by G. R. Lyons
“I'm really surprised you don't remember,” the man murmured.
“Someone from Oaks Pass? Or the camps? An intern? A prisoner? What?”
The man chuckled. “You're the detective. You tell me.”
Chief Rothbur studied the man's face, trying to place him in his memory. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to come up with anything familiar. He considered and discarded several possibilities. The man didn't look like any of the rebels he'd worked with, nor like anyone from prior years at the agency. Neither did the man remind him of any neighbors or acquaintances. He even considered the possibility that this man could be one of his sons but…no, the man was too young for that, and Chief knew perfectly well all his sons were dead.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The man grinned at him. “That would be cheating.”
Letting out a low growl, the chief stormed around the table, disengaged the cuffs holding the man to the chair, and hauled him to his feet.
He waved at the mirror, and a moment later the door opened, Malrin and Lehinis watching as he shoved the visitor out to the main office and gestured toward the front door.
“You've wasted enough of my time with your silly games,” the chief spat. “Get out of my office.”
The man paused, looking at him with a hint of a smile on his face, and turned toward the door. After two steps, he turned back and grinned.
“Oh, Mr. Rothbur, I did steal something, incidentally,” he said, reaching into his coat and drawing out a ladies antique watch. He tossed it over, saying, “I believe you'll find that belongs to your girl at the front desk.”
Chief caught the watch and turned it over, seeing Lani's initials etched into the back of it. He looked up and saw the man chuckle to himself as he turned away and left the building.
“What was that all about?” Malrin asked.
The chief shook his head and strode toward the front of the office, stopping beside the counter where Lani was just finishing a call.
“Yes, Chief?” she asked.
He held up the watch. “Is this–”
“Oh!” She snatched it out of his hands. “Thank the gods. I noticed it missing a few minutes ago and thought it must have broken and fell off. Where did you find it?”
The chief nodded toward the door where the strange visitor had just exited. “He had it.”
Lani stared at the door, then down at the watch before looking back up at the chief.
“How?”
“I have no idea. It is yours, though?”
She checked the back and nodded emphatically. “Family heirloom. Gramma would kill me if I ever lost it. They just don't make these things anymore.”
The chief looked toward the door, drumming his fingers on the counter as he thought.
“Lani, would you recognize that man if he came in again?”
She frowned. “I think so?”
“If he does, activate the silent alarm, just in case. Something about him…”
“Will do, Chief,” she said when he trailed off.
Chief Rothbur nodded at her, then glanced at the door again before heading away from the reception area, signaling Malrin and Lehinis to follow.
“Everything alright, Chief?” Lehinis asked.
“Yeah, who was that guy?” Malrin added.
“I don't know,” the chief said, his tone low and clipped. “But I don't need any more of the past coming back to haunt me right now.”
He saw Malrin and Lehinis share a look, but thankfully the men stayed silent as they continued across the office and up the stairs, heading for Asenna's room.
But the past is always there, the chief thought, taking a deep breath and clearing his mind of everything but the task at hand. There was a case debriefing to be done, and he knew he had to stay focused in order to get through it.
Chapter 3
ASENNA LOOKED up when her door opened and Chief walked in, followed by Detectives Malrin and Lehinis. She put the magazine down and nodded greetings to the men, clenching her hands into fists when Malrin tossed a throw pillow aside as he settled into the recliner.
“Computer, on,” the chief said, looking up at the wallscreen, a mug of coffee in one hand while he pointed at the discarded pillow behind him with the other, making the pillow rise up on its own and float over to the couch.
“Good morning, Chief Rothbur,” a robotic voice responded the same moment Malrin muttered, “Gods, I wish he wouldn't do that.”
The chief stood in the middle of the room, sipping at his coffee and ignoring the comment, while Asenna and the two detectives sat quietly, watching him.
“General database,” he ordered. “Open file: Wakler, Lesa.”
“Searching,” the computer replied, and almost immediately brought up a new icon on the screen, the icon expanding to show layers of digital sheets, stacked on top of one another.
“Detective,” the chief said with a nod at Malrin, and the chief took a seat while Malrin stood up, glancing suspiciously at the pillow before he pointed at the screen.
Asenna watched, silent, as Malrin went over the evidence gathered at the scene, confirming the wounds on the body matched those photographed on Asenna herself. He went through the medical examiner's report, and showed a series of pictures of where the body was found.
“Anything unusual?” the chief asked.
Malrin pointed at Lehinis, who jumped up and went to stand by the screen.
“Two things unusual, Chief,” Lehinis said, holding up two fingers. “One, we found a vase of flowers right next to the body, and, well, I mean, look at this thing.”
He turned around and plucked a digital image out of the file, holding it up in hologram form so they could have a better view. The image showed Lesa Wakler's body lying in a puddle of blood with a vase of fresh flowers sitting almost mockingly on the floor next to her head.
“That's kinda sick,” Asenna muttered. “And creepy.”
Lehinis nodded. “And look. A white rose. Who sends white roses anymore? I mean, honestly.”
Asenna looked up at him with one eyebrow raised, and the detective glanced from one face to another, the tips of his ears turning red.
“Right. Moving along.”
Lehinis tossed the image aside and brought up the medical examiner's report again, resting it side-by-side with a closer image of Wakler's body.
“Here's the really freaky part,” Detective Lehinis said. “All this blood, and not a single footprint around the body. No smears, like it never got on the killer's hands. No fingerprints. Anywhere. At all. We swept the whole house. Only fingerprints we found belonged to the vic.”
Malrin gestured up at the screen from his seat and added, “She had vaginal tearing consistent with a violent rape, but no traces of semen. No skin under her fingernails. Not a single hair anywhere in the house that didn't belong to her. Not a thing anywhere that could help us identify her killer.”
Asenna stared at the screen. “How the fuck is that possible?”
Beside her, the chief winced, while Malrin merely shrugged. “Haven't got a clue. Whoever this guy is, he's thorough, I'll give him that.”
With a low growl, Asenna kicked out at the coffee table, knocking it askew, then immediately jumped up and straightened it, patting the edges of the magazines back into a perfect stack and slumping back onto the couch.
In the silence that followed, they all shared looks, grim expressions on all their faces, and Asenna knew they were all thinking the same thing.
Their mysterious killer, who never left a speck of evidence, had struck again.
* * *
CHIEF ROTHBUR glanced down the balcony through his open office doorway before disabling the screen lock on his tablet. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and flipped past the first page of the file he'd left open on the device, revealing an image of the victim.
That beautiful, haunting photograph stared back at him. The familiar eyes, the pale face, the long, dark hair, the enigmatic smile
. He took another deep breath and glanced over at a picture frame resting on his desk.
“Gods, I wish you were here,” he murmured.
Chief shook his head and turned back to the file, swiping the photograph aside and reading the preliminary case report for the umpteenth time. Not in four years had the details in that file brought him a solution, but he kept trying.
He had to keep trying.
All those years, and the details of the report still stabbed at his heart: the victim's cuts, bruises, multiple rapes, broken bones—the list seemed to go on endlessly.
And the pictures were worse.
He barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching, but a knock on the door made him start.
“Chief?”
Chief shot to his feet, his hands in fists at his sides.
“You,” he growled, staring wide-eyed at his visitor. “What in the gods' names are you doing here?”
The young man standing in his doorway looked stung by the greeting but entered the room anyway. “You know why I'm here.”
“Crawford, how many times must I tell you no?”
Charlie Crawford took another step forward. “Chief, please, just let me–”
“We've already had this conversation far too many times, and I for one–”
“Dad–”
“I am not your father!” Chief barked at him.
Crawford stared at him sadly, his shoulders visibly drooping. “You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father and you know it. Besides–” He paused with a heavy sigh and lifted his left hand, showing the chief a gold band on his ring finger. “Does this count for nothing?”
Chief stared at the ring for a moment, and turned his eyes back on the young man. “You still wear that?”
Crawford nodded. “I made a promise to her for the rest of my days, not the rest of hers.”
The man looked pointedly down at the file openly displayed on the tablet, but quickly looked away at the sight of the gruesome photographs visible there. Chief Rothbur quickly secured the file and sank into his chair on a sigh.
“Sit down, Charlie,” he ordered, and Crawford obeyed.
They were silent for a few minutes while Chief stared at the icon for the closed file, running a finger along the tablet's edge. The icon's label, bearing the victim's name, read 'Saira Crawford, born Rothbur'.
“Charlie, why are you here?” Chief asked without looking up.
“You know why I'm here. I want in S.P.I.R.I.T. Division.”
Chief looked up at him and narrowed his eyes. “Charlie, I've told you that's not possible. We're not going to discuss it again.”
“Benash, please,” Charlie said, sitting forward in his chair and reaching out a hand. “Please. I need this.”
Benash Rothbur glanced over at the picture frame on his desk, wishing he could pull comfort or guidance from it, but that would have to wait. Instead, he opened his hand and watched as his mug of coffee slid across his desk and into his grasp, then looked back at the man who had been his son-in-law for all of two days. “Charlie, this is pointless. Look at me.” He waited until the young man met his gaze. “Saira is gone, you know that, right?”
Charlie shook his head, his mouth pressing into a firm line. “No, she's not.”
“Charlie–”
“Gods damn it all, Benash!” Charlie slammed his fist on the edge of the desk, and jabbed his finger at the file. “Until we find the man who did this, Saira will never be gone. Please. Let me in S.P.I.R.I.T. Division. If there's any chance of finding any answers, that's the only place.”
Benash sat back in his chair and sighed heavily, wrapping one hand over his brow and pinching his temples between his thumb and middle finger. “Have you given no thought to how difficult that will be for you? How can I trust you to function in that Division with all your memories constantly at play?”
Silence grew between them, and Benash looked up to find Charlie watching him with calm determination.
“The same way you do, Chief,” Charlie said quietly. “The same reason you come here, day after day, hoping to catch that bastard.”
Benash glanced over at his open doorway, looking down the balcony at the only other door on that level. It was closed, as usual, but he was always painfully aware of what went on within that room.
“Charlie.” Benash turned back to the young man and gave him a stern, searching look. “Do you have the slightest idea what goes on in there?”
Charlie shifted in his seat, but shrugged as he answered, “I've heard rumors.”
“Well, the rumors don't tell the half of it. How will you bear what goes on in that room when all the while you'll be having memories of Saira's torture coming back to haunt you? I can't afford that kind of emotional distraction in this department.”
Charlie let out a low growl of frustration and hung his head, squeezing his hands together in his lap. After a moment, the young man sat up, looked around, and pointed at the back of the frame that sat on Benash's desk.
“What would she have done?”
Benash sat back as though slapped. Charlie was one of the few people who knew what the contents of that frame meant to him, so it was rarely discussed.
He stared at the frame, a host of painful and beautiful memories flashing through his mind as he looked at it.
“From what you've told me,” Charlie said in a respectful murmur, “I doubt she would have ever given up on Saira.” Charlie paused. “Just as you've never given up. You're still here.” Benash looked up at him, seeing the grim determination on Charlie's face. “Please, Chief. I need this, just as much as you do. I need to find him. I need…I need some fucking closure for all this.”
“Will just finding him be enough closure?”
Charlie swallowed, then seemed to force himself to nod. “It'll have to be.”
Benash dropped his eyes to the tablet, then looked over at the frame again, idly drumming his fingers on the desk while an enormous database of painful evidence rested between his hands.
After a long while, he answered, “You'll have mandatory psych evaluations every week.” When Charlie started to complain, he held up a hand. “No arguments. If you want in this Division, those are my terms. I won't have you letting your memories disrupt our operations, nor letting your own personal agenda get in the way.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Saira was not his only victim. Right now we need to focus on those we can save, and hopefully catch the bastard in the end. Weekly psych evals or you can just go right back to Oaks Pass and stay there.”
Charlie took a deep breath and nodded agreement, then got up and headed for the door.
“Oh, and Charlie? One last thing.”
He turned back and gave the chief a questioning look.
Chief Rothbur nodded toward the closed door at the other end of the balcony. “Shyth sometimes has recurring visions of past victims.” He paused, looking pointedly at Charlie. “Saira's included.”
Benash waited while the information sank in, but Charlie merely shrugged his shoulders.
“After all this time,” Charlie said, “seeing it reenacted couldn't be that bad. After all…” He paused and reached for the doorknob. “I see it every night in my dreams.”
Charlie gave him a parting nod and closed the door as he left. Benash Rothbur sat back in his chair, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“So do I, Charlie. So do I.”
* * *
ASENNA EASED the door open an inch and peeked out. The office below was quiet with the night staff mostly out on street patrol. She crept out onto the balcony and noted only two detectives still at their desks, as well as the night receptionist at the front entrance, making it easy for her to get downstairs and over to the elevator unseen.
She rode the elevator underground, dropping the distance of two storeys before the car came to a stop. Stepping out of the car, she glanced to her left, seeing the entrance to the records vault, and instead turned to the right and entered the training rooms.
&n
bsp; The main room was empty and dark, but even so, Asenna stopped to straighten a pile of mats and hang up a pair of boxing gloves that had been carelessly tossed in the corner. At the other end of the room, she came to a secured door and entered her passcode, along with a retinal scan.
A computerized voice announced, “Shyth, Asenna,” and then beeped, the door unlocking of its own accord and allowing her inside.
Asenna closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the door shut behind her.
Shyth.
Gods, she hated that name.
A generic name. A bastard's name. A name for those who were nameless.
It had seemed the only choice at the time, but it still irritated her. Just your average Shyth or Jaan, as the saying went.
She went over to one of the rifle booths and typed in her passcode again, calling up her weapon of choice, and waited as the flat surface before her opened up, allowing an articulating arm to rise out from below. Asenna removed the gun from its setting and watched the arm disappear as the table surface closed again. A light switched on in the distance, showing a stationary dummy target with concentric circles over the heart and between the eyes.
Asenna checked the weapon, finding it fully armed with training blanks, and took a stance, aiming the gun at the target.
Taking a slow breath to steady herself, she fired off six rapid shots, then lowered her arms, smiling at the sight of the target.
She reloaded, pressed a button for another target, and fired again, grinning as she made perfect patterns in the man-shaped dummies. After a few more repetitions, altering her patterns each time, she discarded the dummies, reloaded, and pressed a button for speed training, holding the gun ready as the room went dark.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, readying all her senses.
A light flashed on to the left, and Asenna whipped toward it and fired. The lights went out before she could check her accuracy, and a moment later, the lights came on again to the other side, illuminating another dummy. She rapidly fired again, and waited for the next target.
After six quick targets, the lights all came up at once, and Asenna grinned at the sight of perfect bullseyes in the hearts of each one.