by Carol Roi
"Right now she's not, but that could change. Ventriss is still insisting there's top-secret information missing from his lab, but we found no evidence Ms. Eolia had taken it. It wasn't found on her, and there was hardly time for her to ditch it between the time the alarm went off and the time we confronted her."
Picking up the file folders, Blair flipped idly through them, noticing the case file on the Chung murder was in the middle of the stack. "Megan, what's the Chung case doing in here?"
"Oh, that. Captain Banks had me go over it to get familiar with the history of the PD and QuestScape. I meant to send it back to records this morning." She reached out a hand for it.
Blair shook his head. "That's okay, I'll make sure it gets back." Clasping the stack of folders to his chest, he made his way back to Jim's desk and began to read. An hour or so later, he got to his feet, stretching to relieve the kinks in his back, then headed for the break room in search of coffee.
When he returned, he sat his cup down on the desk and reached for another folder. The unstable pile shifted, and several folders slid to the floor. "Damn it!" Blair hissed under his breath, then bent to pick up the spilled papers. He was putting them back in order, when a sticky note attached to one of the folders caught his eye. He recognized Megan's handwriting. She had a habit of jotting her thoughts on a case down on notes then shuffling them around until they made sense. This one read, "Description of LE's attacker fits BV." Popping his head over the desk he glanced toward where he had last seen the Aussie. She wasn't at her desk.
Blair looked at the note again. "LE" had to be Eolia, but who was "BV"? There was no one connected to the case with the initials "BV". He reached under the desk for another folder and came up with one labeled "Autopsy Results: Ventriss, B." He sat up so fast he smacked his head on the underside of the desk. "Ow! Damn it!" Blair rubbed his head with one hand, blinking back tears of pain. With the other, he dug through the papers until he found Lee's statement from Saturday night. The description of the man she said had shot at her and killed John David was height: 5'8"-5'10", weight: 160-200 lbs, hair: brown/blond, race: Caucasian. That sounded like Brad, but--Brad was dead. And if Brad wasn't dead, then it was one of two things. Either Bradley Ventriss had pulled the biggest fast one ever on the folks at the city lockup, or he was immortal.
Crawling out from under Jim's desk, Blair renewed his attack on the files, quickly going through the autopsy results, making sure the photos of the body inside were actually of Brad. As far as he could tell, they were. He tapped his pencil impatiently on the desk. He needed more information. Grabbing the autopsy file, he headed downstairs to the morgue.
Once he arrived in the basement, Blair went in search of Dan Wolfe. He was very relieved to find him in his office and not in the autopsy bay. Knocking on the partially open door, he stuck his head in. "Hey, Dan, can I talk to you for a minute?"
The forensic specialist looked up from his computer. "Sure, Blair, come on in. What can I help you with?"
Tossing Ventriss' autopsy results on the other man's desk, Blair said, "This. I just have a few questions."
Taking a quick look at the file, Dan answered, "You too? Inspector Connor was in here yesterday asking questions about the Ventriss death. What is it you want to know?"
"I want to make sure it actually was Brad Ventriss you did the autopsy on. You did match his identification with what we had on file?"
Dan nodded. "Yes, everything checked out, fingerprints matched those taken when he was arrested. As I told Connor, death resulted from a stab wound to the neck, in the back, penetrating the spinal cord."
The one place Immortals were especially vulnerable. That could account for the fact Brad had stayed out so long, if, in fact, he was immortal. "How long from the time he was killed until you did the autopsy?"
Dan looked through the report. "As I remember, not more than a couple hours. They brought him over from the jail and I did the autopsy right away. There was a big rush put on it seeing who he was."
"You didn't find anything out of the ordinary during the autopsy?"
The Native American shook his head. "No, just your normal, average twenty-something with a hole in his neck."
"Okay, thanks, Dan." Blair got to his feet, and picked the file back up. "Oh, one more thing. How long was the body in the morgue? I mean, before it was picked up?"
Dan shrugged, "I don't know, less than twenty-four hours. It was sent directly to be cremated when it was released."
Blair had turned and was halfway out the door when Dan spoke again, his words freezing Blair in his tracks. "Funny thing, that. I was just signing the release for the funeral home, when one of my assistants came to tell me there was a body missing."
Taking a moment to school the expression on his face to one of vague interest, Blair turned back around. "Really? Not Ventriss' body, was it?"
"No, some homeless guy. But it happened at the same time Ventriss was in the morgue, and I told Connor about it. Figured I might as well tell you, too."
"Okay, thanks for the info." With a small wave, Blair retreated from the pathologist's office. On his way to the elevator, he passed the doors to the morgue. He paused, peering through the glass at the steel drawers. Pulling the door open, he entered, walking across the room to examine the small card attached to the drawer. If he were an immortal, just come back to life to find himself in a morgue, what would he do, especially if he wanted to stay dead? It would be a simple matter to switch the cards on the drawers, as well as the tags on the bags within. Viola, one homeless guy gets cremated and Brad gets himself a new life.
An ice-cold chill ran down Blair's spine. Get a hold of yourself, Sandburg! You're just speculating. You don't even have enough to form a hypothesis. You need more evidence. Turning around, he left the morgue and headed back upstairs. If Brad was an Immortal, possibly a new one, then he had to have found a teacher, someone to explain the Game to him. And that meant hooking up with an older Immortal, one who might have a Watcher, who would report the discovery of a new player back to Watcher Central.
Getting off the elevator on the seventh floor, Blair crossed to Jim's desk and dropped into the chair, snagging the mug shot of Brad out of the file. Scanning it into his laptop, he accessed the Internet and sent off an email to Joe Dawson. Now all he had to do was sit and wait.
Damn, but he hated waiting.
I wake up slowly, not wanting to leave the dream I was having. But even as I roll over in the large and empty bed, the images from the dream are already fading, eluding my mind's attempts to recapture them. Sighing, I throw the covers off and sit up. Glancing towards the travel clock on the bedside table, I realize I managed to grab more hours of sleep during the night than I have since Azir was killed. It's eight in the morning; check out time is noon. Time to get out of the sack, get ready to face the day, pack and see if Diandra is still serious about her offer to let Jan-Michel and I stay at her place for a while.
I don't have much in the way of clothing to choose from. I really hadn't expected to still be alive, let alone staying in Cascade as long as I have. I had only packed enough to see me through five days and the police still haven't returned the packages I dropped in the alley where John David had been murdered. I opt for the same outfit I wore to interview Norman Ventriss, with a few changes. The suede pants and matching boots are good to go, but the silk blouse has seen better days, so has the sweater. I really don't have any other shirts that will go with the pants. Then again…
Stepping over to the trunk that holds all my precious mementos, I raise the lid and start to dig in its depths. My search is rewarded when my hand drifts over the cloth I'm looking for and I pull the shirt out, shaking it free of most of the wrinkles. My pale lavender poet's shirt, a gift from someone back in one of the 'hippie communes' the Company had sent Azir and I into undercover. Back then, we were known as 'Turk' and 'Moonfire' and we managed to blend into the group.
"Nai, this is beautiful! I can't accept it." I press the shirt back into t
he woman's hands.
"Sure you can, baby. You helped me by watching little Bear the other night when I got so sick. This is my way of thanking you."
I shake my head, still trying to get my fellow redhead to take the gift back. "I did that out of love, Nai. Besides, you told me you and Bear are about to leave the group, so you'll need this more than I."
Her laughter tinkles across the tented grove that houses all the single women, and any children they bring with them. "We'll be fine, Moon. Trust me. Now, take this and we'll part friends, and with love between us." With a flash of incredibly long, bright auburn hair, she turns away from me and I watch as she gathers up her dark-haired, one month-old son from one of the other women.
Slipping into the shirt, with all the happy memories it brings, I hear a moan through the door connecting my suite to Jan-Michel's room. He's awake. I tuck the shirt into my pants as I enter his room. "Jan? You all right?"
I watch as he clutches his head between his hands and tries to squeeze his brains out. I choke back a giggle, but he hears me anyway. I'm nailed by pain filled, clouded, hazel eyes.
"Lee? Do me a favor, will you?"
"Maybe. What is it?"
"Take my head." He sits up, head still clutched in his hands. "I can't believe I was so damn stupid!"
"Neither can I, but I did warn you." Stepping over to his bathroom, I grab up a glass of water and a packet of BC Powder, which I know he likes to use for pain relief, and carry them over to him. "Here, take this shit, shower, and you'll feel better. When you're halfway ready to face the day, I'll have breakfast ready over in my suite." I leave him to his own devices.
By the time my student joins me, room service has delivered our breakfasts -- two hardboiled eggs and an English muffin for me, three scrambled eggs, hashbrowns and a breakfast steak for him. Coffee, black and strong, along with a half carafe of orange juice rounds out the meal, which we consume in silence.
"Have you packed yet, Jan?"
"Finished up before coming in here." His answer is low, as if he's still fighting the pain of his hangover and afraid to speak too loudly.
"Good. I called over to the mortuary that is handling John David. They'll meet us at the airport at eleven, help us get everything squared away, and then we'll see Sharee and Clarence off." I placed the call before calling to have our meal sent up.
"They awake yet?"
"Yes."
"'Kay."
I wait, wondering if I should bring up Saturday night, or let him do it. I finish my coffee, pour another cup, and then realize I had better broach the subject myself.
"Jan…"
"Lee, about Saturday…" He stops when he notices we are speaking at the same time.
"Go ahead, Jan." I prompt him, wanting to hear where he's going to go.
He squirms, uncharacteristically then starts over again. "Saturday, I talked with one of my contacts. I had to, or I would have been with you and John…"
"Jan, no. Don't go there. I'm sure there would have been more deaths that day if you had been with us." I reach across the table to clasp his left hand in my right, only to have him draw away from me.
"We'll never know, will we?" He drops his hand into his lap then looks back up at me. "My contact gave me some interesting background on QuestScape and Norman Ventriss." He becomes remote, giving his information to me in a voice totally devoid of emotion. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but he drops that his contact is also a Watcher, and his immediate superior. I just file away the data, ignoring it in light of the rest of his briefing.
"He set me up?"
"Actually, Stertz thinks it would have happened to which ever operative you had chosen to send in.
It just happened to be you. Maybe it's why Ventriss was so nervous when you told him you were to be the entry-man."
"Your contact--Stertz?" He nods, confirming I got the name right. "Did she happen to tell you if she thought the DVD-RAM was really stolen, or does she think Ventriss pulled a fast one on me?"
"She wasn't sure."
I struggle with my anger. "Best guess, then?" I'm getting really pissed with Ventriss and the whole QuestScape fiasco.
"Mine or hers?" He must have seen something of my temper in my eyes when he looked up, for he flinches and drops his gaze for a second. "Okay, my best guess is the disc has already been destroyed. Too chancy keeping something like that lying around. Or, and this is a possibility too, Ventriss hired the thief who shot at you in the lab, and the thief has the disc -- maybe as insurance against his employer."
"Maybe. But if that is the case, then we really need to find that asshole and get the disc back from him and turn it over to your contact, or even someone over at the DOD." I rise from the table, and start to pace around the room, my mind already starting to think of a way, any way, to go about tracking down an Immortal thief in a city the size of Cascade. The only thing that springs to mind is dangerous as hell, but it might just work. And if I want to implement the idea, I have to tell LaFollet the thief is one of us. I'm not sure I can do that. This running battle between the thief and myself has become too personal, and I want to take him out of the Game. Permanently.
"Lee? About what happened that night…" I turn around to face my Watcher. "I'm sorry. I behaved like an ass. You're right, what you do, and who you chose, is your business and none of mine."
My temper flares then dies a quick death as I take in his body language. He's still sitting at the table, looking for all the world like a scorned schoolboy, his shoulders slumped and his chin tucked against his chest. "Oh, Jan… I really didn't mean all of that." I smirk. "Well, maybe just a little. I couldn't help but hear your words to Ellison, or his to you, and it pissed me off." I cross back to the table and sit down again. "Look at it this way, you and I have many years together in our future. And to be perfectly honest with you, I find Jim fascinating. Maybe I just want to see if I can give my heart to another mortal."
He nods, finally looking at me again. "I think I understand, Eolia. The last mortal you married, before meeting Azir, you stayed with until he died. First as his wife, then as his caretaker, and finally disguising yourself as his 'lost' granddaughter."
"You know about Alfred?"
"When I was assigned as your Watcher, and Azir's, I was required to read the Chronicles on you both."
I sit there, speechless. I finally voice my question. "How far back do our Chronicles go?"
I can see his reluctance to tell me, but then he snorts in an odd form of laughter. "Oh, what the hell. The worst Dawson, and the Watchers, could do to me is to fire me. Azir's Chronicle was fairly complete, starting with his first death in Jaffa in 1192. Yours is less complete. The first entry I found on you was recorded in 1298 when you showed up in Scotland under the name of Leona FitzCarin. But even in that entry, made by a local priest, he speculated you were far older than you appeared."
"I am." He looks up at me, expectantly. "But that is for later. We have work to do today."
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The VIP Lounge of Cascade's International Airport isn't a happy place to be. In fact, my small group manages to chase off others who thought they'd wait for their various flights in the room. Sharee Milton starts crying again as we watch John David's casket being loaded into the belly of the 747 that would take him home to New York. Clarence tries to comfort her, then gives up, knowing she has to work through her grief in her own time. Jan-Michel and I aren't much better. We hate the idea of splitting up the team, but this time, it's unavoidable. Due to our involvement in the on going investigation of the incident at QuestScape, and my involvement in the attack that took the life of my youngest bodyguard, we're stuck in the city until the cases are closed.
"LaFollet, you take care of Lee."
"I will, C. And thanks for covering for me last night."
"De nada, mi amigo." I watch as Clarence engulfs Jan's hand in his own. "It's not like you wouldn't have done the sa
me for me."
A light touch on my arm pulls my attention to Sharee, who has dried her tears and is looking at me through reddened eyes. "Lee? When we get into Rochester, I'll ask Ruthie to send another team out here. You and Jan need some help to watch your backs."
Sharee Lindsey-Milton has been with WindHawk Securities for a long time, hired to be my personal decoy and one of our snoops. She's my height and her coloring is very, very close to my own. "I've already talked to Ruth. She's getting a team together, but they won't be able to get here until Thursday." Looking past her, I see her husband is about to comment and race to forestall his words. "Jan and I will be fine, C. I ran into an old friend here in Cascade who has offered to put us up at her place. She happens to live next door to a cop, so I'm sure we'll be okay."
LaFollet doesn't even flinch when Clarence nails him with a hard, questioning look -- just nods in agreement with everything I just told the Native American's petite wife. Before either of the Miltons can protest further, their flight's boarding call is announced over the PA system.
