Fatal Allure Collection

by Woods, Martha

  “Everyone has rough patches,” she says, settling back into her chair as the phone rings. “I’m sure it will be just like riding a bicycle.”

  I wave as she answers the phone, still smiling at me. I’m a little leery of being greeted so warmly by someone I’ve never met before. Maybe she is just a nice person, but the investigator in me has her hackles raised. Of course, it could be that she is quite a bit younger than I am, I think. It is kind of messed up to get life advice from a kid barely out of college. She probably hasn’t seen half of what I have.

  Not that I would wish it on anyone.

  Chapter 3

  “So how ya feeling, kiddo?” Rick asks from the doorway as I make myself a cup of coffee. “Settling back in okay?”

  I smile warmly at the man I consider a father figure. “I’m good,” I answer. “I was really nervous when I got here, but everything feels the same. Other than the new girl at the front desk.”

  “She’s cheerful, isn’t she?” he says with a wink. “She’s been covering for Michelle all week. We haven’t worn down the optimism of youth yet. Give it time.”

  I laugh. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “So you’re really feeling okay?” he asks. “I need you at a hundred percent. If you’re not there, then take more time off.”

  “I mean, I tried running today and felt like a first-timer,” I say with a cringe, “but other than being out of shape, I think I’m doing pretty well.”

  “It’ll come back,” he says. “You’re tough. Just keep your head in the game, Amy. I need you here.”

  It feels like old Rick, part cheerleader, part father, part whip-cracker. I like it. It feels normal and I really need normal right now.

  Unfortunately, he hasn’t changed his mind about limiting my duties for a while. He says it’s about my health, but really, I think that there’s a part of him that still doesn’t believe that I know nothing about the disappearance of James Roberts. He simply does not trust me as implicitly as he once did. This is hard for me. I am an overachiever and my job has always been a top priority in my life. To have someone I respect lose respect or trust for me? Well, I die a little inside every time I think about it.

  I did not invite the supernatural into my life, but it has wreaked havoc on everything meaningful to me. Not only did I lose my beautiful dog Bella, see my home in shambles, and watch my best friend fall down a rabbit hole of vampire-thrall, I am now relegated to the position of “Assistant Forensics Investigator.” This means I assist other officers. I do not lead a team. I do not investigate on my own. Getting coffee for the “real” investigators had better not be on my list of revised duties. If it is, coffee might end up in someone’s lap. Oops.

  It isn’t an official suspension if I am looking at the bright side, but it’s definitely a demotion, however temporary. My ego hurts a little, but I guess that the best thing to do is to be the best assistant investigator possible. I need to kick ass and take names and earn my spot back at the top of his “favorites” list.

  When Rick says he needs me here, he means physically and mentally. As well, he needs to know he can trust my decision-making, my sanity, and me. I have not given him reason to believe that he can do any of those things lately, so I’ll have to work three times as hard as everyone else does in order to reclaim my spot at the top of the food chain here.

  I’m a hands-on investigator and I live for the process. I’m truly passionate about what I do. The idea of getting someone’s coffee or typing up their reports makes me die a little inside every time I think about it. Still, I know I haven’t been a hundred-percent lately. I believe in earning respect through hard work, so that is what I’ll do.

  The desk part of my reduced role does have a plus side, which is learning a new software and new scientific protocols, on which I will train others. I enjoy learning new things, so this should be a nice distraction.

  Most of the cases of late have been run-of-the-mill, I realize with some relief, as I review the case files. Some have been committed by monsters, sure, but not the supernatural kind. This is good news, as the further I can stay away from monsters that go bump in the night, the better right now. If I am ever to have a sense of normalcy back in my life, I need to go back to being ‘just Amy.” Even the witch in me needs to stay dormant, though that will certainly be tough.

  As I laboriously sit at my computer, going through the few requests sitting on my desk, the boredom is starting to kill me. Suddenly, a loud bang nearly makes me jump out of my seat. In my sudden jump, I hit my knee on the edge of the table and I start yelling a string of curse words, just as Rick walks by. Great.

  “Everything okay in here?” he asks.

  I’m surprised to see one of our DNA trays on the floor, glass vials of blood and other samples broken all over the place. I look around, confused.

  “Did you see anyone come out of here?” I ask.

  “Nooo,” he draws out, looking suspicious. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Spooked, I guess. I was reading some files and heard a noise. I thought maybe someone had been in here.”

  “How did these samples end up on the floor?” he asks.

  “No idea,” I say. “Must have bumped them when I jumped up from my desk, but I didn’t know they were there. I’m so sorry. That was not awesome and it won’t happen again.”

  I pull on rubber gloves and grab the clean-up kit, falling to my knees. Rick peers down at me, crouching and looking concerned.

  “Are you sure you are ready to be back?” he asks.

  “I’m totally fine,” I assure him. “I just need to get back into a routine. Maybe go get my butt kicked in a gym to toughen me back up.”

  I give him a wan smile, hoping to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t smile back.

  “This isn’t something to joke about, Amy,” he says. “If you’re not really better, I can’t have you here.”

  “I’m not joking. Just a little jittery. Heard something, and turned a little too fast. Bam. Everything hits the floor,” I say with a shrug.

  “Fine,” he says with a deep sigh. “Be more careful. And figure out what samples those were so we can put in a report and request new samples.”

  “I will,” I say with a nod. “I’m sorry. Seriously. Won’t happen again.”

  “Go ahead and do those notes and requests,” he says. “I’ll finish up the cleaning.”

  “Thanks, Rick. I owe you one.”

  “I think the count is a good bit higher than one,” he says.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll keep that in mind for Boss’s Day,” I say with a salute.

  He gives me a faint smile and then turns his attention to the glass.

  I return to my computer to file the reports on the contaminated DNA, then begin pulling more research on a case that looks pretty open-and-shut. I can feel Rick looking at me periodically as he cleans and sanitizes the floor. It makes me uneasy but those are the breaks when you screw up, I guess.

  The case that I’m looking at really does appear to be simple. Basically, this is a domestic violence case that ended with the woman dead. The male was drunk as the two argued, according to witnesses, and she fled on foot. He followed, stalked her, and stabbed her more than twenty times, leaving her bleeding out in the street not two blocks from the local police station.

  This is a common story, unfortunately, so it seems like it will be easy to prove that this dirt bag did it. We have a number of witnesses who say they saw him commit the crime.

  There are some weird inconsistencies though, that catch my attention. It seems odd that this happened so close to a police station, on a busy neighborhood street, with several witnesses around to view the whole, violent scene. I mean, I get that crimes of passion by nature, sometimes defy logic, but there is something about this that perks up my red flag.

  As I’m digging into the evidence from the scene, I hear a woman scream, followed by a man’s laughter. I stand quickly, looking around, but there is nothing. Sudde
nly I feel claustrophobic, like an animal in a trap. My heart beats a million miles a minute, and my body hurts. I look down and my abdomen is bleeding as if I’ve been stabbed. But when I reach down, confused, my hands come back clean. The wound is gone. The feeling of confinement is gone. There is only my heart beating and a rush in my ears.

  After a few moments, during which my heart beats itself nearly outside of my chest, I look up to see Rick peering over me quizzically.

  “Everything all right?” he asks, his eyebrows in a deep V on his forehead.

  “I…” I look around, confused. “You didn’t hear that? Or see…”

  “Hear what?” he asks. He looks around. “See what?”

  “I thought I heard a…” I look around the room, then back down to my abdomen. I see on his face that he thinks I’m having a breakdown or something. I sit back down and say, “Never mind. I just can’t get over being spooked this morning. And I think I left the stove on after breakfast.”

  One of his eyebrows goes up. “Just call Damon,” he says. “And maybe go take a walk or something. Clear your head.”

  “Okay, yeah,” I say. “I’ll take a little walk and get some fresh air while I have Damon check the stove.”

  I wander out of the room, pretending to text but actually looking in each room as I wander the halls, looking for the source of what I just heard.

  Of course, it’s totally possible that I didn’t hear a thing. Probable, actually, since the sane person in the room–Rick–was unfazed and looks at me like I have three heads. So much for being “in it to win it.” I should probably just go collect my pink slip now.

  Of course, just because he didn’t see or hear anything doesn’t mean that nothing was there. With ghosts galore knocking on my door lately, it occurs to me that I might be experiencing a vision of some sort, some kind of imprint from the crime scene. If I can see ghosts, why couldn’t the ghost of the victim be showing me something?

  I make a big show of going to the coffee shop a block from the office and getting a steaming cup of java. I should get tea because I drink too much damn coffee, but it would probably freak Rick out even more for me to do something so egregiously out of character. I’m not even kidding. Coffee is serious business for me. It was my only real request while being semi-held hostage by that raving vampire bitch, Olivia. Black coffee. Lots of it. From a gas station.

  When I return, I’ve convinced myself that my supernatural experiences of late are making me borderline crazy. I vow to just sit down and do my work, keeping my head down so that I can get back into the swing of things. Ghosts are gone. This girl’s got real work to do and needs to look awesome in her boss’s eyes today.

  Of course, this weird day just gets weirder when the sound of a huge crash fills the halls from one of the labs on our corridor. I jump up and pop my head out of the office, seeing Rick come down the hall, hands up in silent question.

  I shrug. “You heard that, too, right?”

  He nods. “Didn’t come from your office, did it?”

  “Nope,” I answer, following him into the lab.

  Sure enough, the stench of formaldehyde burns my nostrils and the remnants of two glass jars and whatever they contained are scattered all over the room.

  “What the hell happened in here?” Rick asks. He calls out, “Is anyone in here?”

  There is no one else in the room. This is odd because usually the forensics labs are staffed twenty-four-seven. There are all kinds of evidence and DNA in various states of testing, recording, and storage. No way would someone just disappear and leave the lab unattended. Not if they want to keep their jobs.

  “Did you see anything? Anyone?” he asks.

  “No, I was just working away over there and heard the crash,” I say. “Maybe someone dropped these and needed medical attention?”

  “These didn’t fall,” he says. “They were thrown. And I think you know it.”

  I am not sure how to take this. Is he saying that he thinks I threw them? Or is he saying that he knows I am a strong enough investigator to see that there is no way an accident would end up with formaldehyde all up one wall of the lab and glass everywhere?

  I decide not to push him on the question. “How can I help?” I ask instead.

  “Just head back to work,” he says tersely. “I’ll call a team down to sweep the room and clean up. And to figure out where the hell O’Brien is. He was on duty down here and I think Alberts was supposed to be working in here, as well. Those two better have a good reason to be away from their post.”

  I nod and wander off, puzzled, and return to my computer, where an image from the crime scene I’m reviewing is up on the screen, zoomed in to a grainy image of something flat and square on the ground near the victim’s head.

  This is not what I was looking at when I left the room.

  I enhance the image and it seems to be a business card, one for a local strip club. A quick search shows that the victim worked there as a cocktail waitress.

  This doesn’t necessarily mean anything to the case, of course, but I’m starting to think that someone–or something–is trying to get my attention on this case.

  My abilities as a witch allow me to see ghosts, and I’ve only just begun to learn what that means and what I can do with it. And while I’d rather not mix my supernatural abilities with my day job, I’m wondering if the two things can be intertwined to help me be a better investigator.

  I look around the room to see if there are any ghosts hanging around but so far, none. At least, none I can see.

  As I read through the files, there is a note about the business card but it is dismissed since it is for the victim’s place of employment. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that this image was enlarged for a reason. I think I might go talk to the suspect and maybe also go to the establishment, just to see if I can identify something that others have missed.

  I just have to sneak past Rick to get out of here.

  Chapter 4

  “Hey Rick,” I say as he wanders into the office a little later, still looking perplexed after the incident in the adjacent lab. “I’m seeing a few things I’d like to follow up on with this case with the guy and his girlfriend. And we lost the saliva samples when I knocked those vials over this afternoon. Do you mind if I run over to get new ones from the suspect?

  “That’s fine,” he says. “But go in, get the samples, and leave. Don’t question the suspect. This isn’t your case, remember; you’re just assisting.”

  I would give anything to roll my eyes at this comment, but I respect Rick too much to behave that childishly with him. I just nod and grab my purse, heading out and toward the local precinct where he’s being held until he can be transferred to another facility to await his charges.

  His name is Jimmy. He’s not a bad looking guy, with short, dark hair and a stocky build. He looks sick to his stomach as they bring him into the interrogation room for me.

  “Hi Jimmy,” I say. “I’m Amy. I’m a forensic specialist here to collect saliva samples for our investigation.”

  “They already took my saliva the other night,” he says, eyeing me warily.

  I give him a thin-lipped smile as I pull out my kit and wash my hands. “I know. I apologize, but there was an accident at the lab and the sample was contaminated.”

  He huffs and reluctantly opens his mouth. “I didn’t do this,” he protests.

  “That’s what they all say,” I answer. Looking at his face, though, I don’t detect that he is lying. I have seen so many criminals during my career and I have a sixth sense about people. Jimmy, to me, does not seem like the kind of man who would kill his girlfriend in a fit of rage. I add, “That’s why we collect evidence. If you’re innocent, the truth will come out.”

  As I finish putting the saliva sample back into test kit, he is quiet. I say causally, “Jimmy, tell me what you remember about that night, the night Erin died.”

  He winces at her name, tears springing to his brown eyes. “She works nights
at the club,” he said. “Her shifts end at midnight. Usually, I stay up waiting for her, to make sure she gets home okay. Her car’s kind of a piece of shit so I don’t want her getting stranded.”

  I’m listening as I go through the process of packing up noting that he is talking about his girlfriend in the present tense as if she’s still alive.

  “She came home the other night,” he continues, “and she was all agitated about two of her friends dying. She was in tears, said she’d seen some guy roughing up one of her coworkers that night.”

  “That’s strange,” I comment.

  “I remember we had this whole conversation about how lucky she was to have me. We talked about wedding plans,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’d saved up for months to get her the engagement ring she wanted. I was supposed to pick it up next week.”

  “Neighbors said they heard you arguing,” I say. “How did you go from having a wedding conversation to arguing?”

  Jimmy shakes his head furiously. “That’s the thing. We didn’t argue. We had a couple of beers and sat on the couch watching late-night television. I kept dozing off, but then I came to and I was in this joint. I have literally no memory of this whole thing.”

  “You were drinking?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but only like two beers,” he says. “Nothing crazy.”

  I start packing up my kit. “Well, there are witnesses saying they saw you chasing her with a knife.”

  He shakes his head again, openly crying now. “I would not hurt her. I couldn’t have. I love her. She’s my world. I would never, ever lay a hand on her. Or any woman for that matter. Look, I watched my mom be knocked around by my stepdad when I was a kid. It made me sick. No argument, big or small would ever drive me to do that.”

  “Did Erin have any enemies?” I ask, heading for the door.

  “No,” he says, sniffling. “No. She was an angel.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy,” I say. “Good luck.”

  I leave, feeling a heaviness in my chest as I walk. As I round the corner, I run right into Taquan Silver, the lead forensic investigator on the case. He is about ten years older than I am, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered. We’ve worked quite a few cases together and he has always been professional.