by A J Sherwood
“Remember how I said there was an incident earlier? He’s the main actor in the play. Dammit.” I slammed a closed fist against the wall. “He’s the type to latch onto a suspect and do everything to twist the evidence to convict. No wonder Chen was scared enough to hire us. He likely realized that he was the only suspect in this case. The only thing keeping Chen from cuffs right now is that he’s in a hospital bed.”
“So wait, the kid gets shot without a good reason, but the police are going to pin this whole thing on him?” Donovan let out a low whistle, looking distinctly unhappy. “That doesn’t sound very fair to me.”
“It isn’t,” I grumbled, frustration building. “But that’s what Solomon will do. Donovan, I hate to say this, but we don’t have a lot of time to gather evidence. And it has to be good evidence, something we can use to go over Solomon’s head with, if it comes to that. We don’t have to find who actually did this, but we certainly have to prove it’s not Chen.”
“And we have to do it before he gets out of this hospital, or he’ll be recuperating in a jail cell,” Donovan summed darkly. “Right. We better get cracking, then.”
5
Thursday morning dawned bright and with no clear schedule. I had a little bit of paperwork to do, mostly signing off on invoices so that Sharon could process them, and Donovan attempted to call both Detective Solomon and Alice Thompson while I crossed a few t’s and dotted some i’s. But after an hour of trying and no luck, we shrugged and chose to beat the pavement instead.
Belmont University was not the largest campus in the world. I hadn’t been on it, just drove by in passing, but it was old enough that it had a very established presence—a stately looking campus of tall, imposing buildings made of light grey stone. It really looked like a capitol building that had gone missing, at least to me, with most of the other buildings matching it in theme. My campus hadn’t been anything like this, more a 60’s version of what had been hip in its day and now looked stupid. Shame, because I liked the look of Belmont better than my alma mater. Although Belmont had the money to buy every possible electronic gizmo, making it a hazard for me. Probably just as well I hadn’t tried to study at this campus.
Donovan moved like a shadow as we walked along the sidewalks, dodging students and staff as we moved. For such a large man, he really didn’t make much noise as he walked, just the idle clink of whatever rested in his cargo pockets. I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him from behind my sunglasses. It was such a strange feeling, as I hadn’t had this happen in years, but…I might be attracted to him? It was moments like these, when I was in close proximity to him that I noticed it—that happy little flutter that everyone got when they were near someone they found attractive.
I didn’t do it often, but I could read my own aura. Sometimes I overthought things, and a quick glance down at my own meridian lines kept me from jumping to stupid conclusions or dismissing things when I shouldn’t. I took a quick peek and a huff of mild surprise almost escaped my mouth. Well, well, well, it seemed I did have some budding interest for my new co-worker.
As if the situation weren’t interesting enough, now it had the potential to get awkward as well. Wonderful.
My libido seriously had the worst timing in history.
Of course, I knew what had done it. His kindness had gotten my attention, his patience and good humor about my shortcomings had cemented it. And yes, okay, fine. The muscles didn’t hurt either.
“Would Registrar’s Office give out her information?” Donovan asked idly, staring at the plaque on the building ahead of us.
Be professional, Jon. Pay attention. “If asked very nicely with our badges in hand, they likely will. I’ll be honest, though, I don’t really expect to find Alice Thompson on campus.”
He gave me a considering hum. “Because of the shooting, you think she’s been suspended?”
“I mean, the girl’s not supposed to be armed on a school campus,” I pointed out logically. “I think at the very least she’s been suspended until they can figure out what’s actually gone down. But Chen says she lives in the dorms, and that’s the part I’m not sure about. Would they kick her out of there too? Or just the rest of campus?”
“Good question. Let’s see what they have to tell us.”
I saw more than a few uneasy looks thrown Donovan’s direction and scowled back at the students in return. He was just walking through, what were people so jumpy about?
Despite the sunny weather, my mood steadily darkened as we headed inside the building. People really shouldn’t judge others on their looks. I didn’t approve of this aspect of humanity.
Shaking it off, I pushed through the dark wood door marked ‘Registrar’s Office’ with gold lettering on the glass window insert. It looked like every other registrar’s office I’d ever been in, with middle-aged women running the show, stressed and tired students filling out paperwork, and parents demanding the impossible somehow happen to keep their failing child in school. I ignored most of the arguments going on at the far end of the room and offered a smile to the harried-looking woman on the other end of the counter. “Hi. I’m Jonathan Bane with the Psy Investigative Agency. This is my partner, Donovan Havili. We’re looking for Alice Thompson.”
Her brightly painted red lips lifted in a sneer. “Oh. Her. Yes, well, you’re not the only one. But she’s not on campus at the moment. The Dean suspended her, effective for the rest of this semester. Whether or not she’ll be allowed back in is another story.”
“So she’s not even in her dorm room?”
“Not allowed on campus at all,” she reiterated, patted her wiry dark hair, smoothing it up in the bun and giving me a meaningful look. “Whether or not she was justified in shooting is one thing, but packing on campus is quite another.”
“I understand, thank you.” That was more or less the answer I’d expected, although that did leave the question of how we’d track her down. With another smile, I disengaged from the conversation and headed back out into the wide hallway.
Donovan gave a slightly frustrated grunt. “Well, you were right. I’m sure Solomon has a way of reaching her, not that he’s likely to tell us. Where do you think she’s gone?”
“I doubt a hotel, she won’t be able to afford that for long. Likely a friend’s couch.” Shaking my head, I paused just outside the main doors of the building. It was truly a pretty day. Shame we couldn’t find a way to work outdoors. “We might be stalled here until someone calls us back.”
“It’s the glamorous part of the job that TV never gets right,” Donovan observed, a touch sourly. “Just how much time investigations take. Although so far, it doesn’t look like you actually dig into the cases most of the time.”
“Maybe one in twenty I actually investigate,” I confirmed, making my way down the very wide, short stone steps. “Most of the time I just sit in on interviews. It does make life easier.”
“But you obviously know how to investigate,” he observed. “On-the-job training?”
“Well, that too, but I actually did go to school for this. I have a Criminal Justice degree.” I shrugged, as it seemed obvious to me why I’d gone to college for it. “My talents aren’t well suited to anything else that doesn’t smack of being illegal.”
Donovan inclined his head a little to the side, not disagreeing, but he seemed to think I had missed another possibility too. “Either this or—”
“Sir.” Two campus police in black uniforms, badges, and the full utility belt around their waists stepped directly into Donovan’s path. And mine as well, although they didn’t seem to be too concerned with me. One of them had thick, close tight curls with orange died tips, his female partner more conservative with her wiry black hair in a neat bun at the back of her head. Both, however, looked Donovan up and down as if they expected trouble.
“What business do you have on campus?” Tips demanded of Donovan.
I just knew that some paranoid student had called Donovan in as ‘someone dangerous’—hence these
two. Growling a mental curse, I reached for the badge in my pocket.
“Sir,” the female officer caught the movement and stopped me with a sharp stay of the hand. Her nametag read K. Jones. “You will keep your hands where I can see them.”
“We’re consulting detectives with Psy Investigative Agency.” I did my best to keep my voice level. It wasn’t their fault they were working off faulty intel, and I did understand how they could be a little on edge this week, what with Alice Thompson randomly shooting people. I could see their nerves, their banked fear at Donovan’s presence, and was grateful that he seemed to pick up on it too, as he carefully kept his body language non-threatening. “We’re here to investigate the shooting of Chen Li.”
This did not magically reassure them.
“ID,” Tips demanded. The way he puffed his chest out accentuated the name badge pinned there, but I was more concerned with protecting my partner at the moment.
“He’s brand new, doesn’t have an ID yet,” I answered, struggling to stay neutral. Did Tips get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? For some reason his emotions were turbulent, spoiling for a fight. “You can see mine.”
That didn’t make them happy, either. Really, I didn’t think they were going to be happy with us no matter what I said. At least, though, I was able to pull my ID this time. It literally has my psychic license on one side, my consulting ID with the police on the other. I flipped the slim leather folder open to display both.
“Take your glasses off,” the female partner demanded irritably, her generous lips pursed into a flat line.
“Ah, really can’t,” I tried to quickly explain, watching her patience evaporate, “my ability is—”
“She said take the damn glasses off.” Tips’ hand darted out as quick as a snake striking, grabbing at the glasses on my face.
Three things happened at once. I jerked instinctively back, for all the good that did, Donovan’s hand shot out to grab Tips’ wrist to stop him, and the sunglasses were yanked cleanly off my face in the process. My limited, pathetic excuse for psychic shields utterly failed with the sunglasses’ removal, and the blinding brightness of the fifty or so people all around me, coupled with the bright sun overhead, lanced through my eyes in a searing blaze of pain.
I clamped my hand over my eyes and fell back two steps, eyes burning, head throbbing like a bass drum being struck by a sledgehammer. A whimper escaped: “Shit.”
“Jon?!” Warm hands caught my shoulder and something plastic and cool touched my hands. “Here, put them back on. Are you two fucking morons? You do not just grab at a psychic without their permission!”
“There’s nothing about him that says psychic—” Tips argued back, sounding belligerent.
“Except his damn state-issued ID,” Donovan snarled back. “Holt and Jones. I’ll report both of you for this stupidity later. Jon? Where can I take you?”
“Car,” I groaned, still clutching my head. I was actually afraid it would either burst like a melon or fall off. I needed twenty minutes, at least, in a dark place and two magnesium if I was to undo the damage and even hope to go back to work today.
“Excuse me,” Tips’ voice started going up into cat-screeching range. “I did not say you could go!”
Donovan’s voice dropped into a register reserved for death gods and enraged drill sergeants. “Holt. You will move or I will move you. I promise you, you will not like it if I have to move you.”
The Mexican standoff lasted for about two seconds (which proved that those two had the survival instincts of a suicidal fruit fly) before I heard their boots shift on the cement walkway. A strong arm wrapped around my waist and Donovan almost half-lifted me as he carted me swiftly to the parking lot. I kept my eyes firmly closed, even with the sunglasses back on my face, attempting to help my poor eyes recover from their intense exposure.
Perhaps because my eyes were closed, I became more aware of Donovan. I saw so much with my eyes, I depended on that sense more than any other, and because of that I sometimes missed the other basics. Such as the clean, citrusy smell of Donovan’s aftershave, or how he practically radiated body heat. Seriously, was he a furnace in a previous life?
“Front or back?” Donovan asked tautly, worry clipping his words short.
“Back. I have an emergency meditation room set up in the back.”
The click of the door opening, and more by feel than sight, I found the metal edge and climbed up inside the car. Donovan had the good sense to not follow me in there, instantly closing the door. With it semi-darker inside, I was able to squint without my eyes protesting too much. I heard as Donovan moved around and climbed into the front seat, starting up the engine to get the A/C going. We’d need it in this heat. The car was not parked in the shade.
When I’d first gotten the vehicle, aside from painting it and doing some work to make it more comfortable, I’d made dark curtains for all the windows. Most of the time they were tied up, but a single pull on the sash would put blackout curtains all around, and the area right behind the cabin had a large blackout curtain to handle all the light from the front windows. It possessed all of the elegance of a child’s blanket fort but I didn’t care about appearance. Just effectiveness.
With the light blocked, I took my first decent breath and sank onto the padded bench for a moment.
“Better?” Donovan asked from the front seat.
“So much,” I assured him, digging out the emergency water bottle and magnesium tablets I had stashed back here. “Thanks. But seriously, what was their problem? We were just walking to the car!”
“Couldn’t read that, huh?”
“Well I’m not a fucking telepath,” I retorted in exasperation. “I could see they were jumpy, angry about something, and you scared them down to their whitey-tighties. But still, we weren’t doing anything wrong, and I had proper ID.”
“Not excusing them, but I bet they’re all on edge because of the shooting. Nothing makes you jumpier than to have a normal civilian suddenly open fire. And let’s face it, I’m not exactly the cuddly type.”
“You totally are,” I argued, mostly under my breath. Granted, the rest of the world couldn’t see that, but I could. He always radiated pleasure when he was in close contact with me.
There was a moment of contemplative silence. “You can see that too?”
Uh. That came off creeper, didn’t it? “That was more a guess. You tend to be hands-on with me.”
“Huh. I guess I am.”
That really didn’t confirm if he was naturally touchy-feely or not. And for once I couldn’t see anything to help me figure it out. Well, it was early days yet. I’d figure this out eventually. “The blinding pain is now a dull hum. I vote early lunch.”
“You really think you can work this afternoon?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You got me out of there quick enough.” I meant it. On my own, I would not have managed to get to the car that fast, or without further blinding myself in the process. I would have been out for the rest of the day and probably nursing a headache that night. Having a partner quick on the uptake really was a blessing in more ways than one. “So. Where to for lunch?”
“You wanna get pancakes?” He sounded so hopeful, like a five-year-old.
“Sure,” I agreed easily, as I really didn’t care and he sounded perfectly adorable. “Let’s get pancakes.”
After lunch, we went to the county jail to interview Borrowman’s suspect for the Marsha Brown case. He met us there, waiting patiently outside of the interrogation room. The county jail, at least, didn’t have electronic locks on their interrogation room doors. It meant Donovan didn’t need to open a door for me.
Alexander Black sat inside of the square, grey-colored room, sprawled in the metal chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. Half-black, half-Hispanic, he had the dark black hair and almond skin tone of his heritages. About a dozen tattoos ranged over his face, neck, and arms, most of them too dark to really discern. I took one look at him
and winced. Black lived up to his name, as he didn’t radiate any light—instead he walked about like a void. My head still experienced twinges, and looking at this man did not help my low-grade headache. I didn’t like being in the same room with most criminals, but this man especially bothered me.
Perhaps Donovan sensed that. He stayed very close, his hand coming up once to brush the small of my back, the soft touch relaying without words, I’ve got you.
It was the second time he’d touched me when it wasn’t an emergency. It wasn’t about safety or expediency, it was reassurance. Comfort. I hadn’t experienced a gentle touch from a man like this in what felt like eons and my skin tingled under his hand. I gave him a warm smile. That touch said he wanted to be more than coworkers. And I was honestly thrilled at the idea of being something more to him. A friend in my corner was a very rare thing, and Donovan, especially, offered a level of security I’d never had. I felt infinitely better with him watching my back.
He grinned back, briefly, but kept his attention on Black, watching the criminal like a bird of prey would a mouse.
Black watched him back, just like that mouse would have, uneasy. “Who’s this bitch?”
“Black,” Borrowman warned, voice going hard. “You’ll do well to focus on me and answer the questions, not ask them. You remember Jonathan Bane?”
“Yeah, I fucking remember him, as he’s the fucking reason why I got caught.” Black sneered at me, a touch of smugness in his expression. “But I’m actually happy to see you this time, Bane. You can prove me innocent. I didn’t touch that chick, whatever her name was. Borrowman’s pissing on the wrong tree this time.”
I hated to say it, but, “He’s not lying.”
Black flashed Borrowman a cocky grin, revealing crooked teeth stained brown from nicotine and a severe lack of hygiene. “Fucking told you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Borrowman acknowledged wearily. He waved us both out, looking done in and irritated. As soon as the door shut behind us, he glared at it, as if he could see through it. “Dirty shame. I really liked him for this one.”
