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bodies, ones that have not yet decomposed. My guess is that we are dealing with a philosopher of some kind, someone who is using the bodies for research purposes. He looks for a dead child, and then he digs it up. Two children aged nine died recently, so he dug up two children aged nine. It is not significant.”
    As a rule, Kody didn’t see much point in arguing with people who’d already made up their minds—and that went double for Lenoir. But he wasn’t willing to let this one pass, not without a fight. “With all due respect, Inspector, wasn’t it you who taught me that every detail is significant?”
    “I also taught you not to allow yourself to be distracted by them. You must consider the motive, Sergeant. If you cannot explain
why
the crime has been committed, you will never solve it. You must focus on the whole of the thing, find the story behind it.”
    “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Maybe there is no pattern here, but maybe there is, and we have to
want
to see it. Whether it’s a constellation or just stars depends on who’s looking.”
    Lenoir sneered. “Such affection you have for that hackneyed saying of yours. You do realize it makes you sound like a romantic fool?”
    They fell into a cold silence.
If I’m a romantic fool,
Kody thought bitterly,
you’re a lazy bastard
. Lenoir didn’t want to acknowledge a pattern because that would mean they had a lead, and they would be obliged to follow it. If Kody was right, they could bide their time until another nine-year-old boy died, and then watch the grave until the thief appeared. But as usual, Lenoir seemed perfectly uninterested in solving this case.
    Kody didn’t know how much longer he could cope without his frustration boiling over. He’d specifically requested to serve under Nicolas Lenoir, since the man was something of a legend. Lenoir had done a lot to professionalize the city’s police force—in fact, he’d practically founded the Metropolitan Police ten years before, remodeling it after the renowned Prefecture of Police in his native city of Serles. That done, he’d gone on a brief but spectacularly successful rampage against Kennian’s complex criminal networks. He and Sergeant Crears (now
Constable
Crears) had broken up the largest thieving ring in Kennian’s history, recovering almost a million crowns’ worth of goods and arresting the city’s most notorious crime lord. Crears was promoted, and Lenoir received a commendation from the lord mayor.
    But those days were long gone. Having secured his place as the top inspector on the force, Lenoir no longer felt the need to exert himself. He still hauled in the occasional big fish, but mostly he just went through the motions. He was a brilliant detective; Kody had seen flashes of his genius on plenty of occasions. But mostly he was cynical and indifferent, and Kody had a hunch that wasn’t the worst of it. Instead of propelling his career forward, working as Lenoir’s deputy had frozen his progress, ensuring that he never had the chance to break a major case. Quite simply, Lenoir was holding him back.
    No more.
    He broke the silence. “I understand this case probably isn’t worth your attention,” he said coolly, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to look into it a little further.”
    Lenoir glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “As you like, Sergeant, but it is a waste of your time. You will not find anything.”
    Maybe not,
Kody conceded inwardly,
but at least I’m willing to look.

CHAPTER 5
    D arkness already held sway over Kennian by the time Lenoir quit the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police. A cold, damp fog was seeping into the streets like a slow poison through the veins of the city; Lenoir had to turn the collar of his coat up to shield his neck from the chill. He was in an ill temper as usual, rankled by Kody’s thinly veiled contempt. How sick he was of the sergeant’s judgment! As though a whelp