“Was she seeing anyone? Did she have a significant other or others?”
“No. Her last relationship ended about a year ago and it was amicable. She wasn’t seeing anyone, because when we talked last week, she mentioned Halle pushing her to join a dating network on Herald. She said she wasn’t interested in another relationship. Men were a sore point with Mom. I don’t think she ever really trusted anyone after Dad.”
“What about Halle? Any recent problems, drugs, obsessive boyfriend or girlfriend, hanging out with the wrong crowd?”
Runa sighed. “Catalina, she was seventeen. Her life was school, volleyball, and college prep. No drugs, no weird boyfriends. She tried shrooms one time and hid in my room because she was scared the couch would eat her. She was a sheltered kid.”
“Are you now the Head of the House?” I asked.
Runa nodded. Her voice was bitter. “Yes, I’m the Head of all of me and Ragnar.” She held her arms out to her side. “The House of two.”
“Have members of any of the other Houses contacted you to make any claims or to ask you to make any financial decisions?”
“No.”
“Did your mother owe anybody money? Was the House having financial problems?”
Runa tapped her phone and showed it to me. A bank interface listing four accounts totaling $3.6 million.
I met her gaze. “This is the part where I’m ethically bound to inform you that you have other options. We’re a small firm. We don’t usually do murder investigations. The police and the Texas DPS both have more experience and greater resources. If you want a private option, there is MII. Do you understand that you have other choices available to you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you entering the contract with Baylor Investigative Agency of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
“To find your mother’s and sister’s killers, I’ll have to tear your life apart. You may learn things about your family that you won’t like. If you are hiding secrets and they have bearing on this case, they will come to light. If at any point during the investigation, I find out that you have deceived or misled me, I’ll immediately terminate our contract. You have my promise that when I deliver results to you, I’ll have proof. However, I don’t guarantee results. I swear that I’ll do everything in my power and within the law to solve this case, but not all murders are solved. Do you understand?”
Runa didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I shut off the recording. “I have a small pile of paperwork for you. Once you’re done with it, we’ll start.”
“Where do we start?”
“At the medical examiner’s office. You said that the ME used dental records to identify your mother and sister.”
“Yes?”
“You are a House, which means your DNA profile is in some genetic database somewhere. Which genetic firm are you using?”
Runa frowned. “I don’t know. Mom handled all of that.”
I pulled up the Scroll website. Scroll was the largest DNA database in the US and the one we also used. I logged into our account, typed “House Etterson” into the search window, and the website spat the result at me.
“You are registered with Scroll. They will have all four of you in their database. We’re going to give them a call and have a representative meet us at the morgue. They should be able to confirm the identity of the bodies within twenty-four hours.”
Runa stared at me. “Why?”
I had to be really careful not to get her hopes up. “Because DNA identification is foolproof and dental records are not. Genetic testing is the established way to identify dead Primes. If it wasn’t done, I want to know why, and I want it done properly. That’s where we’re going to start.”
Chapter 3
The Harris County Institute of Forensic Sciences occupied a nine-story building on Old Spanish Trail. Its blocky lines, rectangular windows, and orange brick practically screamed government agency.
I maneuvered our Honda Element into the parking lot. It used to be our surveillance vehicle, because it blended with traffic, but last year Grandma Frida decided to rebuild it from wheels up. Now the Element sported a new engine, bulletproof windows, B5 armor, and run-flat tires among other fun modifications, which struck a perfect balance between protecting us and letting us get away fast. Unfortunately, even Grandma Frida had her limits, and steering was a bit sluggish. I aimed for a parking spot in the middle row.
“So, what’s with you and Alessandro Sagredo?” Runa asked.
The steering was sluggish, but the brakes worked perfectly. I jerked forward, and my seat belt slammed me back.
“Nothing.”
“Aha.” Runa pulled on her own seat belt. “That’s why we screeched to a stop halfway into the parking space?”
“My foot slipped.” I gently eased forward and brought the Element to a smooth stop.
“So you’re just going to go with ‘nothing’?” Runa asked.
“That’s right.”
“Your sister said you met during your trials.”
Sistercide was not a word, but it would be after today. Well, technically, sororicide was a word, but most people wouldn’t recognize it. When did Runa even have a chance to talk to Arabella?
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes what? Is there a story behind that?”
No. He didn’t follow me on Instagram, and he didn’t take my breath away during the trials. And he definitely didn’t show up under my window trying to convince me to go for a drive.
“We met during the trials, and my sisters haven’t stopped teasing me about it for the last three years. There is absolutely nothing between me and Alessandro Sagredo.”
Strictly speaking, there were 5,561 miles between our warehouse and the Sagredo estate near Venice, Italy. A commercial flight with one connection could get me to Venice in thirteen hours. I could be under Alessandro’s window tomorrow, asking him if he would like to go for a drive.
“You zoned out there for a second,” Runa observed. “Are you imagining there being nothing between you and Alessandro?”
She was trying to distract herself from the horror of never seeing her mother and sister again, but I had to put a stop to it, or I would never get out of the car.
I used my logical, reasonable voice. “Runa, do you see Alessandro in this car? No. He isn’t in this parking lot or in that building either, so he’s a non-issue. Let’s go.”
We started across the parking lot. Cold wind buffeted us.
Runa hugged her arms to herself. She wore a light windbreaker over a green sweater dress. “I should get a coat like yours. Is that Burberry?”
“Yes. I got it on sale last year at half off.”
“Lucky.”
I was wearing a beige mid-length trench coat over a grey sweater and blue jeans tucked into soft boots. The coat had a double-breasted front closure with a row of black buttons on each side. I had left it open. It flattered my figure and looked stylish and expensive enough to belong to a Prime, but most importantly, it hid my knife resting in a special sheath sewn into the lining on the left side.
There were only a handful of ways to conceal a blade long enough to be effective in a fight. You could wear it on your thigh under a loose skirt, which would have you pawing at your skirt to draw it and was impractical in cold weather. You could wear it in a shoulder sheath, but if you took the outer garment off, it was no longer concealed. Hiding it in the coat lining was the best option. Even if I took the coat off out of politeness or necessity, I could carry it so I could draw in an instant. It was highly unlikely that the Forensic Institute would require me to check my coat.
We entered the lobby. The designers of the institute must have been great fans of modern industry, and monochromatic colors. The floor gleamed with white tile, the walls highlighted with pale grey; the ceiling featured stainless-steel beams with long fluorescent lights, and the counters practically glowed with pristine white. Even the visitor furniture, upholstered soft chair
s, were a greyish off-white. The place begged for a plant or a Gustav Klimt print.
I walked up to the receptionist behind the counter. I had checked the case status on the institute’s website. The case was listed as pending, so I called ahead and warned them that the two of us would be coming.
“Catalina Baylor and Runa Etterson,” I told the woman behind the counter. “We’re here about the Etterson case.”
The receptionist, an older Latina woman, gave me an apologetic smile. “I’ve spoken to AME Conway and he says that you can’t view the bodies.”
“Can’t?” Runa asked. “What do you mean by can’t?”
“They’re not available.”
The air around Runa shimmered with a faint trace of green. Her voice went cold. “Make them available.”
The lobby went completely silent, as the three admins behind the counter held very still.
I had to defuse this standoff before someone panicked and escalated it. Luckily, bureaucracy was made of rules, and rules and I were friends.
I smiled at the receptionist. “As the next of kin and Head of her House, Prime Etterson has a right to view the remains of her family members at will. If you deny her access, I’ll be forced to notify her House counsel and you will have to show cause for failing to comply with your own regulations, in court, before a judge. I’ll wait while you check the validity of our claim with your in-house attorney.”
The receptionist reached for the phone. “One moment please.” She turned away from me and spoke into the phone in an urgent whisper.
I stepped away and steered Runa toward the window.
Minutes ticked by.
“What is taking so long?” Runa ground out.
“They’ll sort it out.”
The admin hung up. “Our apologies.” She motioned to a young white man with longish, dark hair who had been hovering by the copier behind her. “This is Victor.”
Victor, who had been trying very hard to be invisible up to this point, performed an award-winning impersonation of a deer in headlights.
“Victor will take you to the correct autopsy suite.”
“Thank you,” I said. “We’re also expecting a Scroll representative. Please have him join us when he arrives.”
We followed Victor to the elevator. It took us to the third floor, which was just as gleaming as the lobby. We walked through a white hallway to a large room, where six autopsy tables waited in a row against the wall. Four stood empty. The other two held bodies covered with white fabric.
A white man in his late thirties waited by the nearest table with his arms crossed. He wore a pristine white lab coat, which gave a glimpse of a striped grey dress shirt and yellow tie. His dark hair was cut so short, it was barely there. You would expect him to be clean shaven, but the stubble sheathing his face and neck was about the same length as his hair. It looked like he had gotten up a couple of mornings ago, shaved everything from the neck up, and now was letting it grow out. The effect was rather unsettling.
Victor beat a hasty retreat without saying a word. The man in the lab coat showed no signs of coming forward to greet us, so I headed for him. Runa followed. Two security cameras, one on the right wall and the other directly above the door, watched our every move.
The man lifted his badge, showing it to us. “Silas Conway, MD, assistant medical examiner.”
I waited. Nothing else came out. That was the totality of the introductions. Great start.
“Catalina Baylor and Runa Etterson. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Dr. Conway.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you think we’re doing here?” Runa asked.
“Wasting my time.”
He did not just say that. “We’re here to view the bodies.”
Conway fixed me with his stare. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why.” Runa took a step toward him. “You have no right to block my access to the remains of my family.”
“I wasn’t blocking your access. I was otherwise occupied. I had to drop everything and come down here to accommodate you. The bodies are not in any state to be viewed, and it is the policy of this office to spare the family members the unnecessary trauma. I was trying to be considerate, but clearly my efforts and concern were wasted.”
Clearly. He was a veritable fountain of consideration and sympathy. He couldn’t even manage a “sorry for your loss.”
This felt wrong. First, I had called ahead, so he knew we would be arriving. Second, he wasn’t just irritated but borderline hostile, as if he were trying to antagonize Runa. This was a routine procedure and he was in breach of protocol. What possible reason could there be for that hostility? If he acted like this with everybody, let alone Primes, he would be fired. He had to know everything he said was being recorded on the security feed.
I should’ve come by myself, but I needed Runa to cut through the bureaucracy. Still, Runa was traumatized and fragile, and she swung from jokes to anger in half a second. I had to be very careful with her, and now this guy was pushing for a confrontation for no apparent reason. Controlling this situation was getting more and more complicated, and using my magic on a city employee was a felony. Starting this investigation by breaking the law wasn’t on my agenda.
Conway marched over to the two tables and stood between them. “You wanted to view the bodies, here they are.”
He jerked back the two sheets covering the remains.
I had read about burn victims in forensic textbooks. Several years ago, Nevada was forced into tracking down a pyrokinetic Prime. None of us could help her, so I sat at home, worried out of my mind, and read every book on fire and burn victims that I could get my hands on. At the time, Arabella had pointed out that I was just driving myself crazy, but somehow that was my way of coping with the stress. A kind of self-imposed exposure therapy.
Reading about someone burning to death and seeing an actual body were two different things.
The two charred figures on the tables couldn’t have weighed more than sixty pounds each. The heat of the blaze had desiccated them, and as the muscles and ligaments dehydrated, the bodies contracted, bending their knees and elbows and curling their fingers into fists. Textbooks called it the pugilistic pose because it was similar to the defense stance of a boxer. The facial features were gone. The skin and subcutaneous layer of fat were gone as well. It was impossible to guess at gender, race, or age of the bodies. I was looking at the two vaguely human-shaped objects sheathed in blackened, shriveled flesh.
A hint of a sickening odor spread through the room. Bitter, nauseating, sweet, and coppery, it was like nothing I had smelled before; a greasy, burned pork roast mixed with charred leather. Bile rose to my throat.
I turned away and saw Runa, standing statue-still behind me, her face so pale she looked dead herself. And in a sense, she was. Losing my mother and sister would’ve killed a part of me. It must have hurt so much. All we could do was hope that they’d died before the fire reached them. Nobody deserved to burn to death.
“Satisfied?” Conway asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to remember them the way they were?”
“No,” Runa said. “I want to remember them just like this. I’ll never forget this, and I’ll make whoever did this pay.”
“This was a tragic but accidental fire,” Conway said. “It’s natural to look for someone to blame, but we’ve found no signs of violence. My estimate is that the arson investigation will uncover the source of the fire and the final finding will demonstrate a terrible turn of events but not a criminal one. Go home, Miss Etterson. You’ll find no answers here.”
“Was there particulate found in the lungs?” I asked.
He glared at me and took a step forward. Trying to intimidate me with his age and size.
All my life I worked at being overlooked. Drawing any attention to myself meant putting others in danger. I didn’t just avoid conflict, I made sure I would never be anywhere near it. My natural inclination was to
flee; out of the institute, to my car, and then to the safety of the warehouse and my family where everybody loved me, so I could recover from being glared at by this jerk.
However, there were two bodies on the tables and Runa needed answers. I took the job and I had to do it. Besides, I was right, and he was wrong.
I channeled my best impression of a displeased Arrosa Rogan, fixed Conway with a frigid stare, and held it. Eye contact and derision didn’t come naturally to me, but Rogan’s mother had been adamant that I learn how to do both. I practiced this expression in the mirror for weeks until I got it just right. It was like firing an emotional shotgun loaded with cold disgust.
Conway halted in mid-move.
“I assume they keep you around because you’re good at your job, since your manner and conduct are appalling. That you would meet a survivor with aggression and arrogance is beyond any guidelines of the ME’s office or common human decency.”
Conway’s face turned purple.
“So, I’ll ask again. Was there smoke in their lungs? If you can’t answer my question, find someone who can.”
Conway drew in a deep, rage-filled breath. I braced myself.
Victor appeared in the doorway.
“What?” Conway roared at him.
Victor stepped aside, letting a man in a severe black suit into the room.
“Hello, Mr. Fullerton,” I said.
The Scroll representative walked into the room. He was in his forties, trim, neat, with skin tanned by the sun, and dark hair combed back from his face. His eyes were an unexpected, very light shade of blue. They were also the only spot of color. Everything else—the Wolf & Shepherd oxfords, the tailored suit, the crisp shirt, the impeccable tie, and the glasses—was black.
“Ms. Baylor, it’s always a pleasure.” He offered his hand to Runa and she shook it. “Ms. Etterson, my deepest condolences.”
“Who is this?” Conway demanded.
Fullerton looked at him for a full second. “I’m here on behalf of Scroll, Inc., to perform genetic identification at House Etterson’s request.”
Conway’s eyes went glassy and wide. Panic shivered in his brown irises. He took a jerky step back and threw his arms out to his sides, touching each corpse. A wave of revulsion slammed into me, sudden and overwhelming, a terrible feeling that things had just gone horribly, horribly wrong.
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