by P. S. Power
“Of course, after your recent wounds that makes sense. Do you mind terribly if I finish the last course? I... well, you understand, I'm sure.” The other woman looked at the small roll that the waitress brought her hungrily.
Gwen smiled, trying not to grimace. She did get it, since the woman had probably been nearly starving, literally, for weeks or longer. She looked thin, her clothes loose on her, even after she'd had Gwen help her tighten what she could before they left.
When it came time to pay, Bethany pulled a single bill, clearly marked with a one on it and handed it to the waitress, who left and returned with a handful of change a few minutes later.
“Uh, Bethany? How much did this cost? I'm trying to get a sense of what things are worth here...” She tried not to look baffled or confused but couldn't help it at the moment.
“Oh! Certainly. I keep forgetting that you're not from here, you seem to blend in so well. The meal came to ten decs each, I handed the waitress, we call them waitresses here, the female servers at restaurants, a one metric dollar note and she returned eighty decs.” Bethany quickly described how the monetary system worked, everything breaking down into ones or tens, they did have hundred met notes, but those were rare.
Gwen asked the price of a few other things, rent, clothing, food at a grocery store.
Bethany rolled out numbers that seemed ridiculously small to her.
“So the two of us could live on a few hundred dollars a month without hardship? Um, mets, I mean.” She finally asked, the other woman nodding.
“Yes, and live well. Really, we could both live on the twenty-five mets you're making as my caretaker if it came to that. My salary will keep us both without issue at all and what you collect in stipend is simply amazing. I think you may be the richest person I've ever known personally. I probably shouldn't tell you this, you'll leave and then I'll end up stuck in analytical work mode again, starving and being pawed by Haversham.” She actually sounded worried, Gwen could tell, so she tried to put the other woman's mind to rest on the issue. It wasn't something she was good at, putting people at ease, but Beth had been through a lot over the last months. It was probably nearly as bad as what Gwen had to deal with. Maybe worse. At least Gwen could respond to the new world she was thrust into and didn't just have to take everything passively.
“Not a chance. For one thing you're the only friend I have here so far. For another I need you to help me catch the freaks that tried to kill me. Even after we find them and bring them down, I have to learn the rules of this world, how to get along.” She stopped at the restaurant's door for a moment as they walked out.
“Bethany... this place is so strange and bizarre to me. People here think you're strange, because of what you can do, but if they got to know more about me they'd see how normal you really were.” She grinned at the other woman. “Now, let's go have a word with some people before we start work for the day, yes?” She held the door for the detective, waving her past.
Bethany nodded and agreed with that plan, a small smile on her own lips.
Even though the hour seemed early to Gwen, most of the others were already in the office. After setting their bags down on Bethany's desk, they went directly to Peals' office, Bethany letting Gwen knock for her.
“Come in,” Peals voice rang out.
Inside, Gwen pushed the door shut. Before she could say anything, Bethany started speaking, her voice fairly friendly and cultured sounding to Gwen's ear.
“Chief Constabulary Detective Peals. So good to finally get to speak to you openly. I'm Bethany Westmorland, Constabulary Detective for now, though I have training in several other fields, as you may know. What you don't know about me is that I've been stuck in a conditioned work mode for the last six months... without a break.” She held up a hand.
“I'm not blaming you. My last caretakers handled things poorly, probably out of prejudice or ignorance and didn't let you know that I had other capabilities. My new associate, Miss Farris, is quite a bit more intelligent than the last and quickly figured out how to induce a regular state, allowing for greater communication.”
She sat delicately and motioned for Gwen to do the same.
Peals sat behind his large wooden desk, the wood had dings and nicks in it, but the matte green blotter in front of him seemed newer, with only a few ink stains. Bethany kept talking.
“I've explained some of my other abilities to Gwen here. Right now I have only two small complaints, then I'll get to work. First, since no one here seemed to know anything about me, why didn't anyone request information from the Westmorland national offices? Second, do you think you could ask Haversham to not paw me when I'm in analytical state? I have to remember everything that happens in that mode perfectly and, well, it's a little off-putting to tell the truth, since the man so clearly despises me, to have him also be fresh, thinking I don't realize what's going on, when the exact opposite is actually true.”
Peals sat still for a while, not moving. His expression didn't even change, but he didn't blink either, so Gwen knew something was up.
He got up and went to the door.
“Haversham, a word,” he pronounced dryly.
A few moments later, Haversham came to the door.
“Yes, chief?” He asked, sounding polite enough to Gwen's ears. He rubbed at his mustache when he saw Bethany sitting there, to hide the look of disgust that crossed his face, most likely. It was an unconscious type of gesture, Gwen recognized. He was disgusted and couldn't keep that off his face, but he knew it was wrong on some level too, so he tried to hide it, at least from his boss.
Peals motioned him to pull another chair over, from closer to the wall.
“It seems that we've... been misinformed as to who and what exactly a Westmorland detective is all this time. Miss Westmorland has requested that you, and I'm quoting here, “stop pawing her” which seems reasonable enough to me.”
When Haversham started to speak, a denial, Bethany shook her head.
“Haversham. Don't bother denying it. I was there, after all. If you could just not do that in the future, especially when I'm in one of my work modes? I mean, if you just wanted a date or something, that would be different, but, well, I'm sure you can understand that in any of my work states it would be highly distracting?” She didn't seem angry about his previous actions, stating all of this in a matter of fact manner. To Gwen's surprise she didn't even sound cold, almost like she'd gladly let him “paw” her in a non-work state or something if he wanted. It was more polite than Gwen would have managed.
The man turned red, Gwen thought he blushed at first, but he kept going past red and into purple, veins popped out near his temples. He looked like he wanted to start yelling at them, but didn't speak, Peals stare seeming to pin him in place.
“I have to agree, Bertie. If you want to pay court to her, you need to do it properly. I don't want to ever hear of you stepping out of bounds with any woman under your charge again, is that understood? Miss Westmorland has been most understanding about this, but don't push your luck. Now get out of here before I change my mind and sack you for violating trust.” His voice came out like gravel, and a bit sad at the same time, as if he had expected better of Haversham and felt very let down and disappointed in him.
Haversham stood stiffly and marched out of the room without looking back. When he shut the door, Peals looked at them both.
“I'm sorry for our failures, Detective Westmorland. Please know that we'll do our best to repair this in the future. I trust that you're fine with this outcome as far as Haversham?” He looked at her.
Waving her fingers slightly, Bethany agreed that this seemed the best way for now.
“After all, he didn't do anything that a normal man wouldn't have been tempted to do in a similar situation. No need to ruin him over it or anything,” she allowed.
Peals nodded.
“Kind of you... As to why we didn't contact the home office about you... We weren't really supposed to have you here, you know,
so when you came and started working here six months ago, we didn't want to let anyone know. Your pay came regularly, so we figured we could pretend that you were sent, when the hammer finally came down and you were taken away. I suppose you'll be leaving now?” He sighed.
Shaking her head, Bethany looked at him squarely.
“No, sir. I requested this office. It kept coming up in my intuitive state that I needed to be here, and until my work here is done, I'll remain. Unless you don't want me of course. The only difference now is that, with good management, you'll get to see what I can really do. Which is a good deal more than what you've seen so far.” Her eyes went to Gwen. “I think... I need to check this out in intuitive mode, but my guess is that I'm here because this is where Miss Farris was going to show up. She's unique to our world and may prove to be an asset in the future.”
Gwen didn't understand how she could be an asset here, ignorant as she was, and said so, but promised to help if she could. Peals laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“You've already done things that we hadn't in six months, Miss Farris. This alone,” he gestured toward Bethany, “is worth more than I can express. Of course, as a reward I have only more work for you both, but that's the life of a Constabulary Detective, no? What do you suggest as the best use of your talents, Detective Westmorland?” He asked, his eyes curious.
Beth didn't speak, looking at the other woman instead.
Gwen thought she knew what they should do next and said so.
“Bethany has intuitive abilities that haven't been used at all in this current case. I think we should get her into that state and see what our next move should be.”
Bethany nodded.
“Once I go into state, I won't speak unless asked a question though, so try to ask good ones.” She smiled.
Gwen nodded, since that made sense to her. Intuition being responsive, instead of proactive, most of the time. “Alright then, Bethany, please go into your intuitive mode now,” Gwen said, hoping she phrased it correctly or at least close enough that Bethany wouldn't self-destruct or something awful like that.
The other woman's face suddenly went blank, her eyes not tracking the room anymore.
“Bethany,” Gwen tried to get her attention. “Where do you think the next attack will take place, in regards to the current case.” She phrased this carefully, trying to make sure she didn't start the other woman talking about a mugging down the street.
“In three days. The information we find at the scene of the last attack will be our best lead.” Her voice came out sounding devoid of life.
“Do you mean the attack on me?” Gwen tilted her head, because something didn't feel right.
“No... the last one.” The voice was slow and hesitant, almost as if the detective was drugged or half asleep.
“Where is that, when did it take place.” Gwen had a strong sense of foreboding.
“Last night, in the warehouse district, near the docks. Building twelve. Under the ground.”
Peals wrote this down and ran to the door.
“We may have another one. We need to check it out. In force.”
Then he ordered all available personnel to the crime scene.
Chapter eight
Warehouse twelve by the docks stored and processed meat and meat products, and used an underground storage area – an insulated ice house set up – to keep things cool even during the hot summer months when the meat would go bad before they could can or cure it otherwise. They didn't seem to use refrigeration here, at least not wide scale, preferring ice houses and delivery. This meant that meats were smoked, canned, and cured in salt, or even dried, a lot more often than she was used to. A lot of the meat she'd eaten had been killed within a few days of eating, at facilities in the city, she guessed, maybe even the same day. Otherwise it would just go bad.
Given the other cases, they found the altar, with a body on it, easily enough.
Gwen walked into the room with Bethany, noticing that no one seemed to be following good crime scene procedures. She asked Peals about it, trying to be delicate, but really wondering if tramping all over the evidence was a good idea.
“What are we supposed to do? We take notes and try to preserve the information as best we can,” he answered his face looking a bit disgruntled. Gwen could see that, she didn't know his job better than he did after all. Still, could the fact that she just knew different stuff help at all?
She thought for a bit, her brow furrowing a little in effort, after all, what did they even have here? They couldn't match DNA or anything like that, probably not even fingerprints, though she didn't know that for certain. “You have cameras here, right? I saw an ID photo... Wouldn't it be a good idea to have pictures taken of the scene? That way if something gets missed now, someone might notice it later, in a picture.” Peals stared at her for a while, and she thought he'd yell at her, his face looked so strange and perplexed. Instead he asked everyone to quickly back out of the space, and try to not disturb anything.
He made a call, or rather had someone else run and make a call somehow, and a man showed up with several cameras within half an hour. He took pictures of the crime scene, following instructions called out by Peals who stood on the stairs that led to the surface. It went well until the photographer reached the body and couldn't continue. The man just froze and refused to go on, shaking a bit.
Gwen had been watching how he worked the camera, which seemed pretty basic to her, if a little primitive. It required manual focusing and the film to be advanced by hand by cranking a little lever back and forth four times with each picture taken. The flash seemed to be automatic, oddly enough, an extra bright version of the lights in the glow lamps she'd seen all over the place.
“Here, I can get the pictures of the body. My idea and all,” she said, taking the camera from the man who'd paled at the sight through his lens already.
She took pictures from every angle she could reach including some of the bottom of the stone altar the woman, one with dark hair that looked eerily similar to her new body, lay on naked. It made her wonder if she'd been naked when they stabbed her. She hadn't noticed at the time and no one had mentioned it to her. It seemed odd that she'd noticed the knife but not being without clothes. Then again, maybe not so odd, not having been able to move at the time.
A sheet had been placed over the victim by one of the men, which Gwen pulled back, figuring that lacking DNA and fingerprint evidence gathering ability, the men hadn't really disrupted much with all their tramping around, not even when they covered the body like this. She knew they didn't have those things for a simple reason once she took a minute to think about it. If they had, the crime scene would have been treated far more carefully to begin with. Simply having the tech dictated how things were done.
When she finished, she pulled the sheet back into place carefully.
Then she asked Bethany if she wanted to look at the crime scene using her analytical mode.
Grimacing, the other woman said yes. Gwen understood her reticence, since once seen in that mode she'd always remember it. Hopefully only at need and not as some kind of image that floated behind her eyes all the time. That would suck too much to bear. It took a few seconds for Gwen to get her into the right state, staring at the scene closely, looking at the whole thing in that eerie way she had, where she absorbed all of the data completely.
A few minutes later, she stood, waiting. Gwen had her release the work mode and come back to her normal self.
“Thank you, Gwen. We need this data, but it isn't pleasant to look at in state. Still, I think the table is very similar to the others, the tool marks on it look the same, as well as the color. We should follow your idea of checking with some geologists.” As she said this her head turned, so that she didn't have to look at the sheet in the center of the room anymore.
They decided to go outside, since there didn't seem to be any reason for them to stand around the body, hanging out. Whoever she'd been in life, in death the body
was a horrible conversationalist. Plus, she smelled. It wasn't like on television, the corpse didn't reek, her intestines hadn't been breached, her flesh hadn't rotted. It was just that there was a subtle scent of fresh meat in the air around her. It was just a little too close to things that Gwen associated with food to be comfortable. A scent like fresh pork that made her mouth water a little, which made her feel sick in response when she realized what had happened.
Gwen got the camera back to the photographer and requested he develop and deliver the pictures as quickly as possible to the district house. He agreed, not making eye contact with her, his eyes looking at the ground as if filled with shame or embarrassment. At first Gwen just didn't notice, a lot of people simply avoided looking at her like that, didn't they? Then she realized it wasn't about her this time. She asked him if everything was alright, worried, since he still looked a little green around the edges.