by G. R. Lyons
Benash paused, looking around at each familiar face, people he hadn't seen in a few years, yet still recognizable as he'd worked with these people for so long.
“Now to the critical part,” he murmured, and drew himself up to his full height, keeping his expression stern. “I've brought along a team with me from New Haven. Crawford, you know. Two other detectives I'll introduce to you later.” He paused again, scanning the faces, and said, “You will also see someone else you know. Someone who once worked here. You are not, under any circumstances, to admit to knowing her.”
The officers looked at one another with puzzled expressions, murmuring to themselves, until Benash held up a hand and the room went silent.
“I will introduce her to you under her assumed name, and that is what you will call her,” he ordered. “You are to make no mention of who her father is, what she did here in the past, or make any indication that she is anything but a perfect stranger to you all. Do I make myself clear?”
Benash scanned the faces, making sure he got a nod or a Yes, sir out of each one.
“I should add that you may have also heard of her by reputation. They call her the Spirit,” he said, and murmurs carried around the room again. “I know you will be inclined to curiosity and gossip, but I insist on absolute secrecy as regards her presence here, both for her protection and for the sake of tracking down this killer. Your continued employment depends upon that secrecy.”
Several heads nodded agreement, and Benash turned to Charlie. “Crawford, please go get the others and bring them down here. Back entrance, of course.”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie said, darting out the door.
“Alright, officers and agents, back to your desks,” Benash said. “Detectives, anyone with an unsolved case, please remain so we can go over the files.”
Several people left the room, whispering to one another, and Benash turned to the few men who remained, clearing both the wallscreen and the table and getting down to work.
* * *
ASENNA FELT for the guns under her jacket as she stepped out of her hotel room. Even with Crawford in front of her, and Malrin and Lehinis behind, she wasn't keen on the idea of leaving the room already.
Being confined and under guard had grown on her.
She slipped on a pair of sunglasses as they stepped outside, ducking her head for the few feet they had to walk to the car. They piled in silently, and Crawford took off, setting the car to autopilot and checking his guns for the third time since he'd returned to pick them up.
They drove past the Hawkeye Agency office and turned down an alley, pulling up behind the building and coming to a stop. Without a word, Malrin and Lehinis got out and went to the door, surveying the alleyway while Crawford and Asenna moved from the car to the building.
The door shut firmly behind them all, and Asenna resisted a sigh of relief.
She followed Crawford silently as they weaved their way around a series of partitioned offices. Of the people they passed, Asenna saw some stare at her while others gasped, and a few bent their heads, whispering to each other as they watched her go by. Asenna ducked her head and hurried to keep right behind Crawford.
He led her into the conference room, and Asenna felt her cheeks heat as the chief broke off whatever he'd been saying and several detectives openly stared.
An awkward silence passed until the chief cleared his throat and said, “Gentlemen, may I introduce my team from New Haven. Detectives Malrin…Lehinis…and Shyth.” He pointed out each of them in turn, and the detectives sitting around the table nodded welcome before the chief gave their names and had Asenna and her fellows join them.
“We've been going over unsolved cases here,” the chief said, waving his hand at a mess of digital files scattered across the table. “A few of them are clearly unrelated, but these in particular–” He pointed at a group of files set apart. “These all have the feel of our Rose Killer.”
“May I?” Asenna asked.
“By all means.”
She stood and went around to the far side of the table, tossing away the unrelated files and straightening the pertinent ones. Then she called up the main database and pulled out all the familiar files from New Haven, taking the time to organize them in order of occurrence and mixing in the new files by date. Going down the line, and cringing over the blank space where Saira Crawford's file ought to be, she drew out the flower images from the files she'd already worked with and aligned them with their main icons, giving her a quick visual of those that were missing.
“Is there any footage of the flowers for these?” she asked, pointing out the new files.
“There is for this one,” a detective said, pulling out the necessary image. “You can see the arrangement here was sitting right next to the victim's head, which we thought was strange, so we got a picture of it, but I'm not sure about the others.”
Asenna grabbed the four files that were missing flower images, and they went through the video records of each one until they were able to capture an image of each and add them to the files.
“Alright, so,” she said, straightening the files again and going down the line. She paused at each new one and briefly read the details. “Pattern certainly holds. Age of victim, murder weapon, and so on. These are definitely our Rose Killer.”
She glanced over the new files again, noting one orange rose, two yellow, and one white, the latter being a fresh murder from just days ago.
“And he's in town,” she murmured, pointing at the last file. “Or was, two days ago. Sure does move around an awful lot.”
Asenna paused, looking back up the line of files.
“Computer,” she said, “show dates for all cases.”
All along the table, above each file, a small box appeared, displaying the date each victim was killed.
“And this holds,” she thought aloud, looking at how spread out the first few events were, compared to the accelerated time frame of the more recent ones. Near the end, she stopped, tilting her head to one side. “Computer, also display time of death and location.”
More boxes appeared, displaying the requested information. Asenna read them each in turn, and stopped near the end, pointing at a pair of files.
“That's not possible.”
“What is?” the chief asked.
She paused for a moment, double checking her math to make sure she converted the times correctly to account for the differing time zones, then tapped a finger just below the two files again.
“These here. This one was killed in Oaks Pass at third hour after noon, but the next was killed just four hours later. In New Haven.”
“What?” Malrin said, jumping to his feet. “That can't be right.”
“How did he manage that?”
“He couldn't have,” another detective put in. “Even if he'd immediately jumped on a plane after killing this one, it's still a four hour flight across the Isle. There's no way it could be the same guy. It's physically impossible.”
The room went silent, and Asenna looked up to see the chief staring blankly at the files.
“Not if you're a ghost,” he murmured.
Asenna stared at him, feeling suddenly chilled, but Lehinis broke the silence with a barked laugh.
“Right.” Lehinis snorted. “Ghosts killing people. That'll be the day.”
“Well, how else do you explain how he's getting around and leaving no evidence?” Malrin asked.
“I…Well…Hmmm. Good point. But ghosts? Really? Come on. That's ridiculous. I just can't believe that.” Lehinis paused, looking around at the others. “We're not believing that, right?”
The room was silent, and Asenna glanced at each puzzled face in turn.
“At this point,” Crawford finally spoke up in a murmur, “I'm half-inclined to believe just about anything.”
He looked quickly up at her and then at the chief before looking away. Asenna glanced over at the chief, and found him looking back at her. His expression was tight, and she imagined
they were thinking the same thing.
“Time to go question a ghost,” she whispered so that only he could hear, and the chief nodded.
Chapter 15
BENASH GAVE a start as Vorena doubled over, laughing hysterically.
“Ghosts killing people!” she said breathlessly. “Oh, that's a good one, Hawk.”
Benash crossed his arms and looked up at her from his seat behind his desk while Asenna leaned back against a file cabinet, also leveling a look at her, but Vorena seemed immune to their severity.
“Do you know,” the ghost said, pointing at Benash but talking to Asenna, “this man used to never have even a shred of a sense of humor? And now, this!”
Rolling his eyes, Benash pulled a gun from the holster under his jacket.
“Oh gods, this is good,” Vorena went on, still laughing.
Weighing the gun, Benash tossed it toward Vorena, who reached out to catch it.
“This is hilar–”
She cut off, looking at the gun in her hand, then back at him.
“Well, shit. I hadn't thought of that.”
The three of them glanced at one another, and Asenna said, “So I guess it's possible.”
Handing the gun back to Benash, Vorena nodded, all her mirth gone. “If he's substantial enough, yeah, I guess it would be.”
“Is there any way for you to track him?” Benash asked.
Vorena raised an eyebrow at him. “Tell me you're joking.”
“I'm perfectly serious.”
“Benash, do you have any idea how many ghosts there are in the world? Round numbers. Wild guess. Go ahead.”
Benash opened his mouth to answer, but after a moment he realized he couldn't even hazard a guess.
“Millions,” Vorena said. “Hells, maybe billions. Everyone who has ever existed in the world is out there walking around as some sort of invisible mental substance, either completely unobtrusive or working on being fully present like me.”
“Sounds crowded,” Asenna said.
Vorena shook her head. “I can't even see the vast majority of them, let alone sense them. It all depends on how much they've tried to regain substantiality, but even then they can make themselves invisible.”
“But–” Benash began.
“And besides all that,” Vorena cut him off, throwing up her hands, “I'm tied to certain energies, remember? That's why I can't just go wandering off wherever I feel like. I can only visit you–” She pointed at Benash, then over at Asenna. “And her. And–”
She cut off and snapped her mouth shut, and they both looked over at Asenna, but she was gazing out the window.
“If he is a ghost,” Asenna began quietly, “could he be tied strongly enough to all these people that he's able to visit them all to kill them?”
Benash looked up at Vorena, and she shook her head.
“Not likely. There are people I knew in life who I can't visit because the connection between us wasn't strong enough. They might be able to see me if we chanced to meet, but I can't just up and go to them. It takes love or blood or some sort of very strong relationship in order to create the sort of energy a ghost can respond to.”
“And hatred wouldn't be enough?” Asenna asked, turning away from the window. “Because it seems to me you'd have to hate someone pretty hard to want to kill them.”
“Hmmm.” Vorena frowned, thinking, then burst out laughing again. “Wait, wait, hold on. If this guy is a ghost, how do you explain the rapes?”
Benash waited until Vorena looked at him, her laughter fading at the sight of his expression.
“You'd be amazed at the things I've seen men use to penetrate a woman in violence,” he said. “Or a man, for that matter. If a ghost is substantial enough to pick up a gun, he could certainly pick up a bottle–”
“Alright, alright, I get the picture.”
“A ghost can't buy flowers, though,” Asenna murmured, then frowned. “Unless he has a living accomplice, of course.”
“Fuck, this is just getting too weird,” Vorena said, flopping into a chair with her legs stretched out wide and her arms hanging over the sides.
“Vorena.”
“What?”
Benash rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”
They fell silent, until Asenna turned away from the window and asked, “So what do we do now?”
The three of them looked at one another, and Benash sighed. “Review the files. Repeat a few interviews. See if we've missed anything.” He paused, looking at each woman in turn. “And hope to the gods we can catch him before he strikes again.”
* * *
“ALRIGHT, LET'S start over,” Asenna suggested, leaning on the conference table. “We came here to go back to where it all started, so let's go back to the beginning. First vic. Likely most carefully planned, and if the theory holds, the one that meant the most to the killer. Let's focus on that one.”
“Not much to go on, unfortunately,” Malrin said, swiping several files aside and bringing one to the middle of the table, scattering its contents across the surface. “Shyril Blair was a client of Five Oaks Defense Agency, and we don't have much of a sharing contract with them, so it was all we could do just to get this out of them.”
“Same with a few of the others,” another detective added. “There have been a few in the area that we haven't been able to investigate too deeply because they weren't ours.”
“Can we talk to the owner of Five Oaks?” Asenna asked. “See if he'll release his files once he knows what we're up against?”
The chief nodded. “It's worth a shot. Malrin, call over there and see if you can set up a meeting.”
“Right away, Chief,” the detective said, rushing from the room.
“What are you thinking?” Chief asked, looking at Asenna.
She reached out and touched the file, frowning in thought. “I'm not sure. It's just…something about this one bothers me. I can't figure out why though. Maybe it's just the lack of information. Maybe if we knew more about her, her life, her family, maybe that would help. Who knows?”
Chief nodded thoughtfully, and looked up when Malrin hurried back into the conference room.
“Mr. Timpkin over at Five Oaks says he can see you in an hour, Chief,” he reported.
“Right,” the chief said, gathering his things. “Call Crawford back here. We'll head straight over.”
Malrin nodded and turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder and asked, “You want us to come along, Chief?”
“No, I think I'll just take Crawford and Shyth for now. I want you and Lehinis confirming sharing contracts for all the other vics. Make sure we have every scrap of information available on all of them. Whatever we can get without violating contract terms. Any connections, anything at all…”
“On it, Chief,” Malrin said, and disappeared.
Chief looked over at Asenna, giving her an assessing look before he asked, “Are you up for this?”
She nodded. “I need answers. And they have them.”
“Very well. Just keep your head down when we go out, alright?”
Asenna nodded again, bracing herself for going outside, and the group broke up, heading off to their different tasks.
Gods, I hope this is the end of it, she thought, going to her makeshift office and strapping on a shoulder holster under her coat. Please, for the love of all that is holy, let us find some fucking answers.
She peeked out of the room, saw Crawford just arriving, talking to the chief, and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, straightened up, and went to join them.
* * *
ASENNA KEPT her sunglasses on and her head down as they got out of the car in the Five Oaks Agency parking lot, hurrying along between Chief and Crawford as they went to the entrance and ducked inside.
The chief spoke with the receptionist, and after a short wait, they were escorted to the back of the agency, where Mr. Timpkin, owner of the company, had his private office.
Crawfo
rd took up a position by the door while Asenna and the chief sat down across from Mr. Timpkin, watching as the man settled himself behind his desk and folded his hands.
“Well, Mr. Rothbur, what can I do for you?” Mr. Timpkin asked.
“We came to discuss the details of our information sharing contract, Mr. Timpkin,” the chief said, pulling out his tablet and handing it over. “Your client—that is, former client—Shyril Blair. She was a victim of the Rose Killer. His first victim, we believe. We may be able to better track this man if we can have more information regarding his first victim.”
Mr. Timpkin eyed the tablet suspiciously, but took it anyway, flipping through a few pages of data before handing it back over. He looked over at his own computer, typed in a few commands, and shook his head.
“I'm very sorry, Mr. Rothbur, but that case has long since gone cold,” Mr. Timpkin said. “It's not our policy to expend resources on cases such as this, especially when the client's policy was canceled before her death.”
“Canceled?” Asenna asked, sitting forward in her chair.
Mr. Timpkin nodded, waving at his computer screen. “Shyril Blair never kept a policy with us for more than a few months at a time. She'd bounce around, going here and there, but her last policy with us was canceled just before her death. I'm sorry, Mr. Rothbur, but there's nothing I can do for you.”
Asenna glanced over and saw the chief take a moment to gather patience before he asked, “Is there no information you can provide us? Anything at all? Even the infrequency of her business with you might help, so we can fill in our timeline and–”
“Mr. Rothbur.” The man held up a hand, stopping him. “As I said, we are not inclined to share information. The majority of our policies include terms that spell out, very specifically, that we will not share our clients' information with any competing company unless they grant permission to do so.”
“And did Mrs. Blair ever grant such permission?” Chief asked insistently.
Mr. Timpkin looked about to give a stark refusal, then he let out a huff and turned to his screen, rapidly scanning through a few pages of data.
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” the man said before turning back to face them. “But, as I already told you, this is a cold case. I don't have the resources to reopen it at this time.”