Jon's Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case

by A J Sherwood

  “—is finding locations,” Carol explained as I entered the room, tucking a brown curl behind one ear to keep it out of her face, gesturing toward crystal glass overlaid on the thick wood table. “I can search anywhere in the world, in fact, with the right focus tools. It helps me tremendously if I have something to search with, of course. Objects like these are a snap, as they have a physical connection to their source location. People are generally easy, as long as I have an identity, but outside of that things get nebulous. Jon, remember that case we first worked on?”

  I didn’t even need to ask which one, just groaned in memory. “I hated that one with a passion.”

  “We all did.” Even though she said that, she laughed, as apparently enough time had passed for it to be funny now. A smile lingered on her heart-shaped face as she continued, “The one thing that we hate are stolen object cases. An object, you see, doesn’t carry its name with it. It has no sense of being, of self, so there’s nothing for me to call upon. So for that first case, I had to go to the source area where the thing had been created and then call it from there, with Jon running interference for me with everyone else. We were exhausted by the time we got through.”

  “To make it worse, it was a software program disc,” I explained, the memory of the case still enough to give me a migraine.

  Donovan busted up laughing. “Oh man, you would not be good at that.”

  “I had to be so careful to not brush up against anything,” I mourned.

  “He retreated to his place and refused to come out for three days afterwards,” Carol confided to Donovan, bending a little at the waist to put their heads on the same level, although she didn’t have to bend much. Carol’s not tall and with Donovan’s height, it still didn’t even out, even with him seated. She threw me a teasing wink. “Not that we blamed him. But you see, that’s why I’m not worried about this, and it probably won’t take more than a half hour. We’re relatively sure the source for it is in the city, after all.”

  Taking one of Carol’s visitor chairs, I watched them with half an ear toward the door, expecting my mother. With nothing to do, my eyes naturally followed the meridian lines in Donovan, even though I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Hmm, seemed like he was settling in here alright, not nearly as nervous now as he was his first day. But that was usually the case after being on the job for nearly a week and a half. He was happy too, his happiness connected to his familial bond lines, so I assumed he liked being close to family—oh.

  Crap, this was awkward.

  Apparently, at some point, Donovan had met someone that he was interested in. At this stage, the feeling was so new that he himself might not even be aware of it. I couldn’t see who it was, of course, and I had no intention of prying, as it was very much not my business. Still, I felt a rush of emotions, strong enough to tug sharply at my gut. Disappointment came first, a hot wave that tasted bitter in the back of my throat, quickly uprooted by resignation, followed by a flash of envy for the object of his affections, because if there’s anyone in this world who could qualify as perfect boyfriend material, it was Donovan Havili.

  I tore my eyes away, not wanting to see any more.

  Despite repeatedly telling myself that I couldn’t have this man, apparently I’d still harbored hope for it on some level. Dammit. Skylar was right—why hadn’t I at least tried? Was it bad experiences that held me back, so that I sabotaged myself like this? Was it habit? Did it even matter at this point? I’m so stupid, why didn’t I at least try?

  My mother fortunately walked in at that point, providing a much-needed distraction. “Oh good, you’re all set up and ready. How are you, Carol, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’m outstanding, Lauren,” Carol answered, gesturing the other woman fully inside. “How are you doing?”

  “Excellent, thank you,” my mother answered, taking the visitor’s chair next to me. “Donovan, come sit next to me, Carol is all over that table when she starts her reading.”

  Obligingly, Donovan shifted to the last chair, sitting on my mother’s right side. With me sitting on her left, I was thankful for the barrier she established between us at the moment.

  Rubbing her hands together, Carol turned on her camera to record everything, then put on plastic gloves. With those on, she carefully slid the note out of the bag and into the center of the table. “For the record, everyone state their name and occupation. I am Carol Palmer, Psychic with Psy Consulting Agency, license number 1098236.”

  “Jonathan Bane, Psychic with Psy Consulting Agency, license number 1096643,” I rattled off promptly.

  “Lauren Douglas, Forensic Psychic with the Nashville Metropolitan police, license number 1043378.”

  “Donovan Havili, criminal consultant with the Psy Consulting Agency.”

  “Thank you, everyone.” Carol cracked her neck from side to side, interlacing her fingers and stretching out her hands in front of her. “Alright, let’s get started. What I have in hand is the first extortion note given to Alice Thompson. I will do a reading now to trace its source.”

  The crystal glass under the paper lit up with its own psychic energy, a light blue so bright it almost looked white. Lines representing street grids popped up in darker blue, edging toward black, moving and shifting as Carol shifted through the area, heading for the letter’s origin. It went by so fast I couldn’t read any of it, or even guess where she was in the city.

  In minutes, she stopped, the map settling on a single location. Then she moved around the table, using hands and ability to focus, to magnify the area. She zoomed in twice, shifting again so that her back was toward us, then once more, leaning her torso over the table. “I can zoom in again so we can read it better, but it says Belmont University, Dorm Building A, Room 306.”

  Wait, what? I knew that number, why did I know that number?

  Donovan stirred, frowning a little. “You sure about that room number?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because that’s where Alice Thompson’s sister lives.”

  9

  It being too late in the afternoon to catch day shift over at the precinct, I couldn’t submit a report just yet. Instead, we wrote up a formal statement, moved the video of the reading over to a thumb drive, and prepped it for handing over tomorrow. I didn’t know what to make of the extortion note coming from Alice Thompson’s sister, but I did know that was good for our client. Potentially, at least, if I could prove he didn’t have access to that printer.

  Detective Dick would likely make the case that my client used that printer on purpose to muddy the waters, but I’d handle that argument later. And I’d be an adult about it and not accidentally-on-purpose touch both his laptop and cellphone like last time.

  Maybe.

  At least, I’d try really hard.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Frustration burned like acid reflux in my chest and I ended up tossing and turning for most of the night. I really wish I hadn’t looked at Donovan closely, hadn’t realized he liked someone. It didn’t do me any good, after all.

  It wasn’t until that realization slapped me in the face that I’d seen the obvious. I kept saying that dating was impossible because no man could stand being around me for long periods of time. But I said the same thing about work colleagues, and Donovan had proven the exception there. We were two weeks in and he still hadn’t lost his temper, become impatient, or even sighed at me. If he could manage a forty-hour work week so well, would dating be so much of a leap? I didn’t think so.

  Of course, it was likely too late for me to realize it all now. I spent most of the night kicking myself. Somewhere in the godforsaken hours of the early morning, I fell into a fitful doze and awoke irritated. Feeling like a bear yanked early out of hibernation, I went through the motions of getting myself dressed, fed, and caffeinated before heading into work.

  I found it difficult to remember the self-admonishment of the day before, to be an adult when turning that report in to Detective Dick. I had
to go in with Donovan, of course, as he didn’t know where to go to submit anything. I found it very hard to look him in the eye, but fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. It felt somewhat awkward on my end, but I strove to not let it show, and Donovan seemed to put any crankiness on my part down to a lack of caffeine. He thankfully didn’t try to talk much on the way to the station.

  We signed in, got our visitor badges clipped on, and entered the unusually quiet station. Evidence wasn’t near the bullpen; it had its own rows of rooms in the back of the building, near the basement entrance. I headed there, giving people a wave if anyone called out a hello. For this, we were to notify the lead investigator, but could leave it with Evidence Lockup until it could be collected. I knew the man by name, Levy, and gave him a smile as we approached the wide counter that blocked us from the rest of the hallway and the six rooms that made up the evidence locker. “Morning.”

  “Morning, Bane,” Levy greeted, freckles crinkling up as he smiled. Levy was the rare sort who had light brown hair but the freckles of a ginger, consuming most of the skin across his nose and cheeks. I always thought it made him look friendly and approachable, although he bemoaned it made him look like a kid. “Who’s this?”

  “Donovan Havili, my partner,” I introduced with a wave of the hand between both men.

  They shook hands, sizing each other up, and I could tell Levy felt more than a little intimidated. Given time, they’d be fine. “We have evidence for holding until Detective Solomon can collect it. I can’t seem to catch him, so you don’t mind passing it along, do you?”

  Levy hesitated strongly. “Normally I wouldn’t refuse, you know that, but ah…Solomon left strict instructions to not accept evidence from you for his cases.”

  Of course he had. I let my head fall back, breathing deep and steady to keep from cursing or punching something. “Right. Thanks, Levy.”

  I turned on a heel and stalked out, Donovan stretching his own legs to keep up with me. Donovan asked dubiously, “That’s it?”

  “Hell no, but I can’t argue the point with Levy. It’s akin to shooting the messenger. He’s low on the food chain. Time to bump this up to a bigger fish.” We had to go back up, through the bullpen, and to the other side of the police station to reach the captain’s office. She sat closer to the front door and I saw more than a few heads swivel as they tracked our progress. I did a double knock on the captain’s door before sticking my head in. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “I’d say the same,” Captain Olivia Livingston returned, peering over her half-moon glasses, “but I have the feeling you’re about to start trouble. Again. And who’s this with you?”

  “Donovan Havili, my partner,” I introduced yet again. I really had to get around to introducing Donovan to everyone and not on just a case-by-case basis like this. “Donovan, Captain Olivia Livingston. She is as wise as she is fair.”

  Olivia snorted at this, as she normally did. She seemed to feel that because she had a matronly figure and three grandkids, she could no longer be called attractive by the younger (and gay) generation. I kept telling her that with her greying dark hair and wicked bone structure, she pulled off sexy grandma very well, but apparently she didn’t believe me.

  Standing behind the desk, she leaned over it with a hand extended. “Pleasure, Mr. Havili, and I mean that. Jon is a pain in the neck, but he’s my pain in the neck, and I’d like to keep him in one piece. If you’re here to help manage that, you’re very welcome in my station.”

  “As to that, Captain, I’ll do my best,” he assured her with the straight military bearing only someone who had served could manage.

  She blinked to see it, then the smile deepened. “I believe you have the skills to pull it off. Good. Well, gentlemen, sit and tell me what grievance you have this time.”

  “In a nutshell,” I informed her, perching on my favorite leather chair and hearing the air squish out of it, “Solomon has one of my cases.”

  “Lord preserve us,” she prayed, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “Not again. Which case?”

  “Chen Li vs. Alice Thompson,” I intoned drolly.

  Olivia blinked her lovely green eyes at me. “Who’s your client?”

  “Kid who was shot,” Donovan answered as he took the twin chair facing Olivia’s desk.

  Head cocking, her eyes bounced between the two of us. “Why is he your client?”

  “To put a very messy situation in short terms, it goes like this: Solomon is working under the assumption that Alice Thompson shot Chen Li in self-defense and wants to prosecute the kid.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Olivia held up both hands, the gold of her rings flashing a little as she moved. “The girl was packing on a college campus, shot an unarmed foreign exchange student—which is enough of a political nightmare, thank you very much—and now she’s screaming self-defense and Solomon is backing her? On what grounds is it self-defense?”

  “She’s been getting threatening letters and believes Chen sent them,” Donovan explained, sitting forward in his chair, manner very serious and earnest. “But we’ve established that he wasn’t the only one with access to her dorm room, which is her main point for suspecting him, and he has no motive to do so. Plus, even though she’s been getting the letters, the person demanding money from her never shows to the drop.”

  “That’s the definition of a prank, isn’t it?” Olivia challenged incredulously. “So she gets letters that never actually lead to anything and then shoots someone she thinks might be behind them? And it’s self-defense. A judge will throw the rulebook at us.”

  See, this was why I adored Olivia. She had good common sense. “Gets worse. I interviewed Thompson and she doesn’t actually believe Chen had anything to do with it. We got a letter from Alice Thompson herself and did a reading to find its source. It came from her sister’s printer. Donovan’s got the report and video for chain of evidence.”

  Olivia planted both elbows on the desk so she could rub her temples. “It looks very obvious to me the two sisters are behind this.”

  “I agree.” Judging she hadn’t hit volcanic fury yet, I thought about letting it ride, but…I really couldn’t. “Thing is, when I went to submit this evidence to Solomon, he dodged me completely. And he’s left orders with Levy that I absolutely can’t submit evidence on any of his cases.”

  Olivia’s eyes rose to mine in creaking degrees, as warm as an arctic glacier. I’d seen kinder eyes on a contract killer. “He. Did. What.”

  “Levy was very apologetic about it,” Donovan added soothingly. “It’s why we came to see you, Captain.”

  “And a good thing you did,” she assured him, lips curling up in a smile reminiscent of racks and thumb screws. Dragons about to ravage a village smiled like that. I was positive of this, “because none of my detectives are allowed to ignore evidence, I don’t care what the source is. Donovan, give it to me. Jonathan, I will review this case personally tonight, and meet me back here at the station tomorrow so that we can interview both Alice Thompson and her sister. If your client is up to it, I would like to interview him as well.”

  “He’s still in the hospital,” I denied with a shake of the head. “She hit him in the lung and arm.”

  “The girl hit him twice, once in a vital area, and Solomon…” trailing off, Olivia closed her eyes, breathing deeply, visibly regaining her temper. “Reassure your client that no charges will be pressed against him unless I have very firm evidence to suggest he had something to do with this. I highly doubt that’s the case since you took him on?”

  I nodded confirmation. “Completely guiltless.”

  “Then just reassure him he’s not in trouble and I will get to the bottom of this. If I have any further questions, I’ll contact you.”

  Taking that as a hint, we both rose and politely let ourselves out. I did not head for the parking lot out back but instead went through the front doors, heading for the florist across the street. Donovan ducked in low as we moved, asking in a near whisper, “Where are
we going?”

  “Whenever I have to report that Detective Dick is being his usual charming self, I always stop by here afterwards and send her a box of chocolates,” I whispered back. Looking both ways, seeing it clear either direction, I darted across and lifted my voice to a more normal volume. “If I stress her out on low blood sugar, she’s likely to strangle him.”

  “I would think you want him strangled?”

  Laughing, I admitted with a shrug, “I daydream about it from time to time. But mostly I want to discredit him to the point that they finally kick him off the force. He’s way too judgmental to be a detective.”

  “I agree with you—I think most would.” Donovan shook his head wonderingly. “Really? He refuses evidence on a case just because it comes from you? What kind of an asshole does that?”

  “Him.” Stepping into Sara’s Gifts, the bell above the door gave a silver ring and alerted the woman behind the side counter. With the coolers of flowers in the back, she must be cold, as she wore a black cardigan and jeans even in this warm weather. Sara always struck me as the ‘aunt’ type, the kind of woman who looked fun and approachable, but something about her meridian lines shouted tension and nerves to me. Had something happened? She looked up from the bouquet she worked on, the flowers and stems laying on a cloth to the side. “Oh, good morning, Jon. Who’s this?”

  I introduced my partner yet again, pleased that Sara, at least, didn’t automatically judge him to be an ex-con because of his general appearance and scars. “I’m afraid I had to give Olivia bad news again. Can you send her a box of chocolates?”

  “I sure will,” she assured me. Leaning in, she waved two fingers, gesturing for me to come in closer. We were almost in kissing distance before she whispered, “That man in the far corner, he’s always here every two weeks and buys a dozen red roses. Like clockwork. He gives me the willies. Is he, you know…?”