The case was from 40 years ago, when a young woman was attacked in a dim parking lot while walking to her car after work. Later, the victim’s boyfriend took to dropping her off and picking her up when she had to work late. The attacker turned up three days later, still stalking the woman. A fight between the suspect and the woman’s male companion had ensued, and the unsub escaped, only after taking a knife to the boyfriend’s shoulder. Even with a decent sketch, the offender had never been tracked down. The case, along with all its evidence, had gone cold.
At this point, Colton was well aware of the fact that their suspect, if he was, indeed a Skinwalker, could change his identity at will. It was likely none of their ID images or sketches would be evidence that could be admissible in court. They would have to find a perfect match from the DNA from Jason Blyge to samples collected from the scenes, and even then it seemed that would be a challenge. He sent a message to the Louisiana State Police department, who had handled the assault case, requesting more information and, he hoped, DNA evidence from the case still in storage.
Linus had sent an email stating that the DNA sample from under their first victim’s fingernails was proving difficult to process. The evidence was a combination of human and unknown DNA that was defying his attempts to separate. He also said that if it was possible to split the sample, it might destroy the unknown specimen or reduce it to such a minute amount that the defense, if the case went to court, would be unable to perform independent testing on it.
As much as Colton hated to admit it, he understood and respected the process of justice. Wolves were innately aware of pack hierarchy and the rules governing their close-knit society. Those who could control their anger impulses could do well in law enforcement jobs. However, this case was a constant test of his tenuous restraint, when he knew full well that Jason Blyge had committed the crimes, yet couldn’t get enough evidence to put the man in his place--behind bars.
Well, I say behind bars. Who knows what kind of cage we’ll have to design for a Skinwalker! He shuddered, some ancestral memory causing a touch of fear in his soul. Though he’d never seen a Skinwalker, some instinct deep within him recoiled at the thought. I sure as hell hope Anderson knows how to round this thing up! And keep it that way! Pulling the slender stylus out of its place in his tablet, he made several quick notes, then stepped away from the cubicle and walked into Lacey’s office.
She still had not returned. He stood by the case board, using his tablet to beam the new information into the system. He had taken all the cases, the old one he’d dug out from the basement, the two cases VICAP had found, and their three new cases, and created a chronological time line with each crime listed by date. Hash marks showed when each crime had been committed.
The oldest case was from ninety years ago. Blayze Sherman had been questioned in the assault of his live-in girlfriend, though there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict him. The report stated that the girlfriend went to the police department the day after the incident. She claimed that Sherman had assaulted her, but Sherman told investigators that they often had rough sex, backed up by videos on the man’s phone of himself and the victim engaged in energetic coitus complete with bondage and whips. What a perv. Colton shook his head.
Colton could find no indication of whether DNA had been collected from Sherman during his questioning. History not being his strong point, he connected to the internet via his tablet and searched using the date of the case. He discovered that, at the time, DNA was often, though not yet routinely, collected from suspects questioned in a case or persons of interest. The law compelling DNA sampling from these people had just begun to take effect in other states, but not yet in Texas. That figures. They still think we’re a republic around here, rather than a full member in the United States. Cursing the narrow-minded politicians of his state, he turned back to the murder board.
The case out of Louisiana forty years ago was interesting. It hadn’t popped on his initial search for like crimes, due to being outside the state of Texas; only with a nationwide VICAP search had he been able to find it. The young victim worked late night shifts at a local restaurant and was attacked in the parking lot, dragged into a panel van, assaulted, then dumped onto the dusty ground and left behind. The owner of the business had found her just an hour later. He had immediately called 911 and she was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital.
The standard PERK was collected from the victim, of course, but there was no mention of any oddity in the DNA found on the young woman. Colton noticed that there was no evidence of seminal fluid, indicating that possibly the perp had tried to cover his tracks by wearing a condom. Colton would have to consult one of the detectives over at SVU, but he was quite sure he remembered reading of cases while in the academy where the suspected male was a non-secretor, meaning he didn’t shed semen or sperm, but Colton couldn’t remember which it was. I’ll have to look that one up too, he thought in disgust. Maybe that’s why there’s been no mention of any DNA evidence in these old cases. Lacey might know, wonder where the hell she is?
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Lacey was not happy where she was. The last thing she needed to do was waste her time baring her soul to a man she barely knew. The nightmare had disturbed her to the core, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about the implications of it. She was beginning to regret her decision to come here.
The office that was designed to offer comfort and encourage openness was instead unnerving to her. Marcell was preparing coffee for himself, tea for her, in a way that told her it would become customary. Though she appreciated the gesture, she was on edge and eager to just get it over with. She squashed the urge to fidget, yet another new sensation for her, as he carried the steaming cups to the desk.
“Thank you.” Though she wanted to run screaming away from the office, she remembered her manners. Lacey took a sip of the liquid, hoping it would help calm her nerves. But there was something different about the taste as well. She looked at Marcell, eyebrows raised.
“I added some chamomile.” He replied to her unasked question. “It’s lovely for calming nerves and tastes good with chai. I also added a little honey.”
She nodded and took another sip. “I appreciate that. But I doubt a bit of herb will help my nerves much.”
Marcell seated himself behind the desk. “Last time you were here we talked a bit about what happened to your family in Greece, and the flashbacks. Have you had another one?”
She gave a wordless murmur and shook her head. “Nightmare.”
“Those can be just as traumatic as flashbacks. Especially as they intrude on our sleep, when we should be the most comfortable and yet are at our most vulnerable.” Marcell leaned back in his chair, his body language, she assumed, intended to make her feel more at ease. She was amused to see him employing such methods, as the same thing was taught at the academy for officers to use when questioning suspects.
She set the coffee cup on the edge of the smooth desk and clasped her hands in her lap. “I frequently have nightmares about the...attack. That’s nothing new.”
Urging her on, Marcell said, “But there was something different about this nightmare? Something new?”
She took a deep breath. “I saw a face on the Wolf.” She saw a look of bewilderment cross his face and then vanish. “I never knew the Wolves. Aegon thought it would be safer for all of us if only he had dealings with them, whenever it was necessary.”
“And you’d never come across any of them while in their human form?” He took a drink from his cup.
She shook her head. “I’d never seen any of them when I went into the village. I was rarely there, in any case. I was still relatively new to being Immortal, and my parents were living on the edges of town. We couldn’t take any chances that we might come across each other.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“So, no, I never knew any of the Wolves, in either of their forms.”
“Yet you saw a face on one of them in this nightmare? This was the f
irst time you’d seen faces?”
Cringing at the thought of being drawn deeper into her dream, she sighed. “Faces, no. Blurred and generically human faces are what I see. They could have been anybody, or nobody. I wouldn’t be able to point them out if they were standing in the bullpen.”
“Yet last night, you...what? Recognized one?” He leaned toward her over the desk.
Lacey looked at her hands, still tense and white-knuckled and resting in her lap. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “I saw a face.” When Marcell remained silent, she could no longer hold it inside. “It--it was Colton. I saw Colton’s face.”
He leaned back in his chair once more, hands clasped together, index fingers steepled and resting just below his chin. “Your partner?”
“Yes.”
“And this disturbed you?”
At this, she tore her gaze away from the floor and looked at him with surprise. “Of course!”
“Why of course?”
She sputtered for a moment before realizing that his question was a means to draw deeper emotions, those she might otherwise hold back. It was to make her think about why she had the reaction she dd. She took several deep breaths and counted to five before she answered. “Because, I don’t hold him responsible for the attack, even if it was those of his kind who did it, even if it was his ancestors who did it. I don’t blame him!”
“Then why do you think the dream upset you so much?” He amended his question in what was, to her, an obvious attempt to put her at ease. “Or unsettled you so much?”
She gave him a summary of the dream before answering. “Because it made me feel guilty.”
“Guilty for what? For unconsciously blaming him?”
“I don’t think I unconsciously blame him, even though he does carry their blood, and their instincts.”
“So what do you think? Subconsciously?”
“I think I’m afraid of him.” It was a thin and broken whisper. As if to give her time to compose herself, Marcell took his coffee cup to the small alcove where he kept the pot. She heard the cheerful clinking of the mug against the saucer. By the time he returned to his desk, she had reined in her emotions. How does he always know when to push, and when to leave it alone?
“You’re afraid of him.” It was a statement rather than a question.
She let out a hurried sigh. “It’s a matter of partners,” she began. “Partners in law enforcement are often, usually, closer than spouses. It has to be that way, in order for the team to function at its peak.”
“So it’s not a matter of being afraid that he will hurt you, exactly. More that you’re afraid that he might cause you to be injured, by his action or non-action.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She nodded her head. “I didn’t expect someone not in law enforcement to understand it so quickly. I’ve seen and heard of other cops, people who lost their marriages over the partner, same sex or otherwise. It’s not uncommon among police officers.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve counseled my fair share of them in my time.”
“So you can understand how deep the bond can go.”
“Yes.” He agreed and then was silent.
“That bond requires a level of trust that often even lovers don’t acquire. I’ve had numerous partners, and was never able to foster that kind of relationship. Over the years, the brass finally gave up. They haven’t tried to pair me with anyone in a long time.”
“But you think this time will be different?” She didn’t answer. “I talked to the commander. I know you requested a transfer.”
“No, I think this time they mean for it to stick. And I’d be lying to you if I said I thought giving me a partner now would work.”
17
“The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” ~~Chinese proverb.
When Lacey arrived at her office, she was only feeling marginally better about last night’s troubling dream. It was never easy for her to admit to her strongest feelings, and her deep-seated fear, not of Colton specifically, but of the possibility of baring her soul and trusting her life to another in a way she hadn’t done since Aegon’s death. She had been relieved not to have to break it down in great detail to Marcell, the relationship between partners; it hadn’t occurred to her that he would have dealt with the repercussions before.
She tossed her shoulder bag on the table as she walked in the office, wishing again that she had a door to close on the noise going on in the busy bullpen. As she glanced wistfully over her shoulder, she did a double-take. Sure enough, her eyes hadn’t deceived her; she was looking at a new, sandy blond, wooden door with a pane of frosted glass in its upper half, her name and rank neatly stenciled across it in black lettering.
Lacey was still staring in awe at the door when Colton swaggered in, a lopsided and goofy grin on his face. He hooked his thumbs carelessly into his belt loops and cocked his hip to lean on the door frame.
“Well?” He looked for all the world like a kid in a candy store.
“Have I walked into a different dimension?”
He laughed. “No, I think we’re still in the right one.”
“Then how did this happen?”
“My laptop went down. I had to call the geek squad. So after I called them I got to working at one of the spare cubes, and came in to add some stuff to the board. I thought about how you really need a door in here. So I gave maintenance a call.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve been calling maintenance for ten months now. And you get it done in less than a day?”
“I called in a favor. I’ve got a buddy on the crew.”
“And you never thought to mention it?”
“The subject never came up.” The amusement on his face was clear.
“The subject never came up.” She repeated his statement as she walked over to inspect the door. Lacey glanced at Colton before giving the door an experimental swing. It moved without squeaking and complaining. The handle turned smoothly.
“I thought maybe you’d like it.”
She gestured to the visitor’s chair as she walked around her desk. “I do appreciate it.”
He sat, wiggling until he was settled in comfortably. “I thought we might, you know, someday, need to keep it closed, like if we have a family member coming in or something. That way they won’t just barge in and see stuff they shouldn’t on the board.”
“It was good thinking. Speaking of, you mentioned something new to add?”
He grabbed his tablet and activated it, using the stylus to manipulate the images on the big screen. “I came up with two more cases, or rather VICAP did. Actually, they’re two different incidents in the same case file. But since they’d already run the first one through VICAP, when they had the second assault come in, they ran it separately.”
“Hmm.” She looked over his shoulder at the screen. “And these are from where?”
“Louisiana.”
Lacey groaned. A little over a hundred years ago, a massive and violent hurricane had devastated a great portion of the state. Those who could, had fled before the storm, but hundreds of thousands of people remained in the city of New Orleans when the hurricane made landfall. After the skies had cleared, much of the city had been destroyed. The city’s poor got poorer, and the crime rates rose to an alarming high, even among the neighboring states. Complete recovery had taken decades. “When was this?”
“About forty years ago.”
She did the math in her head. “So it was at the tail end of their reconstruction. That was a bad time for everyone. Crime even went up here when refugees were flooding the area. I was just a beat cop back then.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I lived up north when all that was going on.”
“So, what was it about this case that was similar to any of ours?”
He flicked the stylus across the tablet. “The vic mentioned a smell. She said it smelled like fall.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “You know, like fall. Thanksgivi
ng dinner, that sort of thing. VICAP pinged this one because of that strange odor two of our vics gave us.”
“I see.” Lacey studied the board again, pleased to note that he had, with no prompting from her, set up a time line and marked each of the crimes in chronological order. “Got a sketch of the unsub?”
Colton punched buttons on his tablet, and the standard case book screen switched to an enlarged picture of the suspect. In Lacey’s opinion, the artist had not been very skilled, for the sketch was crude and rudimentary. The eyes were sharply slanted, suggesting Asian descent, and there was no color indicated. The wide face was thick and heavy, with no indication of jaw shape; a scraggly beard covered it from the cheeks down to the neck. There was no notation on hair color either.
“How about DNA?” She asked.
“I sent a message to the Louisiana State Police to see if they have any.”
“Well, even if we were dealing with an Immortal who couldn’t change his outward appearance, this wouldn’t help us any,” Lacey commented.
“Yeah, I know. But it did lead me to another question. Do we have a cage to put this guy in? I mean, does he have the ability to copy anything he comes in contact with? Like mice, for example?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “Though I don’t really know much about them. We catch this guy and the medicals are going to have a field day testing him.”
“They’ll have to keep him in a clean room.” She looked at him in surprise as he continued. “Well, that’s the only way to keep him from copying someone else, right? A computer clean room can’t have any dust, and dust includes human skin cells.”
“You may have an idea there. I’m not sure if a Skinwalker can copy the DNA of other Immortals, so we may end up putting together a team of medical Reapers and such to watch over him.”
“Well first we have to catch him. Then we can figure out how to keep him.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He’s certainly got to be aware that we’re on to him now. And we still don’t have enough for an arrest warrant.”
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