by Seth Patrick
As he broke one of the cameras from its packaging, his phone rang.
‘Hi, Never. Been a while.’
It took him a moment to place the voice. Then he had it: Detective Bob Crenner, the Washington DC cop who’d handled the investigation into the murder of Annabel’s father, Daniel Harker.
‘Bob! Good to hear from you. How’s tricks?’
‘Word got to me about Jonah leaving. I wanted to see how he’s doing. Ray sends his regards, by the way.’ He was referring to Detective Ray Johnson, his partner. ‘So is it true that Jonah’s left the FRS?’
‘It’s true. Jonah’s a little shaken, but he’ll be OK.’
‘Look, Never,’ he said. ‘Is Jonah available to do any private work?’
‘You need a private reviver?’ said Never, suddenly wary. The last time he’d heard from Bob Crenner was a few months after the fire in Reese-Farthing, and that had been by email. Phoning him out of the blue like this wasn’t just a courtesy call . . . the detective clearly wanted something he felt awkward asking for. There was enough of a silence on the line to confirm it. It occurred to him that maybe there’d been a family loss. He knew Bob had a wife, and also a son in his early twenties. It didn’t seem like the man’s style, but sometimes people just asked. ‘Bob, are you OK? Has something . . . happened?’
‘This is a little delicate,’ said Bob. ‘The thing is, yes, I’m looking for a private reviver, but it’s not for anything personal. Jonah’s a licensed reviver still, right? I mean, does he need to be working for a company to do a private case, or can he just take on any job he chooses?’ Bob paused and took a long breath. ‘Me and Ray will be in Richmond tomorrow, on police business. Any chance we could meet up? We have a favour to ask Jonah, a big favour. But I think we’ll need to explain in person.’
*
‘And you have no idea what this is about?’ asked Jonah.
It was lunchtime the next day, Never having met with Jonah around the corner from the cafe where they’d arranged to meet the detectives. ‘I just know they want a reviver,’ Never said, shrugging. ‘Bob approached me first to see if it was even possible, and to make sure you’d not be offended.’ A thought struck him and he smiled. ‘It’s like I’m your pimp.’
Bob Crenner and Ray Johnson were already there when they entered; in a secluded corner, burger and fries in front of Bob, a salad in front of Ray. ‘What’ll it be, gentlemen?’ asked Bob. ‘Lunch is on me.’
They both went for the burger option. Bob caught the eye of the waitress and ordered himself a triple espresso as well. ‘I live on coffee,’ said Bob. ‘Keeps me going. Three years back, my wife started to worry I was drinking too much caffeine so she got decaf for home. Didn’t tell me. I spent a week falling asleep in the office every morning before she confessed.’
Jonah turned to Ray Johnson. It was a year and a half since Jonah had first met him, on what had only been Ray’s second revival as a detective. ‘Good to see you, Ray,’ said Jonah. ‘So how many revivals have you attended now?’
‘Not that many. I’d say maybe an even dozen.’
‘Eighteen,’ said Bob, with a certainty that put a wry smile on Ray’s face.
‘Eighteen,’ said Ray. ‘Time flies, huh? How about you?’
Jonah smiled. ‘I don’t keep count.’ Even so, he wondered how many it had been. Daniel Harker had been his last official revival before the Reese-Farthing fire, when his injuries had put him out of action for four months. He guessed at forty or so revivals since then. If he’d still been going at the rate he’d averaged before Reese-Farthing, it would have been well over a hundred by now.
Bob looked at him. ‘So how’s your health?’ Both Bob and Ray had sent messages of support to Jonah while he was in hospital.
‘As good as it could be, I think. Still hurts sometimes.’
‘I hear getting shot does that,’ said Bob. ‘I don’t ever intend to find out myself.’
‘Anybody ever shot at you, Bob?’ said Never. ‘Ray, maybe?’
Ray laughed. ‘I’ve been tempted.’
They caught up a little and swapped tales, Never grossing Bob out with Stacy’s lung effluent experience from the previous day. When they finally got to the story of David Leith’s revival, the mood darkened.
‘Yes,’ said Bob. ‘It’s not just you that’s been having trouble with the Afterlifers.’ He avoided eye contact and shifted his position in his seat. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been stalling. You know how it is. I feel bad putting you in this position, but I have to ask. And don’t think you have to say yes. I’ll understand.’
Here it comes, thought Jonah. Because whatever Bob wanted from him, it surely boiled down to a very simple question.
Jonah caught Never’s eye, then asked it: ‘Who, Bob?’ he said. ‘Who do you want me to revive?’
12
‘Two weeks ago,’ said Bob, ‘the body of a woman called Mary Connart was discovered in an alley in the north east of DC. Me and Ray were on the scene within fifteen minutes. Her injuries were . . .’ He shared a look with Ray, who shook his head grimly. ‘Unusual. We requested a revival, but we had some trouble. The same trouble you had with the teenage boy.’
‘Afterlifers?’ said Jonah.
Bob nodded. ‘Mary’s only living relative gave us revival permission, so we didn’t seek a warrant. Just as we were gearing up for the revival, we were stopped.’
‘The Afterlifers must have ears everywhere,’ said Ray. ‘Turned out, Mary’s name was in their membership database. They went to a sympathetic judge and came back with a denial.’
‘Hold on,’ said Never. ‘Revival is pretty much automatic for murder. Why did the judge grant the denial?’
‘It’s complicated,’ said Bob. He shared another look with Ray and sighed. ‘The whole damn thing is complicated. Maybe you should see the victim before we get into the details.’ Bob rubbed his eyes and took out his phone. He looked around to make sure they had privacy, then held it so that Jonah and Never could see. The first few pictures were of a young woman, some of her on her own, some with friends. Always of her smiling. ‘That’s Mary Connart. Twenty-seven years old. Born in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Father left when she was three and her sister was nine. He died five years later in Florida. Their mother died three years ago. Her sister is her only living relative. Mary worked for a PR company in DC. On the night of her death she’d attended a party thrown by her employer for clients. She left early, saying she was tired, wanted some fresh air. Forty-eight minutes after she walked into the night she was found dead.’ Bob paused and gave Jonah and Never a long, sober look. ‘Before I go on, I have to warn you. I’ve been a detective for twenty-two years. This . . . this is one of the worst things I’ve ever laid eyes on.’ He waited until he had a nod of assent from each of them, then swiped through to the next image.
Jonah and Never stared at it.
‘As you can see, Mary’s left arm is gone,’ said Bob. ‘Abrasive wounds penetrated four inches into the shoulder. Likewise, deep wounds to the back of the head and left side of the face, removing flesh and bone. A large portion of that side of the face is missing. Most of the left part of the jaw is intact but exposed.’
‘Jesus,’ said Never. ‘What the hell did that? An industrial accident?’
‘We don’t know how the injuries were caused,’ said Ray. ‘But we don’t believe this was any kind of accident.’
Jonah shook his head. ‘You said she was found forty-eight minutes after leaving the party. How the hell does that give someone time to . . . do this?’
‘Next image,’ said Bob. He advanced the picture. Jonah winced, as Bob continued his commentary. ‘The injuries higher on the face reach the lateral wall of the orbit, the, ah, the eye socket. A third of the socket gone. The eyeball is damaged, but it just adds to the confusion. Any industrial injury, dragging injury, any kind of mechanical abrasion, would almost certainly have devastated the eyeball. Instead the injury seems to follow the same line as on the bone. For the soft tissue that
just doesn’t make sense. The eye tissue along the wound is almost cauterized, creating that apparent shrinkage. Cauterization is a feature common to all these wounds, yet the flesh itself doesn’t seem to be heat damaged and there’s no sign of chemical burns. Cause of death is thought to have been blood loss. When she was found there was very little blood at the scene, but two thirds of her blood volume was gone.’
‘Christ,’ said Never. ‘What the hell happened to her?’
‘Getting back to the question you asked first,’ said Bob, ‘yes, revival is damn near automatic for murder, but we can’t even demonstrate that this was murder. The initial coroner’s report was clutching at straws. It speculated the injuries were road drag, that maybe she fell under a truck and was pulled along unnoticed.’
‘What?’ said Never, dismissive. ‘Then the truck drove up the alley and she was left behind?’
Bob frowned. ‘Like I said, clutching at straws. Road drag just doesn’t do that. You get an uneven result, flesh stripped raggedly, irregular wear on the bone. There was no CCTV covering the alley, though. We just don’t know what happened down there. There was one witness, the man who found the body, and his statement – let’s just say it didn’t clarify things for the judge.’
‘The upshot of all this,’ said Ray, ‘is that the coroner wouldn’t classify Mary’s death as homicide. It was put down as “unexplained”. Wouldn’t even rule out accidental and go to “suspicious”. The Afterlifers considered this as an unnecessary revival of one of their own, and they saw a chance to make legal precedent.’
Jonah shook his head. ‘Surely there’s a clear public interest here? That should take priority, so you have good grounds to appeal the decision.’
‘We did appeal,’ said Bob. He took out a piece of paper and handed it to Jonah. ‘Here’s the judgement. It didn’t go our way. The decision was considered borderline. A judge needs a damn good reason to overrule a fellow judge.’
Jonah scanned the judgement and looked up. ‘The ruling of accidental death and the victim’s Afterlifer membership were the two primary reasons given by the judge, but he also said he wasn’t willing to put the victim through the trauma of a revival given the severity of the injuries. That traditional investigative methods should be sufficient to explain her death.’ Mary Connart’s horrific wounds were still visible on Bob’s phone. ‘Maybe the judge had a point,’ said Jonah. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. He could understand. Even he was surprised to hear it from his own lips; surprised to feel distaste at the thought of forcing a revival subject to confront the terror that had led to their death, considering how many times he’d done exactly that.
‘Come on, Jonah,’ said Ray. ‘Imagine if she’d somehow survived. Do you really think we’d even consider not getting her side of things, just because it might distress her? The question wouldn’t be whether we talk to her or not. The question would be how we go about it. We’d do it with people who are trained for that. People who could help her through the process. People like you.’
Jonah said nothing at first, and the silence was an uneasy one. ‘Tell me why I’m here.’
‘My apologies, Jonah,’ said Bob. ‘I know I’m taking the long route, but I just want you to know how we got to this position. You see, if we challenge again it’ll go to the Court of Appeal, then maybe to the Supreme Court. We might not get a final decision for six weeks. What do you honestly think the chances of a successful revival would be?’
Jonah thought for a moment. ‘Injuries that extensive? If you did it now, you’d be very lucky to get thirty per cent. Every additional week the chances will drop by a third or more. In another six weeks . . . even being generous, it’d be one per cent or less.’ An ominously low figure, for a specific reason: ‘That’s below the FRS threshold.’
‘See?’ said Bob. ‘The Supreme Court probably wouldn’t overturn the decision because even if they did, FRS guidelines would force it to decline the revival.’
‘So there’s no point challenging,’ said Ray. ‘And the Afterlifers know it. They’ve won.’
Jonah frowned, confused. ‘I don’t understand. Are you asking me to be ready, just in case the court overturns the decision? You want me to attempt it if the FRS declines?’
Bob gave a sly smile and shook his head. ‘We’d run out of options, Jonah, but when I heard you’d left the FRS, I realized we have one last throw of the dice. You see, all of this legal argument is related to the new laws the Afterlifers pushed through, and those are explicitly directed at forensic revival. Private revival is covered under separate legislation, which wasn’t changed.’
‘Yeah,’ Never nodded. ‘It was part of the deal between the insurance people and the Afterlifers: don’t touch our stuff and we won’t fight you.’
‘So . . .’ said Ray. He paused, looking like he was waiting for the penny to drop. It didn’t happen. ‘Guys, private revivals only need a relative’s permission. The denial that was issued just covers a forensic revival. It doesn’t prevent a private one from taking place.’
‘Think about it,’ said Bob. ‘The moment we accept defeat and withdraw the request for a forensic revival, the autopsy can go ahead within twenty-four hours. And as the only close relative, the sister has the right to have the body released for a private revival in advance of an autopsy, at the discretion of the senior investigating officer.’ He raised his coffee. ‘That’d be me.’
‘Christ,’ said Never. ‘A private revival for a murder investigation.’ He scowled. ‘You should either be very proud or deeply ashamed of yourselves.’
‘We’re not proud,’ said Ray. ‘It’s unfair to get you here and ask you like this, Jonah, but that’s how desperate we are.’
Jonah shook his head again. ‘I’m not going to do a private revival on an Afterlifer, Bob. I want to keep my head down.’ And not run roughshod over the victim’s wishes, he thought, certain now that he’d been suppressing that kind of concern for far longer than he was willing to admit.
‘I understand,’ said Bob, ‘but it’s not as simple as that. Mary’s sister said they both joined the Afterlifers as teenagers, over a decade ago. They only paid for one year and didn’t even update their addresses, but the Afterlifers keep you on the system unless you explicitly request to be removed. Calling her an Afterlifer is stretching the truth somewhat. If they’d not gone to a sympathetic judge, we would already have had our revival.’
Jonah was still uneasy. ‘But is there any reason to think she changed her mind?’
‘Yes,’ said Ray. ‘The sister took out revival insurance for herself a few years ago and said that Mary had expressed interest, but that wasn’t enough for the judge. Turns out the sisters weren’t that close, so he didn’t put too much stock by it. Also, none of the victim’s friends thought she was an Afterlifer supporter, and a few were adamant that she wasn’t. But again, it’s not hard evidence.’
Jonah said nothing.
‘Please, Jonah,’ said Bob. ‘Trust me. You’re the only person I can ask for this. We don’t have the money to hire someone, and the victim wasn’t insured. Even then, I doubt any private reviver would have the guts to take it on. But this is our only chance to hear what she has to say. You understand what that means. You can talk to her, you can help her through it. I believe she was murdered, but the investigation has stalled. You’re the only one who can make sure that what was done to her doesn’t go unanswered. Promise me you’ll think about it.’
‘Look at her, Bob,’ said Jonah, pointing to the image of her injuries. ‘Look at what she went through.’
Bob nodded. ‘I know. But too much about this case doesn’t make sense, Jonah. The guy who found the body said things that gave me the creeps, and I’m convinced this was murder. It’ll happen again unless we stop it. I’m certain of that.’
‘The coroner called it accidental,’ said Jonah. ‘Why are you so sure it was murder?’
Bob looked him in the eye. ‘Because I don’t think Mary was the first.’
13
‘The day after Mary’s body was found I spoke to a friend,’ said Bob. ‘A homicide detective in Denver. I told her the nature of the injuries Mary had, just to see if she’d ever come across anything similar. Turned out she’d heard of one locally, a young woman in an apparent suicide. Fell from a highway overpass around three a.m. and was run over by a truck. The only CCTV was too far away to record why she fell. The fall and the vehicle meant that she’d died immediately, but she had injuries to her hands they couldn’t quite explain. Flesh stripped from the palm, bones damaged. She was missing several fingertips on both hands. Those injuries weren’t made with a blade. They were described as abrasive wounds. Not cut, not sawn. Like she’d grasped a coarse sanding belt. They were also described as cauterized, just like Mary’s wounds.’
‘Nothing else implied foul play,’ said Ray. ‘At first the injuries were put down to road drag, even though the vehicle that hit her stopped immediately.’
‘This was thirteen weeks ago,’ said Bob. ‘Three weeks after that, the body of another young woman was found in a park in Minneapolis. Strangled. This time the fingertips of the right hand were gone, but the whole left hand was missing. Again, no CCTV, but a definite homicide this time. The damage to the hands was put down to an abandoned attempt to hide the identity of the victim, but again the injuries resembled severe abrasive wounds. Again, they seemed cauterized. They arrested an ex-boyfriend, but the case against him is weak.’
‘Were there revival attempts?’ asked Never.
‘Not with the apparent suicide,’ said Bob. ‘The fact that the wounds to the hands were inconsistent with the vehicle having stopped quickly was only noted after the autopsy, so it was too late for revival. With the strangling, there was an attempt at revival but no success. It was considered a fifty per cent chance, so they were unlucky.’
