Digging Deeper

by Bellora Quinn

  The shopfronts here were less garish and shabbier. A mishmash of clashing cultures called this part of London home, but it was still not as combative as the pulsing heart of Camden. It reminded him in a way of certain parts of Detroit. In the space of a couple of blocks, he saw prettily painted houses on nice, residential side streets give way to stores with foreclosure signs and grills fastened over their windows and doors. Then, on the next corner, an immaculate Greek Orthodox church looked out over a row of cheap takeaway restaurants and a beat-up laundromat. A heavily armored van in Metropolitan Police colors passed him and turned into the next side street, although its blue lights were not engaged. When it disgorged its passengers—a group of young cops in their black assault vests and helmets—he was reminded of what Mari had said about the city being on alert. There was always a sense of potential trouble. It stalked the streets of any big city, but these days there seemed to be a frisson of anxiety everywhere.

  The sense was lessened when the troupe of youthful PCs filed into one of the takeaways and began to load up with sandwiches and kebabs. He figured they were on their way to a soccer game somewhere. They would be glad of the chance to eat by the end of the afternoon.

  The station house was off the high street, appropriately enough on Holmes Road, which Jake found amusing. His flat was just around the corner from the famous residence on Baker Street, which had been assigned to Conan Doyle’s fictional detective, and the coincidence did not escape him. It was a neat, square Regency block with an incongruous palm tree in the front yard, very different from the long, concrete fortress on Albany Street that had been Cordiline’s previous HQ. It was a much nicer building but considerably less convenient to walk to, even if the lack of proximity between John and Mari made his life easier in some respects.

  Jake sighed at the thought. Juggling his professional relationship with the London cops and Mari’s very open hostility toward John Cordiline could get wearing. At least he didn’t have to worry about that this morning.

  It was not Jake’s first visit to Holmes Road, as he had been taken there during his one brief period in custody. He and Mari had been arrested a few months previously, while investigating the disappearance of the brother of one of their university colleagues. Jake passed under the stone arch with its chiseled POLICE motif, through the double doors into the lobby, and rang a bell for the desk clerk. A harassed-looking middle-aged man in an ill-fitting uniform shambled through and took his name before calling up to let Cordiline know he was there. Jake wandered around, scanning the public information posters, semi-interested, until another door opened at the far end of the hall and a younger cop, in a navy sweater and matching trousers with her hair up in a long blonde ponytail, called his name.

  She gave him the once-over and a curious smile before taking him up to the second floor, where Cordiline had established control over one corner of a crowded office. From the piles of archive boxes around his desk—like a small defensive wall—he was still very much at the settling-in stage.

  “Jake, welcome to the madhouse,” Cordiline hailed him over the top of his PC monitor and beckoned him in. “Excuse the tip. It’s kind of a dumping ground in here. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem. And don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. How long do they expect it to be before you’re in your own digs?”

  Cordiline’s shoulders rose and fell. “How long is a piece of string? I worked at Albany for five years and I didn’t even get my own office. Hot desking is a fact of life. Welcome to the modern Force.” He flashed a humorless grin. “You want a brew or something?”

  “No thanks, I’m fully caffeinated.”

  “I’ll have our suspect moved to an interview room.”

  “Let’s get the preliminary stuff out of the way first,” Jake suggested. “If I could get a look at anything he was wearing or had on him when he was brought in, that would be a good start. I might not even have to talk to him if I get a hit on his watch or his belt buckle.”

  The young woman who had come up with him was still in the office, thumbing through a box of files in search of something. She looked up as Jake spoke.

  “Would it be okay if I sat in while you do your thing? Sorry…” she added quickly. “I kind of overheard the DI talking to DS Woodmansey and…I’ve never met anyone able to do psychic stuff. Not for real. Not outside of films and whatnot. That’s…kind of amazing.”

  Cordiline shrugged and looked at Jake. “Up to you, Chivis. PCSO Ladley is with us as a victim liaison officer. She’s a hard worker and she won’t get in the way. Will you, Jen?”

  “No, sir, I promise,” Ladley volunteered right away.

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much to see,” Jake said. “To you, it will look like I’m just picking up random things. But you’re welcome to watch if you want to.”

  “Thanks,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. “That would be cool.”

  “You want to go fetch the suspect’s effects for Mr. Chivis, Jen?” Cordiline asked.

  “Will do, sir.” The woman bounced to her feet and hurried off down the stairs, her ponytail swinging.

  “The enthusiasm of youth!” Cordiline exhaled and rolled his eyes. “She makes me tired just listening to her sometimes.”

  “Don’t let the boss hear you say that. They’ll put you out to pasture,” Jake warned him with a smirk, before bringing the conversation around to the task in hand once more. “So, he’s denying any involvement. What do you think, though? You like him for it?”

  “The PC who brought him in said that he was standing over the grave when he found them. The girl was freaking out, trying to make him let go of her. He read the guy his rights and brought them both in. The Sapphire team have got the girl, down at St. Mary’s in Paddington. They’ll check her out and go through her story with her when she’s ready to talk. Until then, we’ve just got Mr. Public-Spirited’s account to go off. He says he was walking his dog, in the fucking cemetery, in the middle of the night, and it ran off and started scratching at the ground under the trees. Then up she came, like Night of the Living Dead.” Cordiline pulled a skeptical face.

  “If his story checks out, it’s a wonder he didn’t shit his pants,” Jake said. “He buried her in a cemetery? Jesus.”

  “I know. Fucking ghoul or what?” Cordiline laughed without a trace of humor. “And they wonder why coppers drink!”

  Ladley returned in short order with a bin that held a few bagged items—shoes, wallet, watch and a dog leash. She set the bin down on the desk.

  “We can use an interview room, if you want,” Cordiline offered. People were coming and going from the office almost constantly, but they paid little-or-no attention to what was going on around Cordiline’s workspace.

  “Makes no difference to me,” Jake said. He pulled out the bag containing the watch. Metal held memories best, and if he were going to get anything, that was the most promising target. He opened the top of the plastic bag and tipped it, sliding the watch out onto the desk. Jen was standing off to one side, hardly breathing, her eyes glued to his every movement. It was unnerving to be scrutinized with such intent but Jake understood the curiosity. Even Cordiline was observing him closely, although he was being cooler about it.

  At one time, it might have bothered him, the way they watched, almost like they were expecting him to pull a rabbit out of a hat or perhaps trying to see through some ‘trick’ he might be playing. Months of being a lab rat at the college had taken the edge off, though. At the same time, he knew that if his talent were ever going to be legitimized in the mainstream, he couldn’t act like it was weird, mystical or something to be hidden. He wanted the police to see his ability as just another tool in helping them find the bad guys and get them off the street.

  He took a breath and opened his senses, allowing the flow of energy—or power, or whatever you wanted to call it—to fill him. Even that sounded way too metaphysical to explain out loud, so he kept it to himself. He was still getting used to the idea of being able to control
his ability to be receptive to any memories an object held, or not.

  For damn near his whole life, he had been at the mercy of his talent. He might pick up a memory from a random object any time or anywhere. It had colored how he approached everything. Even something as mundane as going out to eat or riding the bus could be a trial. One minute he was talking with a friend and the next minute a casual brush of fingers against a spoon, or a clothes hanger, or a handrail sent him reeling into a memory of a heated argument between lovers, a frantic mother looking for a lost child, a robbery turned shooting.

  And now…now it appeared that the EQ10, the experimental drug he’d been forcibly injected with, had given him something he’d never thought possible—the ability to turn his talent on or off at will. Of course, it could also just as well have killed him, like the other Fire Elementals Roy Corrie had experimented on. He still had the uncomfortable side effect of a rising body temperature when he got angry, too, and that was worrisome.

  Even with the bonus ability to keep himself from picking up stray memories randomly, his psychometry still wasn’t a gradual thing. When he was on, if there was a memory attached to an object, he didn’t fade from the present to the past. It was more like being in one place then being in another, in less than the blink of an eye. It could be disorientating to say the least, and he had to focus one-hundred percent of his attention because he wouldn’t get another chance to see the memory. Once it was released to him, it was gone from the object. Jake touched a finger to the metal band of the watch.

  He was running down a gravel-strewn lane, mostly in darkness, except for the swinging, bobbing light in his hand that picked out glimpses of the way ahead. There were high, leafy bushes to either side, hemming him in.

  “Isolde! Isolde, get back here!” The voice that came out of his throat was male and irritated.

  In the jerking, swaying light, he saw the dog at last, in a clearing off the path, digging at the ground. Suddenly the light steadied and he saw something straight out of a horror movie. There was an arm sticking out of the ground, tearing at the soil with dirt-caked fingers and broken nails.

  “What the fuck?” he said, as a woman emerged from the soil. “Oh my lord. Oh my god. Are you all right?”

  Jake blinked, back in Cordiline’s office without any warning.

  “You saw something?” Cordiline asked, carefully neutral.

  Jake nodded. “I got a memory of him in the cemetery.”

  Ladley’s eyes were as big as two-pound coins. Cordiline appeared less fazed but he said, “Did you see the victim? Were you any… Was he anywhere near her?”

  “You were in his head?” Ladley asked in a breathless whisper. “For real? Just from touching his watch?”

  Cordiline looked at her with a frown but it was as if he had vanished. She only had eyes for Jake.

  Jake glanced from one to the other and answered Cordiline first, “It was dark and his flashlight was bouncing all over the place, but yes, I saw her arm sticking out of the ground and clawing at it. The memory ended so fast that I barely got a look at her. He was standing maybe ten yards away when she sat up. He said, ‘What the fuck’ and asked if she was all right.”

  “Did you see him go into the cemetery?” Cordiline asked. “Did you get any sense of how long he was in there?”

  Jake shook his head. “He was already running when the memory started, calling the dog. Isolde? I think that’s what he said.”

  “Funny name for a dog,” Ladley said. She was still staring at him like he’d turned into one-fifth of a boyband. Jake ignored it. “Will the other things show you different stuff?”

  “Possibly,” Jake answered, picking up another bag and opening it. “I’ll go through the rest of his things but the watch was the best shot. Metal tends to hold on to memories best.” He went through every item but, as it turned out, he’d been right, and the watch had been the best, and the only item he got an impression from.

  Cordiline drummed his fingers on his desk, a scowl settled between his brows. “You heard him ask if she was okay? Did you get any sense he was playing with her, maybe? Trying to hide guilt?”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible he was acting, faking his shock at finding a woman popping out of the ground.”

  “Why would he act surprised? I’d be surprised if there was anyone else around to see at that time of night, yeah?” Ladley asked.

  “No, there wasn’t,” Jake confirmed. “But maybe he wanted to play hero. If he’d put her in the ground himself, maybe he was banking on her not remembering him. He could have hung around and waited, maybe, so he could watch—or maybe to see if she made it out of the grave or not.”

  Cordiline gave him a long, cool stare. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

  Jake blew out a small puff of breath. “No, not really. It’s all possible, but…” He shrugged again. “Look. I don’t read their thoughts or feelings through the memories. I only see and hear what they saw and heard. There just wasn’t anything definitive to this memory. He could just as well have been doing exactly what he said he was doing, walking the dog when he happened on the scene.”

  “Do you get memories if you touch people?” the PCSO asked him.

  “Jen, don’t hassle Mr. Chivis,” Cordiline said in a mild tone.

  “It’s all right,” Jake reassured them. “Yes, sometimes I do pick up on memories from touching people.”

  “Could you touch the victim and see what happened to her?” Jen asked, fascinated.

  “It’s a possibility,” Jake answered carefully. “Although I’d hesitate to ask a rape victim to let a stranger come in and touch her in hopes of seeing what happened to her. I could try your suspect, though…if he agrees to it.”

  Jen shot a hopeful grin at DI Cordiline, clearly hoping that he would jump for joy. He folded his arms and nodded toward the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the beat in ten minutes, Jenny?”

  “He could though?” she argued.

  “Mr. Chivis has already pointed out that what he does isn’t admissible in court.” Cordiline waved her off. “Go and report for duty. I’ll let you know if anything interesting crops up.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. She took a couple of steps but stopped and turned toward Jake. “What about me? Could you do a reading on me?”

  Jake sat back in the chair. “I’m not psychic, Officer Ladley. I can’t control what I see. I might see nothing at all. I could pick up on what you had for breakfast this morning…or see who you went out with on your last date.”

  She blushed strawberry-red at the implications of that. It didn’t deter her, though.

  “Would you see it like a fly on the wall? Or like I saw it? Or my… The person I was with?”

  “Jenny.” Cordiline didn’t snap at her but there was a warning in his tone.

  “I’m sorry. I was just interested,” she demurred.

  “That’s enough,” Cordiline said quietly but firmly.

  She nodded and headed off again. The heavy door closed behind her with a muffled thump.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve gotten kinda used to living in a fishbowl.”

  “It’s a bit of a floorshow here at the moment.” Cordiline exhaled. “We’ve got a lot of new faces coexisting in the same small space. I could hide you at Albany Street. They all want to know about Elementals here, at the moment.”

  Jake shrugged. “Well, let’s hope I make a good impression. Do you want me to wait while you find out if your suspect will allow the human lie detector to check him out, or will you call me later?”

  “Hang around if you like. I doubt anyone will mind. Unless you were expecting another visit from your boy toy?” Cordiline cracked a smirk.

  “Watch it.” He mellowed, though, and even managed an answering smile. “He’s working this morning.”

  “Working on a Sunday?” The detective chuckled, clearly enjoying the chance to tease. “Didn’t think he needed the o
vertime.”

  “He’s…” Jake deliberated. He wasn’t supposed to discuss what Mari did for a living. “His department has a rush job on. He volunteered.”

  “Very public-spirited of him.” Cordiline picked up the phone and made a call down to the holding cells.

  It took a while for the guards on duty to arrange for Jake to speak to their suspect but Cordiline ushered things along. It was wasted effort, in any case. Jake was unable to pick up anything from him except the sour smell of nervous perspiration and a sense of indignation that he didn’t need any Elemental or psychic ability to see.

  He stopped with Cordiline in the hall outside the interview room.

  “No luck?” Cordiline asked.

  “Sorry. Nothing.” Jake was about to leave it at that but he hesitated and Cordiline shot him a knowing frown. “I didn’t get anything definitive for you one way or the other, and this is pure speculation, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy, John. I wouldn’t stop looking.”

  Chapter Four

  It was strange to be on the campus at UCL, after a couple of months working for Trafalgar House. Mari was pleased and quite touched to note how many of the Malet Place regulars remembered him and greeted him with smiles and friendly inquiries. It helped that Jake still worked here, and everyone in their respective departments was aware that he and Jake Chivis were an item. He had to sign in, but as he was on official business with an appointment to see his old handler, Professor Karden, and to chat with Anthony Weston—whose SEWN UP project had been instrumental in bringing him and Jake together—gaining access was a formality.

  Toby Wainwright in the post room kept him chatting as usual, after his blissfully short meeting with Karden. His old boss had been polite and professional throughout their update session and, in truth, Mari didn’t resent him for enforcing the move to Trafalgar House, but he’d been dreading the meeting all the same. It was a relief to escape his stuffy office on the eighth floor and come down to catch up on the gossip with Toby.