Chapter Twenty-Three
BACK AT HQ, Evelyn made a beeline for the yoga studio, while Jacob and I headed to our office—our office?
—to add to the ever-growing pile of digital paperwork on the Boswell case.
Which I wasn’t so sure was even about Boswell anymore, but the repeater in the bedroom. Though I kept that bit to myself.
Since my hunt-and-peck typing is painful to watch, we figured out a way for me to dictate the case notes while Jacob typed.
It was more hands-on than I usually was with Carl, where I’d just say things like, “Be sure to mention I got it,” and he’d handle the rest. But it was a definite step up from Jacob disappearing the moment grunt work reared its head.
“Is this anything like old times?” I asked as he sent our report off into the ethers. “I’m no Carolyn, obviously…but maybe you miss being a Stiff.”
Jacob sat back and steepled his hands as he gave it some thought.
His eyes went soft as he considered the question.
“Field work will always be my first love. You never know what the interviews will throw at you—and I’m always up for the challenge.
And spending more time with you is never a bad thing. ”
I sensed a “but.” Because if Laura decided to make him my permanent Carl, it would be pretty big demotion from his current position in Internal Affairs. All over one “satisfactory” review?
“But we shouldn’t get used to it,” Jacob said, as if he’d read my mind. Not in a telepathic way…just in a married way. “My team is already complaining that none of them can take a long weekend with me out chasing leads.”
“Tell them to get in line. I’ve been trying to take a long weekend with you since Christmas.” Brave words. I just hoped Jacob wasn’t up for said big demotion…one that would technically make me his permanent boss.
Luckily, his ego was such that I could do the worrying for both of us. He stood and stretched, and said, “Why don’t we head to the yoga studio and see if some downward dogs shake any ideas loose?”
Now I was the one doing the married mind reading, because Jacob had never once suggested more yoga. “If you keep stalking Evelyn like this, she’s gonna have to file a restraining order.”
He blanched. “I’m not stalking her.”
“Listen,” I said—as much for Jacob’s benefit as the surveillance devices that no doubt surrounded us.
“I know you’re a big fan of tech, but there’s not a psychic bone in your body, and it does you zero good since there’s nothing there for it to amplify.
” I held his gaze for an extra moment with a look that said, Got it, mister?
He narrowed his eyes. “Someone should keep an eye on her after that interview. She looked pretty shaken up. Besides, I want National to know we’re cooperating with them.”
“Fine,” I said. But only because my sciatica felt naggy…only to be summoned to the director’s office by a call from Laura on my way to the studio. “We’ll be right there,” I told her.
“Just you,” Laura said. “I only need to meet with you.”
I did my best not to wince. That “satisfactory” rating was worse than I’d thought. But Jacob put on a stiff upper lip and said, “You know where to find me,” and headed off for yoga without breaking stride.
I’d have the boss’s ear—in private. Should I say something?
I might be the lead on this investigation, but any praise I gave Jacob would only be negated by the fact that we were married.
Besides, I didn’t want to make things worse by calling attention to him.
Especially since he was doing such a halfhearted job because he was so busy salivating over those SPECs.
I found Laura in her dingy little office, pen in hand, tapping on a notepad covered in random loop-de-loop doodles. Laura does everything digitally. The notepad is her equivalent of a thinking cap. And judging by the density of the scribbles, she was thinking hard.
“Let me get this straight,” she said without any preamble. “Presuming your repeater pre-dated Boswell’s tenancy, chances are, Dombrowski and Sledge slept in the same room with it for months, none the wiser.”
“Unless someone died there between tenants,” I said. I almost said, And people wander through repeaters all the time. But that would only freak Laura out. “To be fair, the repeater was really hard to spot. Even for me.”
Laura impatiently waved that observation away. “And what about this line in your report: Ms. Dombrowski’s appearance had significantly changed since her social media photos were taken.”
What I’d said was that she hardly looked like the Instagram girl, and Jacob had neutralized the language so as not to jump to any conclusions about how or why she’d changed. Laura’s reaction, though, was hardly neutral.
“She did scale back on the makeup,” I admitted.
“Did she?” Laura asked. “Or was that even Sarah Dombrowski you were talking to?”
“No, it was definitely her. You can tell by the nose.”
“That’s not what I mean, Vic. I’m saying, what if she’s a medium…and what if whoever died in that apartment is possessing her now?”
While leaving a repeater behind at the scene? It’s not impossible for a death to result in both a repeater and a ghost. Unlikely? Very. I’d only ever encountered it once before. But not impossible.
What we think of as a ghost is someone’s etheric form, but there are other subtle bodies.
The astral, for instance, that can go gallivanting around in your sleep and leave you with crazy dreams. The other bodies were even more “subtle”—I didn’t have a name for them, and had only glimpsed them on heavy-duty psyactives.
But all us humans are a bunch of nesting dolls filled with various iterations of ourselves.
“I guess it’s possible,” I finally said.
“I’ve sent a car to her employer and requested she come down to the office. I want you to question her again, with the primary focus of determining there’s not a stowaway in her body.”
Possession hardly ever happens…but I’d never say as much aloud to the woman whose finger pulled a lethal trigger thanks to the late Dr. Chance.
Plus, it’s really hard to spot a possession.
Everyone says or does the occasional unexpected thing—and with sufficient motivation, you’d be surprised just how far people are willing to deviate from their norm.
I never knew Instagram Sarah, and a few snapshots were hardly any baseline for me to go on.
I’d have to resort to watching her hands and seeing if any ghostly fingers slipped out of place.
Even if I did catch someone else riding around in her skin, what could I do? I’d managed to evict Chance only because the veil was pulling hard, and all she needed from our side was a well-placed shove.
Hopefully there was just a multiple personality crisis going on. Then the shrinks could deal with Sarah, not me.
“Just make sure Sarah doesn’t know you’re onto her,” Laura told me. “In fact…maybe you shouldn’t interview her again at all.” She eyed me as if I might or might not even be myself.
“I’m not possessed,” I said. “And I’m the only one here right now who’d be able to see if she was sliding out of alignment. Chances that there’s anything for me to see are incredibly rare, but even so, I promise I’ll take every possible precaution.”
Salt, Florida Water, white light…heck, even yoga would be a good safety measure.
But before I could go shed my shoes and unroll a mat, Laura got an incoming call, and stopped me in my tracks with a “wait a minute” finger.
Her side of the conversation was minimal…
and her expression was grim. She hung up and said, “That was the driver I sent. Sarah claimed she had a headache and left work early.”
“What do you mean, claimed?”
“He tried to track her down by calling her from her office and heard a ring.”
That didn’t sound good. “So they were covering for her?”
“Even worse. The ring came from the trash can by the door.”
Not quite as chilling as “the call came from inside the building,” but a far bigger pain in the ass.
What if Sarah was complicit in our murder?
Hell, what if she was the culprit? Sledge might have brainwashed her into some sick, sadistic threesome…
or he might be covering for her killing of a rival in a jealous rage.
Either way, no one would go to this amount of effort to ditch authority unless they had something to hide.
I said, “We don’t know what Sarah’s involvement was. ”
Laura nodded. “That’s why you need to get back to that apartment. I can’t plausibly sit on this much longer. By the end of the day, I’ll have to involve the police. So gather whatever psychic evidence is left while you still can.”
That was as much of a blessing as I could expect. She was already tapping away at her keyboard before I was even out the door.
I went to grab some exorcism gear—no Jacob in the office—so I texted him to meet me by the car.
Can you handle it? Putting out fires in IA.
I sighed. Carl might flip out if I touched so much as a paper clip on his side of the desk, but at least he wasn’t spreading his efforts between multiple departments.
Yet, I was surprised to find that instead of being annoyed at the prospect of flying solo again, I was relieved.
Repeaters couldn’t possess anyone, there simply wasn’t enough awareness left in them to manage it. So I didn’t need a Stiff.
But mostly, I didn’t need someone hovering while I stood around ineffectively trying to figure shit out.
I headed back to the apartment with a bag of metaphysical props and a headful of self-doubt. I’d known from the beginning that the cops would be pulled in eventually. I just would’ve liked more time.
I let myself in and headed for the bedroom.
It was a blank, empty space, same as before.
My eyes went right to the spot on the wall where I’d seen a spray of luminol stars lighting up the plaster.
There was nothing there anymore, but the heebie-jeebies simmered close beneath my skin.
I couldn’t tell if my sixth sense was hyping me up, or if I was just on high alert.
I looked, sucked down white light, and looked again. Nothing.
Not that I expected much. This repeater was one of the most uncooperative ones I’d ever had the pleasure of not-seeing.
Since getting drunk has no scientific correlation with psychic performance, I could skip the cocktail.
But I did knock back a shelf-stable mugwort concoction our lab had put together for me that was a lot more convenient than tea.
I found the cardinal points, marked each one with a square of tape, then set my candles.
And all the while, I kept my breathing deep and regular and did my best to fill up with white light.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
If it weren’t for the blood evidence, I might convince myself there was nothing to see.
That the screaming woman was some figment of my imagination.
Because psychic impressions are slippery that way, and when the only one to verify my findings was several crayons short of a full box, even I began to doubt them.
My phone was out and my earbuds were in before I remembered that my only decent app was now useless.
Blip popped up on a welcome screen, and I’d never wanted to punch a fish so bad in my life.
To add insult to injury, instead of a normal menu, I then got a popup pressuring me to upgrade from Space Cadet to Star Captain for only $5.
99 a month. I flicked out of the app so hard I nearly sent my phone skittering across the room.
“Listen,” I said under my breath. “I’m trying to find you some justice.
But you’ve gotta meet me halfway.” Repeaters can’t really hear…
but maybe the words were more for me. I had one skill, and I hated when it came up short.
Never mind that the rest of the world was stupid with ghosts.
When I can’t spot the one I’m looking for, I feel like a failure. Each and every time.
I waited. And I watched. And I listened. And all I got was more of nothing, nothing, nothing….
And then, a distant, uncanny haw-haw-haw.