by Frank Hurt
“He shot your phones?” Ember stepped over to the kitchen window to look out at the backyard. The garden was about fifty feet away from the house. “That’s a pretty precise shot for such a small target.”
“What was that, Wright?” Jackie poked her head around the corner. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Oh, I um…I was just thinking that the killer probably didn’t walk through the house. I mean…there isn’t any sign of such.”
“If you say so. Nobody’s home, in any case.” Jackie held up a photo in a frame. “Check it out. Think these might be our victims?”
Ember studied the photo. Two young men in their late twenties were raising cocktail glasses at the camera. Their shoulders were touching and they were dressed casually in t-shirts and shorts. Their smiles were both bright and toothy, and their eyes had the glassy look of inebriation. Bright floral Leis hung low around their tanned necks.
“Our trip to Hawaii,” Evan explained in a melancholy tone. “That was last year’s vacation in February. That was a great time, wasn’t it?”
“The best,” Brandon agreed. “Those beaches on Kauai. Riding horseback as the sun was setting, that was just pure magic.”
Ember walked down the hall and noticed one bedroom neatly presented, the blankets on the bed tucked in and the closet doors shut.
Compared to the smaller bedroom, the master bedroom was in a state of chaos. The comforter on the king-size bed was rumpled and half-hanging off the mattress. Twin digital alarm clocks sat at angles atop matching nightstands flanking the headboard. Clothes hung on the corner posts of the bed. The walk-in closet had laundry tossed next to an open hamper. Abstract paintings hung on the bedroom wall, bright and cheery acrylics dripping with glitter accents. A big-screen LCD television set was mounted on the wall above a lone, wide dresser. One of the top drawers was open, revealing socks laid out on neat, flat stacks, matched to their mates. A towel was draped over the edge of the sink in the adjoining bathroom.
“As far as I can tell, nothing has been stolen. The guy’s got a lot of electronics laying around. It’s a nice house, huh?” Jackie opened the organized pantry next to the gourmet chef-style kitchen.
Ember took one more look around the bedroom and joined Jackie in the kitchen. “This isn’t just a house.”
“Dang, it isn’t?” Jackie extended her chipped fingernails and tapped the quartz countertop. “It sure looks like a house to me. If this isn’t a house, what do you call it back where you come from, Wright?”
“I call this a home.” Ember traced her fingertips along the bullnose edge of the smooth, cold countertop. She reached for the spice rack, randomly selected a glass jar of rosemary, and sniffed it.
“That’s charming, really it is. But this is just a bachelor pad, Wright. The bachelor pad of a neat freak—his bedroom being the notable exception.”
“A bachelor? No, they lived here together. This was their home.”
“Roommates, you think?” Jackie wrinkled her nose. “But only one bedroom was being used. The other one is just a guest room.”
“Exactly. The mail is addressed to both Evan and Brandon. There are photos of the two of them all over the walls. The master bedroom is stuffed to the gills, and there’s a clock on each of the nightstands. Evan and Brandon shared that bed.”
“Dang, no way. You’re saying they were gay?” Jackie asked.
The two ghosts looked at each other and then back at Ember. Brandon said, “our own families don’t even know.”
Ember looked at the apparitions. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
Jackie tapped her nails on the countertop. “I…I guess. Now that you mention it, I can see it. I suppose it’s a case of ‘takes one to know one’ huh?”
“I’m not a lesbian, Jackie. I’m just observant.”
“Hey, different strokes for different folks, right Wright?” Jackie held up a hand. “I’m not judging you.”
Ember grumbled, “let’s go walk through the backyard, yeah?” A box of sandwich-size plastic Ziploc bags rested next to the spice rack. Ember pulled out a few of the bags and exited through the patio door to the rear deck.
Evan found the two spent cartridges next to the garage, in the shade. Ember bent down and rolled them into an empty sandwich bag. She pinched the ribs shut and handed the makeshift evidence bag to Jackie, who confirmed that the casing matched the headstamp on the 5.56mm rifle cartridge they found by the road.
“Our poor tomatoes,” the ghost-coyote cried out from the garden. “They were looking so nice this year. They’re flooded, rotted now. Ruined. Such a waste.”
Ember walked over to the hydrant, which had been left on for twelve days. She turned the valve off and leaned over the short fence, studying the garden. The dark soil had become a marsh, muddy with tall wetland weeds that took advantage of nearly two weeks of nonstop watering and hot July sun. The garden vegetables, on the other hand, were shriveled and moldy, their produce rotting on the vine.
“Those cherry tomatoes were so sweet,” the fox said as he glided through the fence to join his friend. “Evan, I have to confess, I actually did eat a few before I gave you one. They were just so good, and you know I have a sweet tooth.”
The coyote’s lips turned up, as much of a smile as the transparent ghost could create. “You’re such a little turd. I should be mad at you but…I’m glad we got to share those last veggies before…well…I mean while we were able to.”
“Fruits,” Ember said absently as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Tomatoes are fruits.”
“What are you going on about now, Wright?” Jackie leaned on the fence next to Ember. She had held the baggie in her hand, the sun glinting off the brass. “So, they left their water running, that doesn’t mean anything. You know these shells don’t prove anything, either.”
“I know.” Ember looked at the ghosts. “We’re going to need more evidence than that.”
Evan floated through the garden, inspecting the tomato cages and lamenting the harvest that never was.
“It’s funny what people fixate on, isn’t it?” Ember watched the coyote.
Jackie glanced sideways at her. “You mean like how you’re fixated on trying to make this out to be a murder case? Don’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any, I say. Now can we get outta here yet?”
Brandon perked up. “Our iPhones.”
“Phones?” Ember muttered.
“I’ve got my cell phone, sure.” Jackie turned away and pointed at her car in the distance. “It’s in Cali.”
The fox floated up to a splintered green-treated wood fence post. “The guy shot Evan’s iPhone from here. We thought it had exploded. I picked up the biggest piece over…here.” The apparition glided to another location in the garden. “Yeah, here it is. Next to my phone. I held his phone up next to mine, and that’s when that bastard shot my hand. Here, you can see there’s a hole through the metal case and the screen is shattered.”
Ember walked into the garden, trying to step on the mounded areas where the ground was firm. She knelt and picked up the phone pieces from the mud. One phone was obliterated, but the other had a mushroomed hole through its anodized aluminum case.
She held the case up near her face and peered at Jackie through the hole. “The victims were working in their garden, water running when they were attacked. The killer took shots at them from the shade of their own deck, forcing them to flee across the sunflower field.” Ember stood and looked north. “They were pursued until the killer caught up with them, at which point they shifted into their animal subforms and were killed, where their bodies were found approximately two weeks later.”
Jackie’s gaze followed the points as the timeline was described. She frowned, silently opened and then closed her mouth. She squinted at Ember. “Dang it. I guess this means I owe you lunch.”
12
We’re All Just the Brady Bunch
The families took the news of their sons’ murders about as w
ell as could be expected.
Brandon Albret’s mother was inconsolable and needed to be helped to a chair as she momentarily lost the ability to stand. His father resorted to punching a hole in the door of the entryway closet of their house before his tears started flowing. They had had an estranged relationship with their only child and knew nothing of value to the investigation. It was instances like this when Ember wished she possessed a magic that could provide meaningful comfort for the grieving families. Even if it was legal to do, there was no Memory Wash spell that would ever be powerful enough to paint over the wounds of regret as deep as theirs would be.
The Davies were more composed, comparatively bottled up with their emotions. Evan’s parents, Curtis and Cathy, and his kid sister Brittany all sat together around their large dining room table, while Duncan, Jackie, and Ember sat across from them. Curtis Davies, a Malvern Analytic, was an important person within the embassy; he served as the Director of Information for the Magic City colony. His wife Cathy, a brunette changeling whose animal subform was a Quarter Horse, owned a stable on their property outside of Kenmare where she trained racehorses. She was famous across the northern Great Plains for her innate ability to think like the animals she worked with.
Duncan did most of the talking, sharing what the Investigators knew of their son’s death and gently asking questions about their son’s social circle.
“We aren’t—or weren’t I guess—involved in his life as much as we would have liked,” Curtis admitted. He squeezed his wife’s hand and looked over at her with wet eyes. “Evan had his career as a heavy equipment operator. He chose to make his way in the world apart from us. He was a good kid, always well-meaning, sensitive, if at times headstrong.”
“He always came home for Christmas,” Cathy sniffled. She wiped her nose with a tissue. “He even brought his roommate last year because he didn’t have anywhere to go.”
Ember glanced at her colleagues. It was Duncan who shifted in his chair and asked, “you’re referring to the other victim, Brandon Albret?”
“That’s right. His other roommate.” Curtis wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder as a sob escaped her throat. The woman shook her head, as though she was embarrassed to be expressing even that simple emotion in front of strangers.
This changeling woman attempted to keep her emotions in check even when mourning the death of her only son. It was a charade Ember recognized only too well. Benedette Wright’s preference was to display a mask for the public, to bury emotions even when they were appropriate. It was what professionals in the quasi-nobility of Druwish society were expected to do. Ember began to imagine how her parents would react to the news of their daughter’s death. She swallowed the macabre fantasy before the sorrow threatened to show itself on her face.
Duncan tapped his pocket-size notepad with the eraser end of his pencil. The man preferred using a cheap yellow plastic 5-millimeter mechanical pencil for taking notes. He ran his tongue along the bottom edge of his incisors as he struggled to give voice to his next question.
Come on, Duncan, you’ve gotta ask them. Ember had been told by Duncan to keep her mouth shut and listen during these initial meetings with the family. The Senior Investigator was keen not to upset the families. He was especially delicate with the Davies, given the family’s status in the community.
“We have reason to believe…that is to say…” Duncan’s voice trailed off.
Curtis frowned as he watched Duncan struggle. “Yes?”
Ember’s mouth moved faster than her brain. She blurted, “Evan and Brandon were not just roommates; they were lovers.”
“What did you say?” Curtis turned his frown toward her. “You’re suggesting my son was gay? Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry, you weren’t aware that your son was gay?” Ember leaned forward and watched their reactions carefully.
“No, I…we never thought that he was. Honey?” Curtis glanced at his wife.
Cathy shook her head. “We didn’t know. How can you be so sure that he was? That they were…close, like you said? What did you find?”
The Davies’ auras twitched and flickered when they spoke of this topic. They could have been experiencing discomfort, or it could have been a sign that they were lying. Ember couldn’t be certain without extending a thread of mana upon their auras, and she was seated too far away to do that. “It was abundantly evident that they were lovers. Would either of you have had a problem with your son’s sexuality, had you known?”
“No, of course not! We loved Evan.” Curtis glared first at Ember and then Duncan. “What does all this have to do with our son’s murder?”
Duncan spoke calmly. “We can’t rule any angle out at this early stage of the investigation. He and Brandon didn’t appear to have any gambling debt. There wasn’t any sign of drug abuse or any other illicit activity. There was no sign of robbery. They didn’t seem to have any enemies that we know of. The evidence of his sexuality is circumstantial, and we can’t rule out a hate crime—”
“Circumstantial? Then why are you throwing out such accusations? Why don’t you focus on finding the sick fuck who did this to him, instead of trying to brand Evan as…as some kind of deviant.”
“We don’t think your son was a deviant, Mr. Davies, I assure you.” Duncan’s gaze flicked to Ember. “We all want the same thing here.”
“God!” Brittany spoke for the first time. She had been sitting with her arms crossed, the heel of her lace-up black boot wedged on the corner of her chair so her knee rested above the table’s plane. She glowered at her parents. “I’m so sick of your bullshit! ‘oh no, we never knew he was gay.’ ‘We would never have had a problem with him rejecting the status quo.’ Like we’re all just the Brady Bunch.”
Curtis squinted at his daughter. “Britt, this isn’t the time to discuss—"
“No, it isn’t the time, is it? It was never the time. Now there never will be the time. I’m not going to sit here and watch you two play dumb.” The girl slid her chair back and ran out of the room and up the stairs to the second story. A door slammed, and unrecognizable music began playing.
“She’s just stressed about this.” Curtis cast his eyes at the chair where Brittany had been sitting. “She and Evan are our only children. Were. I’m sorry, it’s all so raw.”
“That’s completely understandable.” Duncan’s gravelly voice was surprisingly sympathetic. “I’m sorry that we have to do this now. Anything you can tell us may prove helpful in putting together this case.”
“We know. We understand.” Cathy sighed.
“Do you…would you mind if I try talking to her?” Ember pointed at the stairway.
Curtis and Cathy exchanged glances. Curtis shrugged. “She hardly talks to us, but go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
It wasn’t difficult to find Brittany’s bedroom; heavy metal music blared from behind the door with a skull-and-crossbones sign that read KEEP OUT. Ember knocked three times, louder the third time.
“Leave me alone!”
“It’s Investigator Wright,” Ember spoke at the door. “Ember. Would you mind if I come in, please?”
“Whatever. It’s unlocked.”
She stepped into the room, leaving the door partway open behind her. Posters peppered the walls, mostly of music groups she didn’t know. Ember purposely ignored the raven-haired girl sitting on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. One poster on the wall was an illustration of wide-eyed children, grinning and laughing as they walked along the edge of a precipice. A numbered hopscotch pattern was scratched onto the rock surface with chalk. Where the number 10 would have been, the surface ended and the cliff started. The whole composition was in sepia except for a little girl with a blonde ponytail wearing a bright red dress. She was playing hopscotch, her left foot on the “9” as she stepped for the nonexistent last number and into the open sky.
“Follow the Leader,” Ember pointed at the poster. “Probably Korn’s best album.”
Britta
ny shrugged. “It was alright I guess.”
“Just alright? Seriously? ‘Freak on a Leash,’ ‘Got the Life.’ Those songs were iconic. And the music videos?” Ember whistled.
The girl squinted at Ember. She had too much makeup on, with a dark grey eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner. “I like their latest album better. The lyrics for ‘Evolution.’ I mean, ‘I’m never gonna be refined, keep trying but I won’t assimilate.’ That shit is epic.”
Ember nodded, keeping her gaze on the poster. “Or how about, ‘I do not dare deny the basic beast inside, I’m dominated by this animal that’s locked up inside.’ Do you think Jonathan Davis was talking about changelings?”
Brittany laughed. It was a pretty laugh, and Ember guessed that the teenager didn’t make that sound very often.
“Do you mind if we turn the music down a bit, while we talk?”
Brittany shrugged, then picked up a remote control and pointed it at her stereo, dialing the volume down to a manageable level.
“Cheers. May I sit?”
Brittany shrugged again. She pointed at a black-and-red beanbag in the corner.
Ember dragged the vinyl misshapen ball closer to the bed and eased herself into it. The beanbag molded around her as it accepted her weight. “What did you mean about what you said downstairs?”
“That it’s all bullshit?”
“Yeah. And that your parents are playing dumb.”
“Because they are. They knew Evan was gay. They just didn’t want to admit it.”
Ember closed her eyes for a moment and studied the changeling teenager. Behind her eyelids, the girl’s animal subform appeared as a black Maine Coon sat on the bed, its back propped up against the headboard. Ember opened her eyes and noted that the cat’s fur was as dark as that of the girl’s hair. “Were you close to your brother?”
Brittany shrugged. “I guess. I wanted to run away from home, go live with him and Brandon. He wouldn’t let me though. Said I had to graduate from high school first, then he would think about it.”