by Emmy Ellis
His engine died, then Langham came up behind him. He took his elbow and turned Oliver to face him. His frown was back. Good.
“This is why I ask you not to visit sites.” Langham stared. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been through this before. I can’t not come. You don’t understand.”
“I do, but you got hurt this time, and I warned you something like this would happen.”
“Yep, but it’s done now. No point going on about it.” He smiled to ease the acid in his tone. “So, what next?”
“I do what I do, you do what you do. Follow the pattern. It’s never failed in the past.”
“Right. Could I get a lift home?” Oliver turned away to walk towards Langham’s car. “It’s a long way, and I’m fucked if I have the energy to make it.”
“You need a doctor first.” Langham placed Oliver’s phone in his hand.
“No thanks. And cheers for getting my phone.” He climbed inside and settled in the passenger seat, staring down the embankment at his trusty little Fiat that wasn’t so trusty anymore. Christ knew how much it would cost to get it fixed.
Langham joined him, starting the engine. “I can’t take you back just yet, though.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“I need to get to the murder site, maybe get another officer to take you home when they arrive. You’ll have questions to answer before that, though.”
“Yeah. Good job they know I’m a whacko who can be trusted. Otherwise… Shit, I’m not even going there.”
“Best you don’t.”
Langham drove down the road in silence, leaving Oliver to work out exactly what he was going to say in his statement. The police knew what he did, what he was, and at first had suspected him of killing people. He could see how they’d arrived at that conclusion, him always knowing where the bodies were, but when he’d given them information the victims had told him, leading them to the killers, and had proven alibis for himself, he’d been let off the hook. Now they approached him for help, but it didn’t work like that. He couldn’t just summon the dead and bombard them with questions. He had to be contacted by them, and sometimes the dead just didn’t want to speak.
Once, he’d been taken down into the morgue to try to get information from an old duffer who’d been found stabbed to death in his home. The grey-haired fella hadn’t been in the mood for chatting, had told Oliver to fuck off and mind his own business, and he had. Gladly. He never had been good with the elderly.
Langham pulled over, parking close to where Oliver had earlier. Another shiver abseiled down his spine, and he took a moment to wonder whether it was the return to the scene that spooked him or whether the victim teetered on contacting him. He concentrated, sensing nothing but his own thoughts inside his mind. The woman would speak when she felt like it and not before.
Langham cut the engine. “You ready to show me where she is?”
“Yeah.”
With protective booties on, they strode across the field, Oliver watching out for potholes. He contemplated telling Langham to do the same, but seeing him fall arse over tit was an amusing concept. Oliver led the way, the shape of the body clearer now the sky had lightened a little. Not much, but enough to show her whereabouts. He stopped in the same place as before and stared at her.
Something was different.
He narrowed his eyes and reached into his back pocket, relieved his torch was still there. Switching it on, he aimed the beam at the woman’s T-shirt. It had been clean before, just a black top. Now, what appeared to be sugar strands peppered the fabric, the kind that were sprinkled on iced doughnuts. What the fuck?
“Um, they weren’t here before.” He nodded at the multicoloured specks.
“What weren’t?”
“The sugar strands. On her T-shirt. Fuck.” It dawned on him that someone had been here as he’d walked across the field to his car. It had to have been the person in that other vehicle. Had it been parked there when he’d arrived and he just hadn’t seen it? “I’d swear that car wasn’t there when I got here, but now I’m not so sure.”
“It might not have been.”
Oliver turned to face Langham. “What, it might have come along after?”
“Yep. How long were you here?”
“A while. Half an hour?”
“Right. Maybe the killer forgot to put those strands on her and came back. No maybe about it—it’s obvious that’s what happened. What did you do when you got in your car?”
“I switched on the engine and had a little think.”
“A little think. Okay… How long for?”
Oliver tried to estimate the time. “I don’t know. Five minutes?”
“And you noticed the car when?”
“I turned on the engine, glanced in the mirror.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“I saw a light.”
“Which could have been…?”
“The driver getting back in the car. Shit.”
“Yes, shit. You were lucky he didn’t bloody come for you. So, in future, will you at least ring me and let me know you’re going to a site, and wait for me to go with you?”
Oliver nodded. Langham was right. He shouldn’t be doing this crap alone.
“Good,” Langham said. “Now then, do you notice anything else different about her?”
Oliver flashed his beam over the woman once more. It pissed him off that he didn’t know her name yet, but that would come in time—if she decided to tell him.
Oh God. Her boots had been removed.
“Shit. When I was last here, she had boots on. Hiking boots. One was tied tight, the other untied.” Dread pooled in his stomach. “I interrupted the killer, didn’t I, by turning up?” He glanced at Langham.
He nodded. “Seems that way. And that’s something that hasn’t happened before. Have you felt different lately? Like your ability is evolving?”
Oliver shook his head. “No, I feel the same. She called me like the others did. Woke me, said… Oh Jesus.”
“What?”
“She said she was being killed, not that she was dead. I didn’t… I just didn’t think anything of it. I got up as usual and came out here after she told me where to go. Then nothing.” He swallowed. “So I got here and waited for her to speak to me, and she did. Well, she never said anything, just laughed at something I said or thought, can’t remember now, and then… Then she realised she was dead and hasn’t spoken since.”
Langham lifted a hand and rested it on Oliver’s shoulder. “How long did it take you to get here?”
“I don’t know. Ten minutes? Maybe twenty? Shitty traffic diversions.” And all that time, while Oliver had travelled without any rush, this woman had been fighting for her life. “Fuck it!”
“You weren’t to know. This is a first for you.” Langham dropped his hand to his side.
Oliver eyed the corpse. “So I disturbed the killer, and what? He ran off? Waited in the fucking bushes while I stood here? Went off and got his bloody car to waste some time until I’d finished? He took a risk, didn’t he? I could have called you right away.” He slapped an open palm to his thigh and turned away, looking out onto the road. “Your buddies are here.”
“Ignore them. Is there anything else different?”
Reluctantly, Oliver slowly spun around. “Yes. Her legs are straight. They were at odd angles before. Her arms, too.” He studied her some more. “And fuck me, but her stomach wasn’t anything like that.”
“Like what?”
“Split open and bleeding. It was normal. I remember thinking she must have liked the gym because it was so toned.”
“And that’s all?”
Oliver panned the torch beam farther up. Oh Jesus Christ… “No, that’s not all. Last time she had a face.”
What the hell had he stumbled on this time? It had been bad enough seeing the woman as she had been, let alone how she was now.
He faced the road again. Several officers navigated their way
across the grass. One, DS Shields, in his usual impeccable suit, bugged the shit out of him, and he closed his eyes momentarily to quell the irritation. He was an arrogant twat who tolerated Oliver, was one of the many who’d scoffed at his ability in the beginning. The one who was still a thorn in his side and made no bones about the fact that he thought Oliver had been involved in all the murders so far. Just that he couldn’t prove it.
What an arsehole.
He stopped in front of Oliver, eyes narrowed, the look on his face telling him he suspected him yet again. “Ah, so it’s one of yours, is it?” he said, lacing his hands in front of him and rocking on the balls of his feet. “Might have known when Langham called it in.”
“Whatever. You think what you like. This has nothing to do with me.” Oliver presented his back to him; it would piss the bastard off.
“So…” Shields moved to stand between Oliver and Langham. “What do we have here?”
Langham cleared his throat. “Oliver was called out and—”
Shields chuckled. “Called out. I just love the way you use that term.”
“Oliver was called out, and it seems he disturbed the killer this time.”
“Is that right?” Shields jabbed Oliver in the ribs.
“Yes.”
“So it isn’t that someone disturbed you?” Shields tilted his head and stared at Oliver, a little too hard for his liking.
“No, I wasn’t disturbed. I came out, as usual, saw her here, and went back to my car to ring Langham.”
He related what had followed, ignoring Shields’ look of disbelief and the sneer on his fleshy lips. His dark, slicked-back hair was rigid, like he’d doused it with a can of hairspray prior to coming out, and he stank of freshly applied aftershave—the cheap kind that cost a couple of quid on the market.
Oliver held back a snort. “And then we came back and found her like this.”
“I see.” Shields squatted, hands draped between his open knees. “So, let’s go with what you’ve said. Let’s say you’re telling the truth. Now ask this poor bitch who did it and save us a lot of hassle.”
Oliver sighed and flared his nostrils. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“Convenient,” Shields said. “Gives your accomplices time to get away. I mean, think about it.” He rose and towered above him. “These dead people never seem to speak to you again until a couple of days after they’ve been killed. Now why is that?”
“Maybe they need time to adjust. Maybe they have to pass over to wherever the fuck they go to when they die. I don’t know. And I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“I don’t care what you appreciate, Mr Banks. I don’t care about anything but arresting you.”
“That’s enough!” Langham stepped between them. “You know damn well Oliver isn’t involved in this shit, and it isn’t something you should be discussing out here anyway. We have work to do, a scene to secure, evidence to find before it pisses down. Arguing halts the process. Let Oliver do his thing and you do yours.”
“Testy,” Shields said, crouching at the victim’s feet again. “So what did she look like before she had her face sliced off?”
“Pretty. Like a doll.” Oliver said.
“You can give a description?” Shields rounded his shoulders.
“Of course I can.”
“Christ, you’re testy, too. What’s up with the pair of you?”
“You,” Oliver snapped, stalking away so he could be alone. At the road, he leant against Langham’s car. God, if he killed anyone, it would be Shields.
A giggle echoed inside his head.
Thank fuck!
“Hey, you,” Oliver said. “How’re you doing?”
No response.
“Can I at least have a name? Yours? His?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Oh, right. Any clue as to why he chose you?”
“Something to do with work.”
“Which is?”
“PrivoLabs.”
“Ah. Are you a scientist?”
“No. A secretary.”
“And he works there?”
“No.”
“But he knows someone who does?”
“Maybe.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Love, you need to be a bit more specific.”
“Yes, he must do. I… I knew something.”
“And…?”
“He shut me up.”
“What did you know?”
“I can’t tell you. He said if I told you—”
“I don’t want to rub it in here, but you’re dead. He can’t hurt you anymore, so if you tell me—”
“No, he knows about you. He said he’d looked you up in his car. Your number plate, on his laptop. If I tell you anything, he’ll hurt my son.”
“He knows about me?”
“Yes, he said if I thought about telling the psychic after I’m gone, he’d know. I can’t… I made you find me, that was enough. And he knows. He came back after you went to your car.”
“I noticed.”
“He said then that if I told you anything else…”
“I see.”
“I have to go.”
“No, wait! What’s with the sugar strands?”
“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. My son…”
“Shit!” Oliver made his way back to the scene. Once there, he caught Langham’s attention and repeated the latest news.
“So we have something, at least.” Langham pinched his chin between finger and thumb. “PrivoLabs. You fancy coming along with me?”
“Yeah. After I’ve showered and got rid of these trainers.”
“Ah, yes, the shoe thing. Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
The sun had brightened the sky and chased away the darkness of the last few hours, but it hadn’t erased the visuals from Oliver’s mind. No, they’d remain there until this case was over, until he could file them in a box labelled FORGET, although that never really worked. Still, he tried to put solved cases to the back of his mind, told himself the dead were at peace once he’d helped them, and that was all he could do. A person could only do so much. He couldn’t force them to move on, could only block them out to make way for new ones. And shit, he wished there were never any new ones. Wished no one had to die the way they did.
In clean clothing and freshly showered, he stared up at the PrivoLabs building, Langham beside him. Sunlight bounced off the too-many-to-count, blue-tinted windows. The structure stretched into the air, an accusing finger, the roof obscured by puffy clouds that spoke of snow on the way. Fucking brilliant. With no car, he’d be forced to walk everywhere, and he didn’t own a pair of boots suitable for that sort of weather. He’d have to buy some when he went to shop for some new trainers.
“You ready?” Langham asked, walking up the grey marble steps to the double-wide glass front doors.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Langham pushed one door open and held it so Oliver could step inside. Allowing it to close behind them, he muttered, “As usual, keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and your mind tuned for the victim to contact you.”
“Her name is Louise, not ‘the victim’.”
Shields had secured an ID, informing them of her identity as they’d driven through the city towards PrivoLabs. He’d also made sure Louise’s son was in a secure place under protection, with Louise’s mother.
They approached the reception desk, and Langham gently cleared his throat. He leant on the polished wood and asked to see the manager, flashing his ID to a startled receptionist, who nodded and lifted the phone handset to her ear. Oliver left him to it, idly glancing around to get a feel for the place. The glass walls appeared clear, nothing like the blue they were outside. Leather sofas dotted the area, black and plush, and if he wasn’t here for any reason but to crash out, he’d climb on one of them and sleep the sleep of the dead. He mentally cursed himself for his turn of phrase and eyed the many potted plants, tal
l ferns, and coconut palms, the leaves thick enough to hide a person. This outfit must rake in the money.
“Oliver?”
He turned at the sound of Langham’s voice and walked towards him. “Are we off to do some questioning then?”
“Um, we would be if Louise had worked here and we had any tangible evidence something was amiss.”
“What?”
“She never worked here, Oliver.”
“But she said—”
“I know what she said, but there isn’t any record of her ever being here. Are you sure she said she actually worked here?”
Oliver thought back. “Well, no. She said she was killed because of something to do with work, then mentioned PrivoLabs. Shit. Sorry.” Something had been way off ever since Louise had woken him with the first call. His lack of concentration. Missing crucial information, like whether cars were parked on the side of the damn road. And now there was another misdemeanour to add to his growing list. He’d misinterpreted what Louise had said, bringing them out on a trip they needn’t have made.
“Can’t we question the manager anyway? Didn’t you check my information first? Didn’t Shields confirm where she worked when he looked her up?”
“No. Your information is usually correct, so we didn’t—”
“Ah. Right. My fault. My fuck-up is going to go down so well with Shields. He’ll gloat like the bastard he is.”
“Fuck Shields.”
Oliver stormed out of the building, angry. Was he losing his touch? It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to deal with this kind of thing—the voices, the messages. Maybe he just needed sleep, a solid few hours where he wasn’t interrupted.
Langham came up behind him. “Listen, don’t beat yourself up. Shit happens.”
“Yeah, it usually does to me, but not like this.”
“Anything on your mind?” He steered Oliver towards his car and opened the passenger door, ushering him inside.
Oliver stared up at him from the seat. “That’s a stupid question. One of the worst you’ve come out with. There’s always something on my mind.”
He smiled. “Not like that. Not the voices. I mean worries. Stuff you need to talk about.”
