Killer

by Gillian Zane

  “You’re okay with that?” I turned around and was disappointed when I saw him getting up, now fully dressed in a pair of distressed and ripped jeans and a black tee.

  “I want to find out who the killer is, but I understand if you officially take on the case as a psychic it might pose some problems,” he said.

  “Right? How am I supposed to even do this?” I turned around and faced him with a frown, insecurity eating at me.

  “Well, your actual gifts are seeing people’s sins, reading their negative energy. Start there, like you told the detective. Get face to face with the victims or suspects and see where their sins lead you, then use that brain of yours and put the facts together,” he said. “I know you have it in you. You would have been an amazing detective one day.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” I looked away, unable to hold his gaze when feeling so incompetent. I know I already helped Troy solve one cold case, but it was so easy, so plainly visible on that man’s aura. I knew they weren’t all going to be like that. Especially my own case. I wouldn’t know of a witness to call in. All the witnesses in my case were dead.

  “It is, and you can do this, Cassie.” His arms wrapped around me, startling me since I didn’t hear him cross the room. “Don’t worry about your own case right now, deal with the cop. Do your job, anything else…we’ll tackle it when it comes.”

  I caught his eyes in the reflection of the mirror and nodded. I could do this.

  5

  Heroes with Prejudice

  “Great job yesterday,” Troy called as I walked across the room to his desk. The other detectives in the area all looked up, checking me out curiously. I’m sure word had spread about what happened. Troy wasn’t one to hold his tongue, especially when he got to play the role of hero. He would consider anything I did a direct reflection on him since he was the one that hired me. In a way, he did have the right to gloat, since it was his idea. Or was it? How did setting up these cases work? Did Troy have the idea to hire a psychic, which was why they sent me in this position, instead of say, pretending to be another cop, or a mobster? Or, since I was available with the backstory of a psychic already established, did they put the idea in Troy’s head? Maybe a bit of target advertising, an all-day marathon of episodes of Medium to put the idea in his head and then a well-placed call by Oversight to say they had a psychic coming in with evidence about a crime. Bam. Troy takes the bait.

  I guess only people in Oversight knew how it went down. It wasn’t up to us menial Karma operatives to know how to set up a case.

  Troy was huddled over a stack of paperwork, scratching away at the tiny blocks where his information was needed.

  I didn’t miss those days. An arrest was usually accompanied by mounds of paperwork to cover your ass. And the fact that Troy had taken a few liberties to get a confession probably had him tip-toeing around the truth so Internal Affairs wouldn’t come down on him with more questions. I didn’t know how they dealt with psychic premonitions. I’m sure it wasn’t with open eyes and congratulatory back slaps.

  “Really, Cas. Great job yesterday. I couldn’t have done that without you. I wasn’t even close to solving that case.”

  “Thanks. What happened after I left?”

  “CSI was called in so we had to leave the scene. I didn’t want the mom to see them digging up her kid, but we need forensics to back-up the dad’s confession. I brought the couple back here and got the rest of the story out. It was just as you described it, the baby died in the car seat, forgotten. When dad finally remembered that he had a kid, it was too late. If he would have called the cops right there, he might have gotten involuntary manslaughter. Most likely in these cases, unless there is proof of repeated negligence, the judge considers the parent suitably punished from the loss of life and lets them off with lesser charges. But now the DA is going to throw the fucking book at him, along with filing a fake police report, fraud, and a slew of other charges. His wife has already filed for divorce. Oh shit, sorry about the language,” he said when he realized he was being crass.

  “No problem, I’m used to it.”

  “You know, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were a cop yourself. You don’t make me explain any of the terminology, or the processes. It’s kind of second nature to you?”

  “This isn’t the first police investigation I’ve helped with, Detective,” I said to cover up how loose I’ve been with this case. I wasn’t playing a part. I lied to Troy about how I was coming to conclusions, but I was approaching this like a cop would. Drake was right. I was using my natural gifts to enhance what I had already learned as a cop in life.

  “Right,” he laughed. “Well, if you are ever thinking of a career change.”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged. “That’s rough about the parents,” I said, trying to steer us back to the job. I was being honest. The man had made a mistake. It was a doozy of a mistake, but still a mistake. It’s not like he meant to kill his only child. It made me wonder if this man’s time in jail would help him or hurt him. Hopefully, in the least, the wife would be able to move on with her life now.

  “This case wouldn’t have been solved without you. We had initially looked at the husband, but everything checked out. His story was always consistent, and the wife confirmed the ransom call. We think he was helped by a friend, but he hasn’t named him yet.”

  “Billy, a childhood friend,” I said and Troy looked at me with pure wonder. “I don’t know his last name, and he might go by William. Chase thought of him as Billy though. He’ll have a record.”

  “Damn.” Troy picked up the phone and called the DA’s office and filled him in on what I shared. They went back and forth for a while, mostly the DA trying to pin down where Troy had gotten the information. He kept hedging saying only that it was from a tip.

  During this time while they were going back and forth, the Lieutenant, Troy’s boss and a man I didn’t know well, joined us at the side of Troy’s desk, but it wasn’t a friendly visit. He loomed over Troy as he spoke on the phone. He was trying to be intimidating. It was working. He didn’t glance in my direction, but it was obvious he knew who I was.

  Troy hung up and greeted his boss.

  “We solved the O’Neal case, Lieutenant, and Cas just locked down another lead on who helped Chase O’Neal fake the kidnapping.”

  “You two broke the father down, I heard. Got a confession,” the Lieutenant said, still ignoring me. With the set of his jaw and his body language, it was obvious he didn’t want anything to do with me, or to even acknowledge how I was getting the information they had used on the case. I focused on his aura. It shined the bright blue of most first responders. The only darkness that pooled around him was based solely from beliefs. He was deeply religious, which spawned intolerance and close-mindedness, a hatred for the unbelievers and those he considers sinners. It was a shame because the Lieutenant really had the pursuit of good in his heart, but only if it fell within what he considered right by his God. If he only knew.

  I also saw the smoky haze of suspicion flare as he came in contact with Troy’s aura. He suspected him of being dirty, but had no proof. This cemented my end game with this case. The Lieutenant would be who I would have to prove Troy’s guilt to, and it wouldn’t take much convincing. The problem was he wouldn’t believe anything coming from a psychic. I would have to do it another way.

  “Ms. Rosso figured it out. She knew exactly what the father had done, and when she confronted him with the truth, he broke down. It was amazing.” Troy knew the Lieutenant was religious, knew he couldn't accept anything metaphysical without calling his faith into question. But it was the Lieutenant who had given Troy permission to bring me in, which confused him. What he didn't know was the Lieutenant hoped if he gave Troy enough rope, he would hang himself. He believed Troy would do something underhanded to solve the cases when the psychic proved to be a phony, just to prove himself right. He hadn't expected the psychic thing to actually work. He hid his surprise well, but it was eatin
g at him.

  "Good job," the Lieutenant said, his words having no warmth behind them, but Troy preened under the compliment. "I didn't come over here because of the O'Neal case. I’ve got some bad news. Seems the flu or some bull is going around, and a good portion of my uniforms are out sick, or at least playing at sick. Of all days." He ran a hand through his thinning hair and shifted his considerable bulk.

  "What does that have to do with me?" Troy asked.

  "It's the parade tonight, the harvest one." He shook his head like it was all a bunch of nonsense. "I'm short on men, so you're up. Dust off your uniform and I need you on the route."

  "You've got to be kidding me, sir," Troy said.

  "You'll be taking Burns’ shift, 4th and Williams Blvd., you can even take a black and white." The Lieutenant smiled and I knew he was stretching the truth about not having enough men. For some reason, he wanted Troy back in uniform.

  "Sir?" Troy looked almost sick.

  "Oh yeah, and they've been on my butt lately. Things have gotten all high-tech since you've gotten a desk, so you probably want to go see Betty about proper Regs you might be missing." He smiled again and slapped the desk.

  "Sir, am I getting demoted?"

  "Not yet," the Lieutenant laughed, showing his first real honest emotion. Troy went white. "A joke, Delaney. Better hurry, you gotta be on your post at 1600."

  "I was going to go over some more cases with Cas." He looked at me, panic evident on his face. “I wanted to get her started on the Mercier case.”

  "They're cold cases, they aren't going anywhere." He didn't wait for a reply, turning on his heels and heading back to his office. "Go see Betty. We've got some cool tech in from the Feds that you won’t be familiar with," he repeated as he left, making me wonder why he was focused on the tech.

  “But, sir, you know this case has been haunting the precinct..." Troy got up and moved to follow his boss.

  “It will be here tomorrow,” the Lieutenant cut him off and gave him no chance for rebuttal. Troy, with a look of horror on his face, turned on his heel and strode back to his desk.

  "I'll come back tomorrow, Troy," I said when his wide eyes met mine. For some reason, parade duty wasn't going over well with him.

  "I think I got demoted," he said dejectedly.

  "You didn't, he even said you didn't," I reassured him.

  "He said not yet," Troy sighed.

  "Better kick ass at the parade then." I tried to reassure him with a smile, but there wasn't anything I could say or do to ease Troy's paranoia. The price of a guilty conscious, perhaps?

  6

  Going to a P-rade

  "What kind of tech upgrades have the locals gotten from the Feds?" I plopped onto the sofa in Drake's office, yanking off my boots and pitching them across the room. Even though I could do it with just a thought, old habits die hard.

  "Not my area of expertise." He looked up from his computer and shot me a scowl. "Hello to you too."

  "Oops, I'm rude." I jumped up from the sofa and crawled over his desk, planting a kiss on his lips. I pulled back before he could deepen it. I had to do some research and couldn't get distracted by Drake. He frowned and I gave him my sorriest grin.

  "Cases to close." I chirped and jumped off his desk, grabbing his laptop and settling on the sofa.

  Afterlife had a complete network of information that could be accessed with a few search queries. Basically, anything you needed to know was filed, categorized, and placed in neat alphabetized data sheets for you to peruse at your leisure. Afterlife’s informational networks would make the head of the NSA salivate.

  The laptops weren’t anything like they had in the living world. They resembled a regular laptop, but the operating system was a hybrid between all the major brands. There was a handy dandy search program called Iris that sorted the accumulated data of Afterlife. You could search anything and it would most likely give you the answer. I pulled it up and typed in the precinct number + recent acquisitions. Pages and pages of spreadsheets popped filled the screen and I began to dig. A search of their uniform policies and required gear and I had my answers. The Lieutenant was a sneaky man.

  The Lieutenant’s motivations were obvious when I saw the required gear for police officers in uniform. The latest upgrade to their uniforms was a body camera. It was now required for officers to wear one because of recent litigation that could have been avoided with video proof. The Lieutenant wanted proof of Troy being dirty and he thought that by putting a camera on him he would get that proof.

  I didn’t understand what the Lieutenant really hoped to accomplish with this since the officer had the right to turn off the camera for privacy issues. Troy wasn’t dumb, and if he was up to no good he would simply turn his camera off. But why else would the Lieutenant want Troy back in uniform? Maybe he thought Troy would forget and slip up?

  I could work with this, though. All I needed to do was give the Lieutenant something on that camera. A tiny tinder to light the flame and he would run with it. If the Lieutenant was going to be watching Troy’s body camera for evidence, that’s how I had to deliver it. I also had to make sure Troy stayed in uniform and that camera stayed on to catch his dirty dealings. The latter would be the hard part.

  I got on the internet and searched through images of what I wanted to achieve. I had a plan in place, but I would have to change my look entirely because Cas couldn’t show up at the parade. When modifying my look I usually only went with a few superficial changes, ones I didn’t have to maintain constant energy to keep in place. This would take a complete glamour.

  I found an image I could work with and moved to the full length mirror in the corner. I thought about a look I wanted to achieve and my shape glimmered and then reformed. I was now two inches shorter, my hair was a shiny bright red, my features were softer and small, freckles were smattered across my nose, and I looked barely old enough to vote. I was going for young and innocent.

  The cute jeggings, fuzzy boots, skull cap, and clunky jewelry I chose added to that young feel.

  "Going somewhere?" Drake asked.

  "To a P-rade,” I said. My voice had changed; it was soft and breathy and it made me smile. I did a little shimmy and Drake stood, looking amused.

  I went back to the computer and did another search, then manifested the camera I saw on the screen. It was big, with a large lens sticking from the front of it. I slipped it around my neck and glanced back at myself in the mirror. I knew next to nothing about cameras, but I certainly looked like I knew what I was doing.

  Luckily for me there was an obvious on and off switch on the camera. I switched it on, lifted it to my eye and snapped a picture of Drake. I pressed the little triangle to see if I got a good shot and frowned at the blurry shape that was supposed to be Drake.

  "It's not going to work on this side." He approached and peered over my shoulder. "Want company at your parade?"

  "You want to go to a parade with me?" I asked and fluttered my lashes at him.

  "Your new look is kind of hot." He licked his lips and I scowled.

  "Didn't know you were into the barely legal look.”

  "You make anything look good." He leaned down and captured my lips. It was odd, since I wasn't used to being so much shorter than him. I had to get on my tip-toes and lean up into his kiss. I placed a hand on his bicep to steady myself, and let out a girlish giggle. His arm wrapped around me and I folded into him as he deepened the kiss.

  He stepped back way too soon, leaving me staring up at him and panting slightly from the intensity. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, or what my plan was. I was ready to forget my stupid case and roll around on the floor with Drake, screw the consequences.

  Smitten would be a great word to describe me as I swayed on my feet, breathless from only a kiss. And Drake knew it, I could tell by his devilish smirk. It was infuriating. He didn’t even look phased.

  "Perfect answer,” I finally managed to say, even though it was only more fuel for his Demi-god
ego.

  "My turn," he quipped and turned to face the mirror. His hair lightened, his frame contracted. He became skinnier, not so broad of shoulder. His skin and hair lightened and his face became a little chubbier. He looked like he might have looked as a teen. It was like he was Drake of ten years ago without a tan and a bottle of peroxide.

  "Cute," I said and ruffled his light locks, marveling that I didn’t have stand on tip-toe to do it.

  "Don't." He slapped his hair back into place and shot me a look. I stuck out my tongue and faked like I was going to do it again. He dodged me.

  ”So where are we going?"

  "4th and Williams," I replied. Drake took out his phone and typed something into it.

  "There's a crossing about two blocks away from that location." He entered something else into the device and then motioned for me to exit. Looks like we were going on an outing.

  The Harvest Parade was a traditional parade held every year where the local high schools came out to showcase their bands and dance teams, the pageant girls rode in convertibles and the businesses papered the crowd with flyers. The majority of the suburb’s population came out to see the parade because most of their children were in it.

  I skipped around the packed sidewalks and lifted the camera to my eye every few steps as Drake trailed behind me like the dutiful BFF. I spotted Troy almost immediately. He was leaning against a marked SUV and looking miserable. Another officer chatted animatedly with him as he scanned the crowd, but Troy wasn’t doing much talking back.

  I made a point of climbing up on the barricades, letting my shirt hang low as I leaned over for a shot. Drake had faded into the crowd, knowing this wouldn't work with him hovering near me like a protective guard dog.

  "Ma'am, you need to get down." Troy's words were authoritative but his smile was flirtatious. He had a thing for redheads.