It was almost four in the morning when my phone rang. Living downtown, I’d grown accustomed to tuning out a lot of noise, including the sirens.

But the phone woke me.

I reached for the nightstand across the warm, furry mass of cat pressed against me, grabbing my cell phone. “’Lo?”

“Daisy.” It was the chief’s voice, low and gravelly. “We have a situation. I need you here.”

I sat bolt upright. “Where?”

“Downtown. By the gazebo.” With that, he disconnected.

Displacing a disgruntled Mogwai, I turned on a light and scrambled into street clothes: jeans and a black T-shirt, plain and unobtrusive. Skirts were more comfortable for me, but I’d long since learned I was taken more seriously in pants, and the chief sounded deadly serious. Whipping my hair into a ponytail, I headed out the door and clattered down the stairs.

Below my apartment, the ovens were cranking in the bakery’s kitchen, and Mrs. Browne was working her magic, tantalizing aromas of yeasty bread and sweet confections spilling out into the night. Hearing the side door bang, she came over to tap on the window, an inquiring look on her wizened face. I gave her a quick shake of my head, setting out through the darkened park at a fast jog.

There were two squad cars parked on the street alongside the gazebo, lights flashing, and an EMS vehicle sitting motionless. Not a good sign. On the river beyond, I could see the outline of the fire department’s rescue boat. The searchlight wasn’t sweeping the water, so whatever they were looking for, they’d already found it.

There weren’t any onlookers at this late hour, but Bart Mallick, one of the older officers, was posted on the perimeter.

“Daisy.” He tagged me with the beam of his flashlight, his shadowed face impassive. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My well-tucked tail twitched. “Chief says otherwise,” I said in an even tone. “He called for me.”

With a heavy shrug, he let me pass.

On some level, everyone in the department knew I had an arrangement with the chief. But the kinds of cases I helped out on were usually small: pickpocketing bogles, will-o’-the-wisps leading tourists astray, that sort of thing. This was bigger, and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly.

Over by the EMS vehicle, a couple of first responders were tending to a pair of soaking-wet figures, wrapping them in blankets and speaking in hushed, soothing tones. Behind the gazebo, there was a body on the ground, and Chief Bryant and Cody Fairfax were standing beside it. Cody was drenched, too, his dark blue officer’s uniform plastered to his body and his hair slicked back. His boots and his utility belt lay on the grass at his feet.