Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters)

by Grace, A. E.

  “Want me to call anyone else? Coroner’s on his way already.”

  “No,” Sasha said. “I’ve got it from here. I’ll make the calls. Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem, detective. Oh, and good job at that meth lab.”

  Sasha looked at the police officer. She had tried not to think about it. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. Really. Those fellas were bad, and meant business. You did good.”

  “I shot at people,” Sasha said. Her voice was quiet. “Injured two of them, and nearly killed one of them. Even if they were criminals, I don’t feel particularly glad about the whole thing.”

  The officer shrugged. “You don’t shoot, then you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Yeah,” Sasha said. She eyed the officer. She knew where she recognized him from now. “Hey,” she said. “You were first backup to arrive, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t remember. I’ve tried to sort of put that day out of my memory. Why did you say we’d never formally met?”

  “Because we haven’t. I was assigned to traffic control soon afterward. Didn’t see you for the rest of the day. Anyway, don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks, I guess. I mean, for getting there so quickly.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We watch each other’s backs, right? See you later.”

  “Yeah. See you later.”

  Watching the police officer go, Sasha steadied her breathing, and then turned back toward the bedroom. Ignoring the lifeless body of Charlie Kinnear as well as she could, she saw that the officer was right. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed. There wasn’t all that much in the bedroom, and Sasha noticed a film of dust lying atop the bedside table. Not much in the room ever got touched, moved or cleaned. There were few obvious clues.

  At least he was killed in his sleep, Sasha thought. No, she hoped.

  She left the house then. She would have to wait for the coroner, anyway, and she was having a forensics guy bring down the necessary gear. She didn’t want to stand around and stare at the victim’s open neck.

  Walking toward the house on the left, where Sally Clark lived, she noticed the woman looking out of her window at her. Sasha waved, smiled, and gestured at Mrs. Clark’s front door. The older woman nodded, and a minute later, was standing in the open doorway.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Sasha closed the gap between them quickly, and nodded. “No thank you, Mrs. Clark. Truthfully, I would love a cup, but we’re not to accept anything from anybody.”

  “Ah,” the old woman sniffed. “Corruption. Caffeine kickbacks. Luxury beans.”

  Sasha smiled. “You get the picture. Anyway, just want to ask you to go over what you told the officers.”

  “Like I said, saw a big animal. Dog, maybe? Called you people. By the time they arrived, animal was gone.”

  “You called the police because of a dog?”

  The woman bristled. “This wasn’t just any dog. It was huge. Had a big bushy tail, and a snout as long as a bottle. Never seen anything like it round here.”

  “A number of people own big dogs.”

  “Yeah, well this wasn’t one of those.”

  “Okay,” Sasha said. She looked to her side, saw the road already shimmering with heat. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nothing? So you saw or heard nothing within the last two hours or so?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure about that, Mrs. Clark?”

  “There was a man. I think he was jogging.”

  Sasha widened her eyes. “When?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You know, I lose track of the time.”

  “But this was after you saw the large dog?”

  “Yes.” The woman nodded slowly. “I think so.”

  Sasha’s temper strained against its leash. “Okay. Why didn’t you tell the officers this?”

  “I didn’t think it was important.”

  “Mrs. Clark,” Sasha said. She took a breath. “Never mind. Anyway, so you saw a man jogging after you saw the dog. I presume this was also after the police came and left?”

  “I would presume so, too.”

  Sasha blinked. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Clark. So you saw the man after the police came and left?”

  “Didn’t I just say that, dear? Sorry, I’m a little tired. I haven’t slept all night, you see.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t worry. So this man, what did he look like?”

  “Big fella. Tall. Black hair. He was jogging. He jogged right past my window.”

  Sasha took out her pad. “Was his hair short or long?”

  “Medium length, I think. Couldn’t really tell, it was dark.”

  “What kind of clothing was he wearing?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a singlet? Maybe a t-shirt? Heck, maybe he was wearing nothing at all.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  “Like I said, detective. It was dark.” The woman leaned against the doorframe, and Sasha noticed her hand was trembling a little.

  “Okay. Anything unusual about him? Or anything stand out?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Clark said, nodding. “He was bare foot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He wasn’t wearing any shoes. I know that’s what all the new-age kids do these days, bare-foot running and all that stuff. I’ve seen the advertisements. Still don’t know why you’d do it, though.”

  Sasha doubted that this was a ‘new-age kid’ running barefoot on the dusty, uneven tarmac street. “You’re sure about that, Mrs. Clark?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “Fairly sure. It’s something you notice, you know?”

  “But you don’t know what he was wearing?”

  “I don’t pay attention to a man’s fashion at my age,” she said. “Like I said, it was dark.”

  Sasha finished scribbling down the description in her pad. “Good. Thank you for that. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Okay.” Sasha wrote down her mobile number on a page of her pad, and tore it out. “This is my number. If you think of anything else, call me immediately, okay?”

  “Okay, detective. If I might ask, what exactly has happened in there?” She jerked her head toward the Kinnear residence. “The two policemen didn’t tell me anything. They just told me to stay inside.”

  Sasha sighed. “There’s been a death.”

  “Oh no. Was Mr. Kinnear murdered?”

  “We’re not sure yet, but we’re not ruling anything out. Do you work, Mrs. Clark?”

  “No.”

  “Have you got to go out today?”

  “No.”

  “Then stay inside and keep your doors and windows locked.”

  “Why, am I in danger?”

  Sasha found the question funny. “This is Salty Springs, Mrs. Clark. You should always be locking your doors and windows.” She pointed at the piece of paper with her number that she’d given the woman. “Call me if you think of anything.”

  She left then, and began walking over to Mr. Sands’ house, wondering if he’d changed out of his robe.

  To: Circle Cole

  BCC: Anastasia Sirrocos

  Circe,

  Charlie Kinnear was just an old man. He was already senile. We get old, too, and when we do, the same things happen to us.

  I did know him personally. I had met him before. So, yes, he was on our radar. But we tracked him down late. The man had lived in isolation for (and this is just my guess) more than a century. He didn’t have a husband or boyfriend (he was gay) and seemed to interact little with anybody in Salty Springs. At least, that is what I remember from my sole visit.

  As far as I know, he wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things. He appeared uninterested in the fact that I was like him. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Senility had already begun to degrade his brain when I met him, s
o that could play a factor.

  But it’s just as likely he didn’t care one way or the other. Not all shapeshifters feel the need to bond with others. Some are simply hermits. Though we consider ourselves a different species, our human selves still develop independent personalities.

  Perhaps Charlie Kinnear was just a social recluse. Maybe he had a psychological disorder, like agoraphobia. These are not questions, because the speculation is useless.

  I’m guessing you are going to ask me next why we didn’t warn him. The truth of that is we didn’t know anybody else knew about him. And back then, we didn’t know that Leon could receive information in that way, too.

  There was simply no indication that he was in danger.

  Hope that helps clear some things up. I won’t be able to respond to your emails for the next few days. Anastasia and I have got a new lead.

  Best of luck with your book.

  Caleb

  PS. Anastasia says hi.

  ----------

  Circe Cole wrote:

  Hi Caleb,

  I just wanted to clarify some things about Charlie Kinnear. Did you know him well? I take it you had him on your radar, as it were. Why didn’t you go to him sooner?

  Sorry if these seem like vague questions, but I’m missing a lot of context surrounding him. Was he important?

  Many thanks,

  Circe

  *

  “What you got for me?”

  Sasha looked up from her notes, and saw the superintendent standing in the doorway. “I got a bit of hair. Looks more like fur, actually. I sent it off to the lab so we’ll know tomorrow, assuming if they don’t bury it.”

  “They won’t. I’ll put in a word. They’ll probably have it analyzed by the end of the day, so call them, don’t wait for them to call you. That’s a rookie mistake.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sasha leaned forward, felt her sweat-soaked shirt peel off her back.

  “Hot today?”

  Sasha flared. “Do I look that bad?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She ignored it. “I’d say we probably have a homicide on our hands.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. I mean, unlocked door, and-”

  “Charlie Kinnear never locked his door. I once walked that beat too, you know.”

  “Did you see the photos of his body? They’re in the computer already.”

  “I did,” the superintendent said. He looked sad for a moment. “Could have been an animal.”

  “Nothing was disturbed in the house, and there was food still left in the bin.” She shook her head. “One of the uniforms noticed that. Anyway, doesn’t seem like it. I mean, what kind of animal could do that?”

  “Who knows? Maybe somebody has a nasty pet we don’t know about. People do crazy things.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about the call about that big dog?”

  “Shaky. Responding unit saw nothing.”

  “Maybe the uniforms scared it off.”

  “Could be… but it feels like we’re missing something. The hair I got will clear it up. It doesn’t belong to the vic.”

  “Charlie had no hair.”

  “Exactly. It’s greyish, though. Felt soft, you know? Had a spring to it. Probably from the lining of a jacket, to be honest.”

  “Nobody owns fur out here, detective.”

  “Well, maybe. Maybe not. But it’s all I’ve got.”

  “No prints?”

  “Everywhere, but you know the drill, boss. It’s a house. There’ll be prints everywhere.”

  “So, not an animal attack then?” The superintendent almost sounded disappointed.

  “I’m just not buying it. There’s no local wildlife that could do… that to a man. I just don’t see it.”

  He sighed, and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Shit. Did you talk to Sands?”

  “Yes. He said he heard a scream. Said he sleeps with his window open.”

  “A scream?”

  “Coming from Mr. Kinnear’s house.” Sasha sighed. Her hope that the poor man had been killed in his sleep had been dashed after she’d interviewed Sands.

  “And he called the cops?”

  “He said it was a really bad scream, sir. ‘Piercing’ was the word he used.”

  “Ah.”

  “I talked to, uh, Sally Clark as well, one who called in the dog thing?”

  “That was Sally Clark who called about the dog?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” The superintendent frowned. “What about it?”

  “She said she saw someone jogging.”

  “Jogging?”

  “Yes, said he went right past her window.”

  “Were you close to her?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Were you physically close to her when you spoke with her?”

  “No,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “Not really, I guess. Like maybe a few feet away. Why?”

  “Ah. If you were, you would have smelled the alcohol on her breath.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s unreliable, and she’s called us before in the middle of the night for bogus claims. Pile of salt, Monroe. Sands say anything about this jogger?”

  “No.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “I’m not dismissing it just yet. She gave a partial description.”

  “Don’t put it out yet.”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “Work the case a little more. We don’t need to stir up a panic… not if we don’t have to.”

  Sasha narrowed her eyes. “With all due respect, sir, you shouldn’t be worrying about politics on a homicide.”

  “Don’t put it out yet,” the superintended repeated, enunciating each syllable slowly. “Work the case.”

  “I’m working it, damn it,’ Sasha snapped.

  “Make it fast, Monroe. I want this thing sorted. After that meth house incident, we don’t need any more bad press.”

  Sasha looked back down at her notes without replying.

  “Monroe?”

  “Yes?”

  “Button up your shirt, would you?”

  Her pride ruffled. All the men had their shirts unbuttoned at the top. She thought about saying something, but decided against it. “Yes, sir,” she said, doing up the button and putting her head down.

  An hour later, Sasha had nowhere to turn, and no conceivable avenue for further investigation. The prints from the door knob all belonged to old man Charlie, and she’d have to wait until the end of the day for the analysis of the hair fibers.

  At half past ten in the morning, it had already been a long day, and Sasha still had the rest of it ahead of her. She heard a grumble in her stomach, and decided she’d take an early lunch. One of the benefits of being promoted, she supposed.

  *

  Sasha: I’ll admit it. I was stumped.

  Interviewer: Stumped?

  Sasha: I had nowhere to turn. There were only two leads, and one was a drunk’s vague description of a man in the dark, who may or may not have been there. The other was seemingly fur from a jacket lining, or something.

  Interviewer: Was it tough, catching a case like that on your first day?

  Sasha: Yes. I was also tremendously hung-over. [Laughs quickly.] I mean, I thought I’d come in, be shown around my new office, introduced to the other detectives as an equal rather than uniformed slave. That’s how they treated the uniforms. Instead I catch a whodunit. I don’t have prints, and as you know, forensics on the body didn’t come in until much, much later. I’ve got hair but the lab is stalling. Boss doesn’t have my back, and I’m on the case alone. [Shakes her head.] Yeah, it was tough.

  Interviewer: What about the animal sighting from Sally Clark?

  Sasha: I didn’t take it that seriously. I mean, even if there was a big dog that escaped from its front yard or whatever, who cares? What happened to Charlie Kinnear was not just your run of the mill household
pet. Even a big one.

  Interviewer: You were sure of that?

  Sasha: I think so. That’s what I thought, anyway. What my gut told me.

  Interviewer: So why send the fur to the lab?

  Sasha: Old man Charlie didn’t own a fur coat. [Shrugs.] It had to come from somewhere. I doubted that the fur was connected to Sally Clark’s big dog. But I didn’t doubt that the fur was connected to the homicide. Looking back, I only had it half-right.

  [Short break. Bottles of water handed out.]

  Interviewer: Do you think you did bad work?

  Sasha: [Frowns.] I wouldn’t say I did a great job. Not the best I was capable of, anyway. At the time, I felt all this pressure, you know?

  Interviewer: Why didn’t you do a good job?

  Sasha: To tell you the truth, Circe, I want to say it was because I was tired, but that’s a bad excuse. Everybody is tired. I shouldn’t have gotten tunnel vision like I did. No, if I had to point to one thing, it was meeting him. [Points.]

  Caleb: Yeah, and that’s not the first time he made a mess of things, either.

  - Excerpt from full transcript of Interview with a Shapeshifter by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.

  *

  Dylan Macready cradled his cup of coffee, breathing in the steam that wafted upward from it. The air was dry as hell, and his airways felt as though they were lined with dust and sand. He had walked around the small town of Salty Springs all morning. It had a considerable sprawl to it, especially when considering that it had such a low population.

  “Hey,” he said, waving at the waitress. The fifty-something woman with a hard scowl and lined face walked up to him, coffee pot in her hand, a jaunty carelessness in her step. She was wearing an oversized singlet, tucked into high-waist jeans, and with the top button undone. Dylan could definitely appreciate her bravely casual fashion sense.

  “More coffee, stud?” Her voice was deep and raspy, like she’d just smoked a hundred cigarettes in a single sitting.

  Dylan ignored the question. “Why are there so many police officers around?”

  “Sorry, darling?”