by Amie Gibbons
“Calculations?” I asked. “Like the length of leg bones, size of ears and stuff to estimate age? You can do those in your head?”
“I can’t measure exactly by sight, but close enough to estimate. And look at her face. She still has some baby fat there.”
And Mama thinks I’m gifted?
Speaking of…
Grant motioned and Jet and Dan jumped to without more explanation needed, herding the Metro detectives out of the alley and behind the tape, far enough away that I could only hear the pissed off voices, not the actual words.
“Take it up with our boss,” Jet said as he walked back.
I knelt on my blanket and pulled my incense out of my kit.
I always keep the kit in my car. It has the basics: fingerprint powder and the tape to lift it, bags, tags, collection tubes, and nitrile gloves, cuz I’m allergic to latex, and I added the blanket, a wooden bowl, and sandalwood incense.
Sandalwood seems to be the best to boost the psychic juices.
I don’t know why. I don’t know anything about my gift even though I’ve had it almost two years.
I wish I knew why I’m psychic, like if a grandma or something was then at least I could say it’s genetic, but no one in my family (and it’s not small) has any kind of powers. I was never bitten by a radioactive spider or had any strange medical procedures done. I didn’t get hit by lightning, or die and come back.
I just woke up on a random day, fall of my senior year, and had a perfectly normal day going to school and meetin’ a guy for dinner.
He took me to a nice restaurant in Printer’s Alley. He wanted it to be a surprise.
It wasn’t.
We were driving and I asked where we were going. A bright light flashed, and I saw the giant glowing Printer’s Alley arch right over the parking sign.
I thought I was going insane until we pulled right into the alley. Then I didn’t know what was going on. The next time it happened, I was less shocked, but it took a few times for me to realize the visions were here to stay.
I lit the stick, put it in the bowl, and took a deep breath.
It’s always scary to touch someone the first time. It’s worse when I know I’ll probably see the person being murdered.
It’d already been hours and had rained. My visions are like forensic evidence in that if I get on the scene right away, there’s a ton of psychic energy cuz something traumatic just happened. So I can get a ton of stuff.
But I only get flashes off the dead of recent events, like within half a day or so. The more time passes, the more the energy dissipates, and I can’t get much. And if a body’s cold, psychically speaking, I can’t even get the First Impression off it.
I let myself shake for a minute and grinned like an idiot before palmin’ her cheek.
Flash.
The girl was walking, six inch screw-me shoes clicking out a tune on the gravel.
“Why are we going into the park?”
The vision expanded. She was walking across the lane towards the trees in the park.
“I like making love under the stars,” a male voice answered.
I couldn’t see whose arm she hung on, but he was about six feet tall.
“We’ll get caught!”
“I like the risk of getting caught.”
“Since when? You neverel,” she slurred, fear leaking through her. “Neverrrral… Whatttt... Diddd youugl...?”
She dropped and he caught her, swooping her up.
My vision went black. Was that it? Maybe she passed out and didn’t see what happened next. For her sake, I hoped so.
Flash.
She was under a tree, lying on the ground. She couldn’t move anything but her eyes.
The shadow above tore off her black panties, slipped on a condom, and ripped into her body.
She couldn’t feel it. It was like it was happening on a TV show.
It took him only a minute to come and he moaned like an animal. He tucked the used condom in his pocket along with her torn panties.
He picked her up and walked across the street to the alley. No worries about witnesses or security cameras?
He lay her on the ground in the alley, arranging her legs out and pushing up her skirt. He took off her shoes and pulled gravel out of his other pocket. He rubbed that into her bare feet and leaned over her.
What was he doing?
When he pulled back, her neck was bleeding freely. He pulled something else out of his pocket, those things sure could hold a lot, and leaned over her again.
The rain picked up as darkness took her. She loved the rain.
I jerked and crumpled in on myself like a kicked bag. My brain boiled and I half expected steam to pour outta my ears.
Tears spilled down my cheeks and my nose started to run.
She’d been awake. Oh God, she’d lasted long enough to see him violating her and had been there just enough to know she was gonna die.
“It’s okay.” Grant kneeled behind me, handed me a tissue, and pulled me back against his chest.
I held onto him like a lifejacket.
“He pulled a Rifkin, General,” I sobbed after explaining the rest. “Raped her and took her panties and shoes, like souvenirs.”
Jet stayed on the phone, finally got somebody apparently, but him and Dan stared at me.
I’d crumpled to the ground when I got my First Impression off Dan too.
Later that day, I was briefed by the director and told her about the First Impressions. Dan was there and once he knew what I could see, he knew why I collapsed.
He never asked how much I knew. I never asked why he did what he did. I think he hates me because I know his deep dark secret, but I won’t ever tell anyone, no matter how big a jerk he is.
“She knew him,” Grant said when I was done. It wasn’t a question. “And he wanted us to think she walked barefoot from somewhere?”
I nodded, wantin’ to turn around and bury my face in his clean-smelling neck.
I didn’t. See, I have some sense of professionalism.
“Comb the park, find me that gravel and that crime scene,” Grant said to the guys.
They hopped to like the good soldiers they are, Jet’s ear still attached to his cell.
“I’m okay now,” I said after another minute of letting Grant hold me.
“Liar,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
He climbed to his feet and helped me to mine. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me again.
His arms help take the bite from the visions, help them drift away into the realm of bad dreams faster, but we had a job to do.
“I forgot to ask, what did the EMF reader say?” I said.
“No spikes.”
Meaning no ghosts.
Kat gave me a hug, then her and Grant bagged the body. Jet and Dan got back soon after.
I didn’t move the whole time.
I couldn’t.
“The park’s parking lot is made of gravel,” Jet said, ear still on the phone.
“And I found where I think the attack happened,” Dan said. “It looks like the ground’s been disturbed.”
Grant nodded his strong nod, which in Grant language means, “Show me.”
Dan left, Jet and Grant following.
I stayed.
Grant turned at the mouth of the alley. “Ryder, move your ass.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ran as he turned, and caught up to him at the streetlight.
“I’m never gonna wear heels to work again,” I said under my breath as the light turned and I had to fast walk to keep up with the guys.
Dan led us just past the parking lot to a line of trees.
“Ryder?” Grant asked.
“This is it, General.” I pointed to the smudges in the hard packed dirt. “That’s where he raped her.”
We photographed everything and checked the scene for evidence. I found a few stray black fibers, but other than that, nothing, not even a footprint.
&nb
sp; “Why? Why relocate her? Why take the shoes? Is it part of whatever story he’s trying to concoct for us, or is it some kind of fetish?” Grant asked.
We knew better than to answer. Grant doesn’t want guesses when he asks questions like that, he wants us to find the answers.
I just wished I had them.
Chapter two
Once we got back to the office, I went down to autopsy with Kat.
We christened the girl Teri Doe. We don’t use Jane or John Doe, too impersonal.
Grant says that’s the point of not namin’ them, but everyone should have a name. So we run through the letters for each new one. When we hit Z, we’ll start over again with different names.
Grant went up to see Irish in the lab. Jet went over the crime scene photos while Dan got on his computer to figure out who owned the building. Whoever it was had some really high priced lawyers who were obviously workaholics.
Kat and I cleaned Teri, then I took her fingerprints and some blood. We chatted about Kat’s night with a nice guy named Jerry.
Dr. Snow is the other M.E. She didn’t have a case so she helped Kat start the autopsy while I ran the prints, blood, and clothing up to Irish.
We have four teams in our division, two M.E.s and two forensic technicians. The tech for the first two teams was Dr. Finn O’Connell, aka, Irish.
Irish defined workaholic. He never left before seven and he was always already at work when I got there in the morning.
“Hey, Irish.”
I hugged him after putting the box of evidence down, arms barely making it around his portly belly. His red Billy Graham beard tickled the top of my head as I pulled back.
“Where should the box go?” I asked, looking around the lab.
It’s large and defines state of the art. There’s lots of doodads that analyze things in ways I don’t understand.
“Counter.” He pointed to the counter along the back wall where there was at least some empty space.
I had to scooch over a few doodads and Irish’s laid out dancing costume to make the box fit.
“When’s the next competition?” I asked as I pulled out the blood samples.
His eyes lit up as he took them.
“Two Saturday’s from now.” He put one of the samples into the machine to test it. (I really needed to start learning the names of these things.) “I need to practice the Venetian Waltz when you’re not busy.”
“She is,” Grant said as he marched in. “And so are you.”
He pointed to the blood vials. “Test the blood. She was drugged. I want to know with what. Run her prints and try facial recognition software to compare her picture to driver’s licenses. Run the fibers from the scene. Go over her clothes. Check for fluids, prints, or anything else he might have left on her.”
We both nodded along. Of course Irish had already thought of all this; Grant was saying it for my benefit.
“Ryder, you’re assisting,” Grant said.
He breezed out of the lab with the parting shot of, “And if I come back here and you two are dancing, you’ll be doing your performance on the street while you look for new jobs.”
Irish ran a blood sample through his mass spec machine (at least I remembered the name of that one) then started on the fingerprints while I went over every inch of her clothing.
“I think this may have been transferred from the perp.” I picked up a black fiber with my tweezers after I photographed it. “We found some like it in the park.”
He took the sample to a microscope and I pulled out another bag and labeled it.
We may get away with a lot, since most of the time our cases can’t go to a real judge and jury anyway, but maintaining the integrity of evidence is sacrosanct.
It took hours for us to process everything. Irish confirmed she was drugged with GHB, big surprise, and it was long past lunch by the time I left the lab and got back to my desk.
Our division’s a room the size of a football field, separated into four sections that each have four desks arranged in semicircles. The boss’s desk is always the biggest.
I made a quick lunch of the leftover Chinese from the breakroom fridge and checked my email as I ate.
I honestly didn’t know what to do after that, and none of the guys were at their desks, so I called Jet.
“Where are you guys?” I asked.
“At the club,” he said.
“What club?”
“Oh right. You were in the lab. The building Teri Doe was found by is a private, very private, club, not a restaurant. Grant’s talking to the manager now. He’s very polite and answers all the questions, and we know he’s lying through his ass. Dan and I are fingerprinting the place now. And Mr. Kurt, the manager, said we can have it all night because they’re closing tonight out of respect.”
“That’s convenient.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m thinking we’re going to pop in Thursday night with a warrant and talk to the members.”
“But a warrant just means we get in, not that they have to talk to us,” I said.
“Legally true, but Grant. They’ll answer questions.”
“Good point.”
“So I…” He paused and I heard Grant in the background. “Grant’s holding the manager and wants you down here ASAP.”
Yay!
“I’m there.”
I bounced up as I clicked off, slipped my gun into my belt holster, clipped my phone on, grabbed my purse, and ran to the elevator.
###
It took a bit longer to get there cuz I took a wrong turn onto Division and got stuck in the construction around Vandy.
Oops.
Grant was waiting in the parking lot and didn’t look happy when I finally pulled up.
“Get lost, Ryder?” Grant said as I climbed out.
“Wrong turn. Sorry, sir.”
“We have the manager in the back.”
He turned on a heel and marched inside, leavin’ me to grab my purse and scramble after him.
The inside of the club was brightly lit by fluorescents, but I could see different types of lighting on the ceiling. Small tables on a rich red carpet circled a hardwood dance floor, forming a half moon shape. Booths lined the west wall, a long bar ran along the opposite, and a stage was up front. The entire place was spotless and the only thing it reeked of was class and cleaner.
“I won’t be able to get anything from here,” I said, tappin’ my nose. “It’s been sterilized.”
“I know,” Grant said.
I must’ve looked surprised because he said, “I may not be psychic, but I do have a nose.”
I smiled. “Right, sorry. Back room, you said?”
I rushed to the open door tucked between the stage and the wall.
It was a back hall as opposed to a room, and I had to wait for Grant to march in after me to tell me which of the six doors the manager waited behind.
He opened the second door on the right for me, like the gentleman he is.
It was probably the manager’s office. The little desk was covered with files piled up neatly, the carpet was just as cushy as the one in the club, but blue, and the walls were covered with beautiful impressionist paintings.
The manager rose to meet us. He was a beefy man around thirty with a fantastic grey pinstripe suit, ruddy complexion, large nose, wide mouth, brown eyes, and thick black hair.
He reminded me of a German Shepard for some reason, floppy and friendly.
“Hello, Mr. Kurt. I’m Special Agent Ryder.”
I stepped forward to shake his hand, grinning so hard I was surprised it didn’t hurt.
Please don’t let me see anything as bad as this mornin’.
Flash.
Mr. Kurt was flinching as a smaller hand squeezed his.
The vision widened to show the rest of the hospital room. The pretty plump woman on the bed screamed and her shriek was joined by the newborn’s as he slid out.
He looked like a giant root covered in goo.
&nb
sp; And was the most beautiful thing in the world.
The nurse wrapped the screaming baby and Mr. Kurt kissed his wife. The nurse passed over the tiny package and tears flowed down his face as he kissed the gooey baby on its forehead.
“Congratulations, he’s beautiful,” the midwife said.
“I’m a daddy,” Kurt said, sobbing as he kissed the tiny face again.
I gave Mr. Kurt a completely genuine smile as I dropped his hand.
My First Impression of Grant was of him when his daughter was born. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen Grant cry. I think it says something about a man when his most significant moment is when he becomes a father.
“Do you have more questions?” Kurt asked.
“One moment.” I hurried out of the room.
Grant followed, closing the door behind him. “Well?”
“He just had his first kid, maybe a few months ago. A baby boy.”
Our eyes met for a moment and I had that urge to lean forward to take in his sharp, clean scent.
I blinked and cleared my throat. “What did he say about the girl?”
“She was a singer here. Her name’s Jo. He doesn’t know her last name, age, where she lives, and she was always paid in cash.”
I snorted. “So he’s confessing to tax fraud… tax evasion? Is it tax f-”
“Ryder.”
“Sorry, sir. So he’s committed some tax crime by keeping her off the books and he confessed that to a bunch of feds? I don’t think so.”
“Exactly.”
Grant handed me a picture of the girl in a group of five other teenagers and twenty-somethin’s, arms around each other and smiling at what I guessed was a New Year’s Eve party based on the hats and balloons.
“He had this on the wall in his office. You have ten minutes. Use one of the booths.”
I nodded and sat down even though I have a hard time gettin’ things from photos cuz they have to mean something to the people who took them.
Luckily most photos don’t. Otherwise I’d drown in visions whenever I got on Facebook and Instagram would be outta the question.
I put my bowl on the table and lit my incense, focusing on the picture, on everything from the party hats to the beaming smiles to Jo’s sparkling eyes.
Flash.