by Steve McHugh
"Those photos in Neil's bedroom," I said. "They're of the victims."
"They're pictures of the girls in here." She removed a sizeable file from a large handbag on the floor and passed it to me. "Every detail we have so far, on both the dead girls and Neil Hatchell."
I placed the file on the table next to me without opening it. "You must have suspected that Neil was the killer."
"Of course, but his old methods and the ones currently being used in these crimes are very different, apart from the level of violence. We concluded what you did, that he's not working alone."
"Any connection between the victims?"
"We've got the human police talking to the victims’ families. Hopefully they'll pick something up. Our murderer likes to call and let us know when he's finished. So far, four calls. I guess with the call about the farm that makes five."
"Whom does he call?"
"Originally? The human police, but from the third on, Agents Greaves or Reid. Apparently he's found someone he likes to talk to."
"What can they tell you about him?"
"His voice is deep, no background noise, he always sounds pleased with himself. One of the empaths back at the HQ thinks he's masking some serious anger."
"No shit, really? Serial killer is angry, that's something different." Empaths were pretty scary. They could not only read, but amplify emotions in others. I considered myself quite open when it comes to the races of my world, but empaths weren’t people I liked spending a lot of time with.
"Don't be an ass," she snapped, drawing a smile from Tommy.
"So somehow Neil is involved, but he's not the one doing the killing. That just leaves one question. How can there be no useable scent at the crime scene? Is there anything that doesn't leave a normal scent?"
"It's not that the killer doesn't leave a scent," Tommy chimed in after finishing his tenth piece of toast. "I went to the third crime scene a week ago, and there were dozens of scents all working together. It was overwhelming. So what can mix scents up like that?"
"Magic, elementals, probably a few other things I'd really rather not face," I said and grabbed a second slice of toast, gaining a slight growl from Tommy in the process. "Do that again and I'll hit you on your nose with a rolled up newspaper," I told him.
Olivia tried to hide a smirk as Tommy grabbed another slice of toast and stuffed as much of it into his waiting maw as possible.
"So, what does this have to do with me?" I asked, wanting to get back onto the topic at hand.
"With so many murders in such a short period of time, it's looking like whoever's committing them isn't planning on stopping. And I'm beginning to get heat from those above me, asking if I need help."
I suddenly grasped why she needed Tommy's and my assistance. "If you ask for help, you're worried they'll just remove you from duty and replace you with someone who will get the job done. Someone who may not have the best interests of the victims at heart."
"You worked for Avalon," Olivia said. "You know that they'll bulldoze straight through this investigation until they find someone to fit the role of murderer, and then they'll call it quits. It's becoming high profile, and Avalon doesn't like high profile cases."
"There's more though, isn't there?"
"I'm the first female director in LOA history who isn't in charge of some little shit-hole in the ass-end of nowhere. Asking for help will be admitting that they were wrong, and that I picked the wrong team to work with me. I'll be assigned somewhere out of the way and my team will be broken up, but they'll always have my stink against them. They're good people and I can't let that happen to them."
I admired Olivia's desire to keep those who worked with her from suffering whatever fate befell her. And it would definitely fall on her. At the moment, Damocles' sword was swaying back and forth over her head. If she didn't catch the killer, then Avalon would happily use her as a scapegoat and drop the sword with impunity.
"Okay, let's say I want to help. What do you need?"
"Ha, don't make it sound like you weren't going to help anyway," Tommy said. "The second you saw that girl in the basement, you knew you’d involve yourself."
"You're wrong," I said. "It was the second I saw those photos in Neil's attic."
Tommy's laugh was cut short by a glance from Olivia. "From what Tommy has told me, you were never a cop, so you probably look at things differently. I need you to read though the file-it's the details of the murders so far. I'd like your input."
I took the file, grabbed another piece of toast and took a bite, drawing a glare from Tommy. I opened the patio door and took a seat on a comfortable bench as Tommy and Olivia's conversation returned to their daughter. I ignored most of it-it had nothing to do with me-and started to flick through the file.
It contained information on the various murders, just a brief overview and some photographs, but enough to come to grips with what had been happening. I dropped the half-eaten piece of toast into a bin beside me. I'm not squeamish, but eating whilst looking at photos of murdered women struck me as being ghoulish.
The four murders contained within the file showed that the women were all found in exactly the same way — tied to a tree with their throats cut, along with their stomachs cut open and their livers and kidneys missing. No other wounds were mentioned that could have been the killing stroke. I studied the first victim's details carefully — the first is often the key to future murders. Her name was Emily Boucher, twenty-two, blond, lived alone but had a steady boyfriend. She worked for the local council as a Personal Assistant. There was nothing in her file which stood out. Her toxicology suggested she had no drugs in her system, recreational or otherwise. She'd last been spotted in a bar with some friends, but she was the designated driver. The statement from one of her friends said that it was her turn and that she wouldn't drink and drive.
There was a sheet of paper on her boyfriend. He was on manoeuvres with the army, which was a pretty decent alibi as they went, so he was ruled out.
I flicked through some photos of her body and eventually came to one of her when she was alive. She was a beautiful woman; her smile looked effortless and she was clearly enjoying herself. She was standing next to another blonde, although her friend's hair was much lighter and curly, whereas Emily's was straight. I turned the photo over and saw the name Vicki on the back of it in pen.
"Who's Vicki?" I asked loud enough to have them hear me inside.
Tommy and Olivia stopped talking and left the kitchen to join me outside. "Victoria Penbury," Olivia said. "She worked for me as an Agent."
"She knew the victim?"
"They lived on the same street, but that's as much as I know. Vicki had a lot of human friends. It's one of the benefits of having an enchanter on the team."
That was more than a little surprise-I hadn't expected an enchanter to be working with the LOA. Although anyone could use a rune, you had to use the right rune in the right place for it to have any effect. Sorcerers infused runes with magic to make them more powerful, but as enchanters have no magic to use, at least not in the way sorcerers do, they manipulate the rune itself. Despite having only a human level lifespan, they're incredibly powerful. They're tend to fall into one of two categories — those who keep to themselves and want nothing to do with anyone, or those who sell their services to the highest bidder. To discover that one worked for Avalon was unusual to say the least, and said a lot about Vicki's integrity.
"So where's Vicki?" I asked.
"We don't know. That's one of the other problems." Olivia turned to Tommy. "You were right about the victim in the basement. The body we found was Amber Moore. Vicki's girlfriend."
"So two of the victims knew your agent, and now she's missing."
Olivia nodded.
"And that's another reason why you haven't contacted Avalon-you're worried they'll just blame her for the murders."
"Pretty much; it's the easiest solution"
"Are you sure she doesn't know the other victims?" I asked.
"No," Olivia admitted.
"But you don't think she did it?" Tommy asked.
"I've known Vicki for six years. There's no way she killed any of those women. Besides, she was besotted with Amber; she would never hurt her."
"Besotted people do stupid things," I said. "I need to see Amber's body."
"Why?"
"How many enchanters do you know who wouldn't enchant those they love with protection runes?"
"None," Tommy said immediately.
"Then how in the hell did someone get through them to kill Amber?"
Olivia looked pained at the realisation of my words. To get past any protection runes on a person meant removing those runes, unless the attacker wanted a very unpleasant surprise. And the only person who could remove them was the enchanter who put them there. The fact raised some very awkward questions.
"How long have Amber and Vicki been missing?" I asked.
"Vicki was assigned to another department to help with a case. She was supposed to report in twenty days ago, no idea about Amber. Could have been days or weeks, but I'm sure that Vicki would have said something if she'd been missing for weeks."
"Unless she was involved," Tommy said.
"I won't believe she is," Olivia's voice was hard and cold. "Not without evidence."
"Then we'd better go get some," I said. "Because I don't think Amber was the last victim."
"Why?" Olivia asked.
"Because," I said as I re-entered my home. "I think she was the first."
Chapter 9
Territory of Montana, America. 1878
"Who are you?" Sam demanded, brandishing a revolver that wobbled slightly in his tight grip.
I tore another piece of fish from the stick I'd used to cook it and popped it into my mouth. "Want some?" I asked, ignoring the boy's question.
He looked hungrily at the three fish remaining above the small fire, before shaking his head and re-fixing his gaze on me. "I asked for your name," he said.
"I heard," I told him and ate some more fish. "But as I already told you what it was, when I saved your life. I figured I'd wait for a few minutes, until that gun becomes too heavy for you to hold. Then I'll take it off you, and answer your questions in a more civilised manner."
"Where am I?" he shouted, waving the gun around. His confusion was easy to read, especially since the wallop he'd taken had probably done a good job of shaking his head up.
"You're in a cave I found that was big enough for both of us and not already occupied. I've had my fill of Montana's wildlife," I said, tossing the now empty stick onto the fire. "If that thing goes off and you shoot me, I'm going to be really angry."
"Answer my question, God damn you."
I picked up another stick and ripped off a piece of fish. "I was just travelling through," I said. "Then you sort of fell out of the sky, and I found myself protecting you from two rather unpleasant deputies who wanted to kill you. Now, considering that I mean you no harm, can you lower that pistol?"
The boy was clearly exhausted, and I wondered when he'd last had a good night's sleep before being knocked out. But he was also distrustful, a trait I could hardly blame him for, given his position. "Eat some fish and get some rest," I said. "Sleep with the gun if it makes you feel better."
"You might kill me," he said.
"What would be the point in saving your life, watching over you for a day, and going out to catch enough fish for both of us to eat, if I only mean to kill you? Besides, if you don't sit down, exhaustion will claim that particular prize."
He glanced at the fish again and lowered the gun, replacing it in a holster far too large to sit properly on his hips.
"Take some food," I said. "There's plenty."
The boy moved to the fire, his hand darting to one of the remaining fish, before hungrily devouring it in the corner of the cave. His eyes were always focused on me, flitting back and forth whenever I moved to get more fish or stretched out on the thin mat I'd placed on the ground.
"Do you remember anything of what happened?" I asked after a few minutes.
"Running," he said with a full mouth. "And then nothing."
"Why were you running?"
Sam shrugged.
"The deputies told me that you were a murderer and thief."
That got his attention and for a moment I assumed he was going to deny everything. "That's right," he said slowly. "I'm a murderer, so don't mess with me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, and polished off the fish I was eating. "I'll let you finish whatever's left on the fire. I'm going to see to my horse." I left the cave, pushing aside the ferns I'd place placed at the entrance to avoid too much of the wind creeping in. I wasn't worried about predators finding the cave. Valour standing outside would give me enough warning to get rid of them. Besides, I learnt long ago to sleep lightly when I was somewhere I considered unsafe.
I'd tied Valour's reins to a fallen tree near to the cave, giving her plenty of shade from the elements. She looked up from eating the grass as I got near and nudged my arm with her nose, a sign that she wanted to have her head stroked.
"What are you going to do with me?" Sam asked from the mouth of the cave.
"Wasn't planning on doing anything with you," I said without turning round. "You're alive, and without any lasting damage. I figure my part is done."
I moved to look at Sam. "Except that you're a murderer, and a thief. And I can hardly leave you to wander alone, what if you came across some little old lady and shot her?"
Sam's expression was one of outrage. "I'd never-"
"There's a ranch about four hours east of here," I interrupted. "I'm heading there in the morning. If you want to join me you're welcome to."
"And then what?"
"And then you tell me why two deputies wanted to kill you, and what it is was you're meant to have done."
Sam didn't even take a second to think about it. "And what do I get?"
That depends on your answer, I thought. "What do you want?"
"Revenge," he said, and re-entered the cave before I could reply.
"He's an odd boy," I said to Valour. "But odder still is why he was being chased. If he's the murderer of anything bigger than a rabbit, I'd be amazed."
Valour stopped eating, nudged my hand again and resumed her lunch.
"Thanks for the chat," I said, scratching her neck.
After a few hours spent outside, collecting some fruit for the morning, I headed back into the cave where I found Sam fast asleep. The fire had long since extinguished itself, and I didn't bother to re-start it. The meagre light offered from outside stayed with me as I ate some of the fruit before wrapping the rest in a bit of cloth and stashing it near Sam in case he woke hungry. I'd filled my canteen of water and now took a long drink, the liquid still cool from the nearby stream, before settling down to a night's sleep. Hopefully I wasn't wrong about Sam, and I'd wake up with all of my bodily possessions still intact.
My sleep was light, and more than once I woke with the remnants of unpleasant dreams lingering in my mind. I glanced over at a still sleeping Sam, half expecting to have a gun pointed at me. I wasn't used to sleeping in close proximity to someone who had been threatening to shoot me. Although I wasn't in Montana to sort out someone else's mess, I didn’t like leaving people to a horrible fate if I didn’t think they deserve it. And without help, Sam would die. I was certain of that.
With newly born sunrays breaking into the cave, I rolled to my feet and ate some more of the fruit. Sam was lying there, staring up at the ceiling, and for a moment I thought that maybe his head had been badly injured in the fall and it had taken its toll.
Sam sat up and took a handful of berries. "Will you help me?" he asked after a moment.
"Why do you need my help?"
"I want to find out who killed my dad, and why."
"I'll tell you what," I said, as I stood and stretched. "We get to this ranch, you answer my questions honestly, and I'll discuss helping you out.
Sound fair?"
Sam thought for a moment before nodding.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I told him. "Meet me outside and we'll get started. It's a long walk."
I went to fetch some more water and came back to find Sam stroking Valour's neck. "Ready?" I asked.
He nodded, and after checking that I'd left nothing behind, we set off.
By the time we'd reached the outskirts of the ranch, the sky had turned cloudy and threatened to rain. Sam and I walked together. I hoped the journey would let him open up, but he was still weak and in pain, and spoke rarely. We'd stopped every hour at first, to let him rest, but when it became too much for him to walk, he rode Valour.
The journey still took a few hours longer than I'd expected and I was looking forward to good food and some sleep in an actual bed. Sam had told me that the owner was a widow of about forty, who had often let him sleep there throughout the six months he'd been looking into his father's murder.
"Let me do the talking," Sam said. "She'll want us to work in return for a bed and meal."
"Hopefully that work will wait until the morning, when my belly is full and my eyes no longer heavy," I said. "Hell, if I can get a bath into the deal, then I'd happily do any job that needs doing."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Sam said. "She'll hold you to it."
I smiled. "Sam, if there's one thing I've learnt, it's that no matter how hard the work, a bath, food and a good bed make those memories fade pretty damn fast."
The conversation came to an abrupt end when we reached the entrance to the ranch. Ranches were normally abuzz with activity, people working hard at all hours of the day and night. And the sun was still high in the sky. The ranch should have been full of people going about their daily work, but it was barren of any kind of life. I suddenly had a very unpleasant feeling in my stomach.
