “I wonder if being a celebrity affects the taste?”

Michael’s eyes widened as he glanced around the barn. “They’re auctioning Old Spice off as meat?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Romero snorted quietly. “Considering your usual prey, I don’t think you have the right to get offended.”

Barely suppressing a growl, Michael eyed the vampire angrily. “I’ve never touched a live animal, let alone a person. Unlike vampires, we can buy our meals from the meat aisle of the local supermarket. Out of the two of us, I’m not the sadistic monster.”

Romero’s smirk wavered and he eyed the werewolf sharply. “My blood comes from the abattoir.” He looked away grimly. “And when that’s not enough, I drink from a cow or a deer. They don’t miss what I take.” He narrowed his eyes at Michael. “I’ve never fed on a human either.”

Michael had no reason to believe him, but the vampire looked indignant enough that he felt he ought to. He folded his arms as he returned his gaze to the organisers.

“I suppose I should say thank you for leading us to those children,” Michael huffed quietly after a few moments and Romero’s familiar smirk crawled across his face once more.

“You’re very welcome. Do I get a thank you for the other cases as well? The cows, the art gallery, and Ms. Hinderton?”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who shaved those cows?”

“Obviously,” Ezra replied with a wide grin. “I’m rather artistic, y’know.”

Michael shook his head, mouth drawing into a thin, disapproving line as he kept his gaze trained on the staff at the front of the barn. “And the art gallery,” he muttered. “You broke in to warn us about Hodgins and his... obsession?”

Ezra nodded. “Being small and able to fly has its perks.

“And Ms. Hinderton?” Michael continued quietly. “What exactly were your motives there?”

“You haven’t worked it out yet?” Ezra asked, delighted. “Come on, detective. I thought you and that quirky sidekick of yours were supposed to be smart? I gave you enough hints.”

Grinding his teeth together, Michael shot Ezra a withering glare through the corner of his eye. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a cocky thief who likes to damage property. If I wasn’t undercover, I’d have you in cuffs at the station by now.”

“Promises, promises,” purred Ezra. He flicked his gaze to the front of the barn, watching the organisers flit backwards and forwards as they checked documents in a fluster.

“I wonder why they’re taking so long?” Ezra asked with the sort of smirk that said he knew exactly why the people at the front were looking so worried.

Michael glanced at Ezra warily and startled when there was a bit of a commotion between two organisers as they got into a heated argument. One stormed out of the barn. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Ezra struggled to hide his growing grin and he winked at Michael when the werewolf shot him a puzzled frown. 

Suddenly, the horse was led into the barn and the audience fell silent in horror.

Michael’s eyes blew wide and he struggled to bite back a laugh.

It was difficult to tell whether they were looking at Old Spice or another racehorse since her whole body was dyed in a rainbow pattern. Her mane had been styled into a neon green Mohawk and her tail had been cut short. Across her left side, the words ‘Stolen Horse’ were displayed crudely in black paint.

The audience erupted into angry mutters and two official-looking people at the front began to argue.

“Did you happen to have anything to do with this?” Michael whispered drily and Ezra chuckled and shuffled closer, ensuring that no one could eavesdrop.

“I might have. See the woman in the suit at the front? The one arguing? She’s an ex-veterinarian. She’s got Old Spice’s passport in her hands and because she can’t see the horse’s colours, she can’t confirm that it’s actually Old Spice.”

“Can’t they just wash the paint off?”

Ezra beamed. “Sure, they can. In two to three weeks. Long-lasting dye.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Michael watched the ex-vet bicker with the irate organiser. “...You saved the horse.”

Ezra winked again before the lead organiser cleared his throat.

“A harmless prank,” he smiled through gritted teeth. “But we can assure you this really is Old Spice.” The vet shook her head silently and the organiser ignored her. “Who wants to place the first bid?”

A few people laughed and left the barn, whilst others muttered between themselves angrily.

Ezra’s hand shot into the air. “Five quid,” he called and there were a few snorts as more people left the barn. The organisers looked to one another in alarm as the auctioneer glared at Ezra. Still, with more people leaving by the second, he cleared his throat.

“Five thousand? Do I hear ten?”

“No, five pounds. A fiver. Five one-pound coins,” Ezra corrected, clearly enjoying himself.

The leader shot Ezra a filthy glare and Michael tried not to laugh.

“Do I hear ten thousand?”

Eyes twinkling, Ezra waited in silence as the remaining audience filtered out. With no bidders left, the auctioneer’s shoulders sagged and he exchanged a few harsh words with the ex-vet, who shook her head in disgust. Finally, he raised his gaze to Ezra, who smiled back innocently.

“Five pounds is an insult,” the auctioneer growled.

“I don’t see anyone else willing to pay for the patchwork pony,” Ezra hummed.  “Take it or leave it.”

The leader hesitated for a moment before snorting and throwing his hands up. “Fine. Take the damn thing. I can’t even tell if it’s the real horse.” He marched out of the barn and one of his underlings shuffled over with the horse and held his hand out for payment.

Ezra suddenly wrapped an arm around Michael’s waist, making him jump.

“Pay the man, darling,” Ezra purred. “I’ve left my wallet at home.”

Narrowing his eyes at Ezra’s fluttering lashes but not wanting to make a scene, Michael slipped five pounds from his wallet and passed it to the sheepish-looking handler. He pocketed it and handed Michael the lead rope before shuffling away again.

Michael waited for him to be out of hearing range before turning to Ezra, only to find an empty space beside him. He looked around frantically and scowled when he realised that Ezra had vanished without him noticing. However, a glance at the floor showed a sticky note with a roughly-drawn smiley face bearing two fangs; similar to the one in the boutique, but this one was winking.

Michael pocketed the note and stared at his newly-purchased pet, wondering how he would transport it back to its rightful owner.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight,” Robert Cunliffe began to a grinning audience of officers and detectives as Michael glared at him. “You had a whole conversation with Romero and didn’t arrest him because it would blow your cover, and then Romero confessed to four separate crimes, ruined the auction, bid a fiver for Old Spice, made you pay for her, and then when you turned around... he was gone, leaving you with a rainbow pony. Have I got that right, Michael?”

“It wasn’t a pony. It was a horse,” muttered Michael as the rest of the station began to snicker. Even Ishani looked to be holding back laughter.

“Well, you got her back to her owner so I’d say you did your job,” Cunliffe said after a few moments. “Good work, Wyles.” His gaze sparkled. “Maybe we should buy Romero a cake for helping us with all these cases.”

Michael bristled. “He’s a criminal.”

“A helpful one,” hummed Cunliffe. “He was right about Ms. Hinderton too. Tell him what you found, Ishani.”

Ishani scrambled for her notes as Michael quirked an eyebrow. She handed him a single sheet of paper and pointed out a paragraph that had been aggressively circled.

“She was forging wills. The care home had a ‘trusted’ solicitor that they always used and she was in on it too. The pair of them were changing the wills to include Ms. Hinderton as a major beneficiary and they were splitting the profits fifty-fifty,” Ishani explained.

“How did you work it out so quickly?” Michael asked, admittedly impressed. He had always known that Ishani was bright, but this was outstanding work.

Ishani beamed proudly. “Overheard her in a heated discussion with the solicitor in an empty patient room. They were arguing about who got Mrs. Carson’s diamond-studded dress when she died. I asked to see the will on official police business and, well... it all just fell into place.”

A smile tugged at Michael’s lips. “Well done on your first solo case,” he said softly and her eyes seemed to grow bigger and rounder as she puffed her chest out with pride.

“Do you want to go for a drink later?” she blurted. “To celebrate two wins in one day?”

“I was actually going to take my car to the garage to get my tail light fixed after work,” Michael said, oblivious to how Ishani’s face fell with disappointment. “Maybe another day?”

Behind him, Cunliffe rolled his eyes.

“Sure, Michael,” Ishani replied sweetly, putting on a weak smile. “Whenever you’re free.”

Michael nodded as he returned her notes. “Good work,” he said before making his way over to his desk, leaving Ishani to sigh and Cunliffe to pat her shoulder sympathetically.

He busied himself with his case report.

* * *

Later that night, Michael arrived home to a quiet house. He turned the lights on and shucked off his jacket and went about putting his belongings in their correct places. Then, he wandered into the kitchen and prepared dinner.

Beside the sink, he placed a small tub and he filled it with scraps of vegetables from his dinner. Whilst his dinner cooked, he popped into his garden and a pretty white and black spotted rabbit hopped over to him and pressed its face against the wire mesh containing it.

Michael smiled and lifted the rabbit from its oversized run, glancing to the three-story hutch once to ensure that nothing was amiss. 

“Good evening, Kali,” he greeted softly and the rabbit glanced up at him before nestling into the crook of his arm. He stroked between her ears and she closed her eyes contentedly as he brought her inside. When he put her on the floor, she hopped over to the sink and waited patiently, so he set down her water bowl and her tub of vegetables and smiled when she immediately shoved her head into her broccoli.

He dished out his own dinner and meandered into the dining room to eat his meal. It was quiet but he didn’t have a TV in the dining room and he refused to have his phone at the table. He could get his tablet to stream something, but by the time he had set a programme up, his dinner would be cold. So, he sat in silence and was grateful when Kali sought him out a few minutes later and lay on his feet. She was a good companion.

His house was rather impersonal since he preferred to spend as little time there as possible. He wasn’t all that interested in decor and since he never brought anyone home, it wasn’t as though he had to impress anyone, so he stuck with the basics. He didn’t bother with artwork or pictures and he had no use for ornaments and other unneeded clutter. He had simple furniture and a few DVDs, but he was more interested in books, so he kept a rather impressive collection in his room. 

If anyone were to walk into his house accidentally, they would probably say that it was sparse and unlived-in and rather... monochrome. They would be quite correct; Michael wasn’t all that great with colour-matching, so he stuck to black and white and various shades of grey.

The silence drew on and he washed his dishes once he was finished with them. He played with Kali for an hour or so until her eyes began to droop and her ears flattened and he cradled her gently as he deposited her back in her warm hutch. He locked her up securely to make sure the foxes didn’t try their luck and he retired to his bedroom with a sigh.

He often read in bed when he wasn’t feeling too tired and tonight would follow that pattern. However, when he began to undress, he remembered Ezra’s note in his pocket and he fished it out to scowl at it. The doodle was inexplicably irritating and he added it to the drawer that contained the first note Ezra had left for him at the boutique.

Seeing two notes with vampire doodles made his scowl deepen.

He would catch Ezra. Vampires shouldn’t be allowed to live in his opinion and criminal vampires definitely shouldn’t be wandering the streets, looking for the next place to rob or the next human to drink. No, if Michael couldn’t kill Ezra, he at least needed to be locked up.

And Michael would stop at nothing to make sure that the vampire was behind bars.