by Jen Haeger
I’m afraid to ask but I have to, “What other interpretations?”
“Oh, well, this is a less scientific area, with lots of semi-scientific overtones, but to simplify, some people feel WHISPs are sentient entities capable of moving and acting on their own volition without needing outside influences.”
“That would be terrifying.”
When Lila’s mouth quirks up with approval at my remark, I regret saying it.
“Exactly. Hence the formation of CAW.”
“But, it would only really be terrifying if the WHISPs were able to do anything. I mean, they’re just clouds of particles, it’s not like anything they do actually has an effect.” But I already know this for the lie it is. I have the report on my desk from the phone company.
“Doesn’t it?”
“What are you saying?”
“Are you aware there has been a ten-fold increase in poltergeist activity since the WHISP phenomenon started?”
“Well, I know at first the paranormal community thought they were ghosts and people tried exorcising them.”
She rolls her eyes. “People still think that and there is a quite lucrative business in WHISP exorcisms, but what I’m talking about is the poltergeist activity associated with some ghosts. You know, like what was recorded in Amityville.”
“And you think WHISPs are responsible for this increase in poltergeists?”
“I do. I’ve seen it.”
“You’ve seen what?”
“I’ve seen a WHISP move things”—spine stiff, Lila closes her eyes and frowns—“known people who felt WHISPs touch them.”
“People have felt a WHISP?”
Opening her eyes, Lila cocks her head. “Have you never noticed people who have WHISPs avoid contact with other WHISPs? They never walk through them as a normal human might do. Do you know why that is?”
I couldn’t say I had ever really noticed it, but then I thought back to the WHISP clubs. Crone had stepped right through a few people’s WHISPs, but the patrons had seemed very careful about touching others’ WHISPs. “No, why?”
“Because they can feel the other person’s WHISP, feel the particles acting on them. Normal people can’t feel it.”
“Why not?”
Folding her hands, she leans back in her chair. “Perhaps it’s because having a WHISP makes you sensitive to other WHISPs, opens you up to the particles passing through you. Normal humans seem to have a natural barrier to WHISP particles. Maybe that’s why they don’t have WHISPs themselves already. Now, of course, we don’t know all people without WHISPs cannot feel them, because people can develop a WHISP at any age, but it stands to reason some people would have an innate immunity.”
“What happens when WHISPs mix with other WHISPs?”
“They don’t. What appears to happen when WHISPs overlap is the particle cloud’s shape distorts to avoid the particles touching one another. They repel each other like magnets with the same polarity.”
“You’re telling me WHISPs can…touch objects and humans, but they can’t touch other WHISPs?”
“Not in my experience.”
Reeling, I’m struck dumb. I don’t know what I wanted her to say. What she’s saying is validating everything I’ve been thinking since I met with Dr. Silverman, yet also making me feel like I’m going insane. If she’d said WHISPs couldn’t stray from their humans and they absolutely couldn’t act on the physical world, then I wouldn’t be feeling this empty, awful horror eating into my chest, but it would confirm I was losing sight of reality. Still, I have to remind myself where this information is coming from. Why should I trust CAW? It would be in their best interest to lie or, at least, stretch the truth about WHISPs to further their agenda of hatred and fear.
Lila is watching me closely. Almost as if she has read my mind, she presses her lips together. “You don’t believe me.”
“It’s a lot to swallow, and it’s not like CAW is a reputable scientific institution.”
“You’re not wrong. I have proof, but I don’t think that CAW would be comfortable with me sharing it with an officer of the law, so I’m afraid you’ll have to draw your own conclusions, Detective.”
There is nothing about Lila Grant signaling her a liar, no tapping fingers, no straying of the eyes to the left-hand side, no hesitations or uneven speech, and no sheen of sweat or pulsing veins. But all this only means one of two things: one, she’s a good poker player or two, she believes what she’s saying. Being a detective, you get to understand the difference between someone telling the truth and someone thinking they’re telling the truth. I needed a lot more, but I wasn’t going to get it from CAW.
“Well, I guess that’s it, then. Thank you for your time, Ms. Grant.” I stand and offer a parting handshake.
Seeming a bit surprised, Lila also rises and sidles around to the front of the desk to shake my hand. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Detective.”
And I almost hope I’m wrong about everything. “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“In an emergency meeting held yesterday at the UN headquarters in Manhattan, the Committee on WHISP Affairs condemned the slaying of hundreds of individuals with WHISPs in several countries, including Syria, Turkey, and Bangladesh. The committee is calling for leaders of those countries to work harder to put a stop to these anti-WHISP terrorist groups under threat of possible economic sanctions.”
CNN
“We got a break!”
“Hmmm?” I’m comparing autopsy reports from the original victims to the copycat victims when Crone waddles up.
“Vice has an officer who’s working on mob ties to one of our WHISP clubs. He’s positive he’s heard a group of regulars talking about the Chester case and we’re in the process of tracking down names through credit card slips.”
“Oh. Oh good. That’s great.”
Crone goes from elated to grumpy in two point three seconds. “Oh, well don’t sound so freakin’ excited about the first real break we’ve had in this case.” Picking up a file off my desk he scans it. “You got somethin’ from autopsy you’re not telling me about?”
I snatch back the folder. “No, not really. I’m just double-checking the TODs and murder weapons.”
“You mean the lack of murder weapons. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you they never found one.”
“Whaaaaaat?” I give him a seething look. “Of course, I know that. The forensic pathologist couldn’t narrow it down except to say it was sharp and the killer was likely left-handed. I’m looking at the copycat murders. The wounds of Alice Petrie and William Rocks have subtle differences and his wounds suggest a right-handed assailant.”
“Well, that makes complete sense. One of the copycats didn’t get things exactly right.”
“What about Pamela Cistern?”
“What about her?”
I lift up her file and point to several highlighted lines. “Her wounds are consistent with the original murders, not the copycat.”
Wrinkles form along Crone’s forehead, but then he shrugs. “So what? We know the same killer couldn’t have killed them both.”
“Okay, two copycats, a cult, whatever, fine. But then why would one mimic the crime so much closer than the other?”
“Maybe…”—the wrinkles reappear—“maybe there’s only one weapon and they gave it to the only cult member who’s left-handed?”
“If we don’t know what the weapon is, how could the copycat know?”
“Easy, Chester told them what it was, or maybe gave it to them.”
“When? While we had her under surveillance, before we arrested her? When we were tracking every single one of her e-mails and phone calls?”
Face red, Crone flings Cistern’s folder down on my desk. “Before that.”
“And she just happened to have the foresight to do it before we were onto her.”
“I don’t know, Harbinger. What do you want? How about we ask them when vice is done rounding them up for us?”
>
“You think it’ll be that easy?”
“I don’t think anything, as long as the killings stop.” He turns away. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to start interviews.”
Watching Crone stalk off, I’m wondering if I should have tried acting more excited, but I don’t have a whole lot of time to worry about Crone’s delicate feelings. Right now, I’m struggling with my own. All of the victims had a WHISP, so if what I learned from CAW is true, they could’ve been killed by a WHISP. If even some of the original victims were killed by a WHISP, it means they weren’t killed by Rachel Chester, and if they weren’t killed by Rachel Chester, I may have put an innocent woman in jail. It’s something I’m not willing to cope with right now. Chester is a high functioning, paranoid schizophrenic who was found mentally capable of standing trial, blood from two of the victims was found in her apartment, on her shoes and on her clothes, and she had no solid alibi for any of the murders. The defense’s only explanation for the presence of the blood, was Chester had assaulted both of the victims before their murders. It was a flimsy argument and it didn’t hold.
Chester was convicted, but I’d always wondered about the murder weapon. Sure, there had been other cases where we never found the weapon, but there had always been a clear indication of what the murder weapon had been: three-inch serrated knife, tire iron, twenty-two hunting rifle. In the Chester case, cause of death was always exsanguination due to sharp force trauma inflicted by an unknown object. What if the “unknown object” was Ray? Then Chester was guilty, right? Only she’d used her WHISP as a weapon. If she was able to control the particles somehow, or get Ray close enough to the victim and then mime the attack? Right now, the evidence only proved she was present when the victims were killed, it was a long way from proving Chester killed them with her WHISP. In fact, I’m certain it isn’t possible to prove it.
My temples are pounding and I down two Excedrin. Fuck. If I really think it’s Chester killing people through Ray, then I have to get twenty-four seven eyes on Chester. Right now, she’s monitored outside of her cell, and there’s a camera inside her cell, but there isn’t someone watching just her feed all the time. Also, since she doesn’t receive any unmonitored communications and doesn’t interact with the general prison community, I don’t have any basis to ask for constant monitoring or to subpoena the footage. My frustration bubbles over, then doubt floods in again and my brain roils. Chester’s original victims, as far as I could get from her, were men with WHISPs she saw on the street and thought were out to get her.
Originally, I’d sympathized with her for being afraid of other people’s WHISPs even though she seemed comfortable with Ray, but now I wonder if it was actually that she somehow knew WHISPs could hurt her. Regardless, she had seen the men on the street. If she and Ray are still killing now, how are they finding victims? Rachel Chester’s in solitary confinement. She doesn’t have a television in her cell and her time on the prison computers is short and strictly monitored. The new victims aren’t celebrities and she only knew Pamela Cistern. I can buy Chester using Ray as a weapon when she’s standing right there, but could she send her out to kill a random person? And if so, why wouldn’t Ray kill the first person she…it came upon? It’s a possibility. Still, it’s unlikely Ray wandered so far from Rikers without crossing paths with someone who had a WHISP. There had to be something more to it.
I decide to start at the beginning of the new cases, Alice Petrie. If Chester met her in some random encounter on the street, there was nothing I could do to make the connection, but I’m going to dig as deep as I can to make sure there is no other connection from Chester to Petrie. When Alice Petrie was killed, we’d kept the connection between her death and Chester’s MO on the down low because we were afraid of copycat panic, and also to deny the copycat the publicity. Keeping that in mind, interviews with neighbors had specifically not mentioned Chester. Well, the copycat was out of the bag now, so I’m going to interview all her relatives, friends, and neighbors again.
Halfway to the elevator, I turn around and head past my desk to Crone’s. He doesn’t look up when I approach.
“Hey, listen, I want to go back and interview Alice Petrie’s family and friends. Neighbors, too.”
Crone grunts. “Why?”
“When we interviewed them the first time, we were careful not to mention Chester. Now that we’re not suppressing the copycat from the press, I want to interview them again and double check any connections Petrie might have had to Chester.”
Finally looking up, he clicks his tongue. “And now we’re partners again?”
“What do you mean?”
“Gimme a little credit, Harbinger, I’m a detective, too. You’ve been off on your own crusade for a few days now. You gonna let me in on it?”
I chew my lower lip. “Maybe, but are you in for this?”
Closing a folder, he sighs. “Yeah sure, all right.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Thousands of WHISPers supported by family and friends gathered for a WHISP-Pride rally in the Castro District of San Francisco earlier today. The message: WHISPs are not a Choice.”
San Francisco Tribune
We hit the phones, set up interviews with Alice Petrie’s friends and family, and then get in the car. I’m wondering if we’ll run into Mike and if I’ll be able to recognize his voice. Alice lived in a smaller apartment building squeezed between four taller ones, and I’m looking up trying to figure out which of the adjacent ones has the best view of Petrie’s window. There are too many that could be home to the anonymous caller. Damn. We’re starting in Petrie’s building, anyway. Crone leads the way but holds the door open for me after we get buzzed in by her next-door neighbor, one of only three neighbors on Petrie’s floor.
Bypassing the broken elevator, we take the stairs up to the third floor and I wait for Crone at the landing to hold the door for him. When he catches up, I bite back a comment on his fitness level, and walk next to him down past the crime scene, unlucky 313, to the door just beyond, apartment 315. I knock. Mrs. Gladys Long, a seventy-seven-year-old widow with a walker and long grey hair answers promptly.
“Hello Mrs. Long, thank you so much for agreeing to speak with us again.”
“Well, I don’t know what else I can tell you detectives. I was soundly asleep and I didn’t hear anything until the woman who car pools with her started screaming, but come in. Can I get you some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m fine.”
We follow her into a tiny living room and are swallowed up once more by her ancient green velvet sofa. Gladys herself eases down into the matching club chair.
“Well, what did you want to ask me?”
Crone scoots forward to answer. “We’re still investigating Ms. Petrie’s murder, and we’ve linked it to another series of murders. Do you recognize this woman?” He produces Chester’s photo from a folder and holds it up for Mrs. Long to examine.
“Let me get my glasses on here.” She snags a pair of eyeglasses on a beaded chain around her neck and puts them on. “Hmmmm. Can I see it closer?”
He relinquishes the photo, and she holds it up inches from her face.
“She does look familiar.”
He sighs. “From the television?”
“No. I think she might have lived here in this building, maybe even in Alice’s apartment. Now this would’ve been a few years ago, and she didn’t live here very long, wasn’t very social.”
My heart’s beating so fast it hurts. “Are you sure?”
Handing back the photo, Gladys eyes me over her glasses. “Well, as sure as I can be at my age. Can’t you find out for sure yourselves?”
Crone smirks. “Yes, yes we can.”
“Thank you again for you time, Mrs. Long.”
“Is that all you needed?” She’s frowning me down.
“Have you seen the woman recently? Was she friends with Alice?”
“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her
in a long time here and I don’t think she and Alice were friends.”
Crone takes over. “Have you seen any of the woman’s old friends hanging around or talking with Alice?”
“No. That lady didn’t have many friends.”
I think of something else. “Have you noticed any strange people hanging around, specifically people with WHISPs?”
Gladys scratches her head. “Well, lots of people around here have WHISPs. Alice had one herself, but she was still very friendly. Not at all like that other girl.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask, are you familiar at all with the Rachel Chester case?”
Wincing at my question, Crone glances at me sidelong but doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, yeah, the whole serial killer thing. You know, come to think of it, that killer lady looks an awful lot like the woman who used to live in Alice’s apartment…” Her eyes widen. “Oh, my goodness! That’s the same woman, isn’t it?”
I have to come clean with Mrs. Long now. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to do some checking, but we think so.”
“Poor Alice’s death is part of the copy killer thing then? Oh, that’s just dreadful. I don’t understand how people can be so awful.” Gladys rubs her wrinkled hands together.
Crone tries to squeeze for just a little more. “Is there anything else you can remember about Rachel Chester when she was living here? Do you remember any of her friends or relatives? Anything you can remember would be very helpful.”
“Um…no, I’m sorry.”
Producing a card, Crone manages to escape the couch and rise. “If you think of anything, here’s my card.”
With difficulty, I also stand. “Call any time.”
Gladys shows us to the door and the deadbolt snaps into place as soon as she closes it. We have two other neighbors left to interview on this floor alone, but this is huge, so I yank out my cell and call Hines, one of the junior detectives working the case.
