by G. R. Lyons
“Yes,” Malrin confirmed, checking its file.
“And the rest were all single victims?”
The other files were checked, and the answer was affirmative.
Without looking up, Asenna pointed at a detective standing by the data screen, and said, “The roses. The number of roses indicates the number of victims.”
The man rapidly typed out the note, starting a list of data that the whole room could see on the enormous wallscreen.
Asenna went back to the end of the table and looked over each picture again, stopping at each one to read the first sheet of each case file, detailing the basics of each victim's identification.
She moved up and down the table several times, sometimes stopping halfway and going back, sometimes darting forward to the end, her eyes moving rapidly from image to case file.
“A youth and his grandfather,” she murmured, stopping at the image of an arrangement with two roses, then moved back down the table. “This one was also older. But this one…”
She stopped, and pointed at three files in turn. “These here were all elderly,” she said, “and the roses here are all fully open. These…” She pointed to a few others. “These were all middle-aged people, the roses only slightly open. And these, where the roses are buds, younger people.”
The detective made rapid notations on the screen, and Charlie spared a glance at the others in the room, all of them looking dumbstruck.
“What else is the same?” Asenna mumbled.
She straightened the row of file icons so they lay in one perfect line, side by side, then moved down the table, occasionally tapping on a file icon and dragging it closer.
“These all have sunflowers, while the others don't.”
She opened the files, scanning the details, then compared them to the others that didn't have sunflowers.
“And they were all killed by gunshot,” she murmured, absently rubbing her forehead.
Pushing those files aside, she scanned the ones remaining, and pulled a few of those closer. “These all have ferns…” She glanced quickly at all the other files, and Charlie noted a lack of ferns in all the other arrangements. “And the victims were all killed by knife.”
Resting a hand on her throat, she glanced over the remaining files, and said, “These all have blue pansies, and the victims were all killed by strangulation.”
Across the room, the detective at the wallscreen was still rapidly entering data, cross-referencing the digital case files and laying out a pattern.
Asenna stared down her nose at the files scattered across the table. Charlie watched her, seeing her jaw tighten as her eyes moved from image to image.
“Which were raped?” she asked just audibly, one hand tightening into a fist.
When she didn't make a move to check the files herself, Malrin and Lehinis looked over each one from the other side of the table and moved a few files toward the center.
“These,” Malrin said.
Asenna looked at the pictures, then gave a quick glance to those paired with victims who hadn't been raped.
“Oh, you sick bastard.”
“What?” Lehinis asked.
Asenna pointed at the collection of files in the center of the table. “Baby's breath.”
Charlie looked down at the pictures, seeing either a sprig or an abundance of baby's breath in the arrangements there, and the total lack of that flower in the others.
In the silence that followed, someone cleared his throat, and everyone looked up to see the chief hovering in the doorway as though he'd just returned, though Charlie had never noticed him leave.
Looking grim, Benash strode into the room and handed a tablet to Asenna, the screen displaying an image of a floral arrangement that wasn't already included in the files laid out on the table.
“What do you make of that?” Chief asked her.
Charlie looked over Asenna's shoulder and felt his stomach tie up in knots. The image was of a single pink rose, just beginning to open, nestled amongst an abundance of baby's breath and a thick layer of ferns. The rose looked so small and overpowered by the other elements that the arrangement was almost comical.
Almost, if it weren't so painfully familiar.
“Single victim,” Asenna said, tilting the tablet slightly to one side and moving it toward and away from herself as she analyzed the picture. “Young. Not a child but not middle-aged, either. Multiple rapes, and I'm guessing excessive use of a knife. There's…” She tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes as she brought the tablet closer. “There's a very small pansy here. As if the arrangement wasn't unbalanced enough, that just ruins the whole effect, but…that would indicate at least an attempt at strangulation.” She paused and looked up at Benash. “Who was this?”
Charlie sank into a chair while Benash answered.
“My daughter.”
ASENNA FLINCHED, images from her recurring vision of Saira Crawford's assault flashing through her mind. Reaching blindly, she grabbed a chair and swung it around, falling into it as she winced against the horrid sensations.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, staring at the image in her hands. The single rose, small as it was in the center of the arrangement, seemed to be glaring at her, begging for attention.
“That's the only pink one,” she thought aloud.
“What was that?”
She looked up and saw the detectives watching her intently, the chief more so than the rest. Asenna stood up and looked at the files scattered across the table, rapidly checking each one for a date and laying them out in order of occurrence again, resting the chief's tablet in a blank space where a file ought to be. Straightening the files so they were in a perfect line, she checked each picture as she moved from one end of the table to the other.
“The colors,” she said, pointing at the images. “The colors of the roses. Look how they change over time.”
The others bent closer, and Asenna moved her hand from her left to her right, older files to newer, pausing at each image in turn. The roses dominating each arrangement went from red to Saira's pink, then to orange, followed by yellow, and the last were white.
“It's like the intensity is…decreasing?” Dr. Galvin suggested, speaking up for the first time.
Asenna moved to the oldest file, pointing at the date, then moved down the line, stopping to check when each murder occurred.
“These took longer,” she said, returning to the older files. “Spread further apart, and more carefully planned? These people really meant something to him. And the rest…” She continued down the line, reading the dates again, noting how the murders started to occur closer and closer together. “Now he's just wrapping things up, tying up loose ends. Moving quickly, maybe even getting sloppy? Like these people don't matter as much but he's still not quite finished with whatever he's after?”
“Certainly possible,” the doctor agreed. “Do we have anything at all in the files indicating a connection between all the victims?”
The detective at the wallscreen typed in a few commands and stood back while the computer did its work, analyzing the case files and rearranging the file icons based on similarities of data.
“Let's see,” the man said, scanning the data once the analysis finished. “We can eliminate categories of age and sex.” With a swipe of his hand, two lists disappeared from the screen. “Careers…Too varied.” He eliminated those as well. “Hmmm, this could be something. Every one of the victims lived in Oaks Pass at some point in their lives.”
“Were any of them related at all?” Asenna asked. “Family? Work? Anything?”
The man typed in another command, but the computer returned nothing.
“Either nothing on record, or there in fact was no connection,” he answered.
“Other than the fact that the killer knew them all,” Asenna said, then looked to the doctor.
Dr. Galvin nodded. “It certainly strikes me as personal. These people all meant something to him. Some more than
others, if the rose colors mean anything.”
Asenna looked at the images again, fixating on the oldest two.
“Are you absolutely sure that none of the vics are related?” she asked again.
The detective looked back at the screen, but shook his head and shrugged. “Not according to any of our records.”
Asenna sank back into her chair. “Then what in seven hells is the connection here?”
She hung her head, and the room fell silent.
Beside her, Crawford cleared his throat.
“Chief,” he began, “I hate to say it but…I think it's time we all took a trip back to Oaks Pass.”
Asenna looked up just in time to catch the chief's eyes on her before he quickly looked away, studying the data on the wallscreen. He was silent for a long time, his hands on his hips as his eyes scanned the information on display.
The chief turned around and strode toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “Crawford, my office. Everyone else, back to work.”
Asenna saw Crawford clench his hands into fists before he got up without a word and followed the boss out of the room. All around her, conversations started up between the other detectives as they returned to their tasks, and Asenna finally got up from her chair and glanced over the files one more time on her way out of the room.
The chief rushed back in and snatched up his tablet, accidentally swiping a few file icons out of place, then left again. Asenna reached out to arrange the files, returning the icons and images to a straight line, the only discrepancy being the empty space where Saira Crawford's file ought to be.
The incongruity in the otherwise perfect arrangement of files made her cringe.
Chapter 9
ASENNA DROPPED her bowl of soup as the vision slammed into her.
“Crawford!” she cried, then collapsed on the floor, gasping and choking as she felt a pair of phantom hands tighten around her throat.
Crawford ran to her side, holding out a small tablet with the camera switched on as his face took on a look of horror.
Asenna felt herself slip away, locked inside the vision, taken over by the terror of a woman who was tied up and couldn't move while a knife sliced up the inside of her thigh.
A quick slash cut across her belly, and the fear subsided while the pain took over.
No, no, no, make it stop!
“Who are you?” Crawford asked.
Asenna.
No!
Asenna–
Let me out!
“Ona Sparr,” she gasped.
No–
Oh gods, make it stop!
Let me out!
“Where are you?”
Crawford's voice cut through the haze, and she tried to latch onto it, but the vision threw her back down. She felt herself teetering on the edge of an abyss, both tempted and terrified to just let go.
But she already didn't know who she was. She didn't want to be stuck in a vision forever.
Let me out!
Two voices screamed the words in her head, but she was too wrapped up in the vision to untangle them.
“Where are you?” Crawford repeated.
Here! Here! I'm right here!
Oh, gods, let me out!
“901 Spring Drive.” She sucked in a breath. “Living room.”
Crawford called in the Spirit report to Dispatch while Asenna tried to pull herself the rest of the way out of the vision.
Oh gods, make it stop! Let me out!
Let me out!
Just when her sight began to clear, and she could almost make out Crawford's form beside her, the vision sucked her down again.
Her breath caught as the pain and fear hit with renewed force, but it seemed like it all started over. The fear was fresh, and the first cut was the same.
“Hold on,” she heard Crawford say before his voice came in louder: “Asenna?”
Yes, that's me–
No.
Yes!
Let me out!
“Asenna?” Crawford barked.
“Mina Havel,” she gasped, and sucked in a rasping breath. No! “Mina Havel,” she repeated.
A beat passed before Crawford asked, “Another one? Gods, where?”
Right here! I'm in here!
No, no…
Let me out!
“Where are you?” Crawford barked.
“901 Spring Drive…”
No, here!
“Second vic, same location!” Crawford shouted into his communicator. “Get there now!” He looked down at her, gripping her by one shoulder. “Come on, Shyth. Let go. Pull out of it.”
Asenna blinked, gasping as she tried to disconnect herself from the victim. She felt raw and sticky all over, her throat dry and her mind in a whirl.
Gods, it was so tempting to just let go…
Let me out!
If I could just…
Let me–
No! Asenna thought, and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing the vision and the voices away.
Over Crawford's communicator, a voice announced, “I'm in the area. Approaching location now.”
“Proceed with caution,” the dispatch officer's voice said. “Suspect likely still present.”
“Copy that. Cameras on live feed.”
Crawford pocketed his communicator, set aside the tablet, and helped Asenna up off the floor.
“Come on,” he said. “Conference room.”
Asenna nodded absently, shaking as she tightened her robe around her, and followed him downstairs, ignoring the stunned looks of the people she passed.
She hoped there weren't any clients in the office to see her walking around, covered in blood.
The conference room was already full, several officers gathered, watching the live feed from the minicams the detectives wore. They slowly swept through the house's entryway, checking and clearing the rooms until they came upon the first body.
Ona Sparr lay in a puddle of blood, gasping her last breaths as the officers bent down to check her. Her eyes glazed over and her body went still, and Asenna slammed a fist down on the table.
“Find the other!” she shouted, a central microphone wired into the room communicating directly with the officers on site.
“Copy that,” the officer said, the camera view turning away from the body. “Move out.”
The officers continued through the house, and Asenna held her breath, a foreign sensation of fear overlapping her own anxiety. The pain of the phantom cuts was still fading, but flared up again, making her sway on her feet. Beside her, Crawford caught her by the shoulders and steadied her.
“Body here,” the officer announced, and Asenna looked up at the screen to see Mina Havel lying dead in the middle of the kitchen.
Right beside her, a vase of fresh flowers looked oddly out of place, sitting there on the floor.
“Flowers,” she gasped. “Focus on the flowers.”
The officer complied, turning the camera toward the arrangement, getting a straight and clear shot.
“Three roses,” Asenna breathed, seeing the three white blooms nestled amongst pansies and ferns. “There's a third victim. Find the third.”
The officer with the camera stood up and swept the room, then joined his partners in a hallway.
“We checked the whole house,” another said. “There's no one here. No sign of a suspect anywhere.”
Asenna slammed her fist on the table again. “Look again. He must still be there.”
“The house is empty,” the officer insisted. “Just these two bodies.”
“Look again,” Chief Rothbur spoke up. “And sweep the grounds outside.”
“Copy that, Chief.”
The camera moved, showing everyone in the conference room a clear view of each room of the house as the officers checked every corner, and finally went out the back to check the yard.
“Footsteps here,” one said quietly, and the viewers could see guns come up within the camera frame.
They tracked t
wo sets of prints: one, straight and steady, but with no unique markings to show what kind of shoe made them; the other, deep in some places and scraped in others, as though the person had been dragged along.
The back of the property ended in a line of trees, and just as the officers ducked under the shade of the overhanging branches, they found a third body.
“Shit,” the officer muttered.
The officers spun around, guns raised, but after a detailed search of the area, they found no indication of another person nearby.
Not even another footprint leading away from the scene.
“He couldn't have just vanished into thin air!” Malrin said, staring at the screen.
“Well, he seems to be doing a lot of that lately,” Lehinis put in. “Five bits says they find no DNA either.”
Several hours later, after the scene had been swept, photographed, processed, and filed, Asenna sank onto the couch in her room, the weight of helplessness resting on her shoulders.
“Nothing?” she asked Crawford.
He shook his head. “Not a thing. No DNA. No prints. He got away again.”
“Fuck!” she shouted, throwing a pillow across the room. “They were right there! One of the vics was still dying. How does this guy keep getting away from us?”
She let out a low growl, stormed across the room, retrieved the pillow, and slammed it back into place on the couch.
“Easy there, Shyth,” Crawford murmured.
“Fuck you, Crawford.”
He raised his eyebrows at her but didn't say anything.
She looked away, took a deep breath, and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
A few seconds passed in silence, and Asenna looked up to find Crawford watching her.
“What?” she asked, feeling her cheeks warm with self-consciousness.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he said, chuckling. He held out a hand to her. “Come on.”
Asenna glanced at his hand and back up at his face. “Where?”
“Firing range,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Let's go.”
She looked over at the wallscreen, three new files glaring at her from the bottom of her unsolved cases list.
