Chapter 4
Nikolai had missed Saylor the day before. He'd gone to the forensics department only to be told Saylor had left for the day, so he was heading there now, morning coffee in hand and a bad night's sleep weighing his limbs down.
As he pushed open the door, he was met by an attractive man in his mid-thirties.
"Detective Nesterova." The man smiled, and it took a second before Nikolai realized it was the same man who'd been in the marshmallow suit.
"Saylor." Nikolai offered his hand to shake. "I was looking for you."
"So I've been told. What can I do for you?"
"I have questions about blood."
"Blood." Saylor nodded and gestured for Nikolai to follow him. They went into an office with two desks. Saylor sat at one of them, and Nikolai grabbed a chair by the wall and sat across from him.
"Which case are we talking?" Saylor tapped in something on his computer.
"The stabbed women. We're wondering about the rugs." He asked Saylor about blood flow, how the fabric of the rugs would have soaked it up, if it was likely the entire rug would be wet with it, and so on.
He left not much wiser than he'd entered, but Saylor promised to take an extra look at the rugs and get back to him as soon as possible.
He didn't think there was anything strange about the state the rugs were in.
Nikolai wasn't sure he agreed, but a forensic investigator would know better than he did, so he tried to let it go.
Fifteen minutes later, he entered the corner conference room they'd made theirs.
"Anything?" Isaac didn't look up from the screen of his laptop.
"Nah. Saylor will have a look at how much liquid the rugs are likely to soak up, but since it's not the same model of rug, it's likely to vary from victim to victim. And if he can't find an exact match to the rug, it'll still be guesswork. How about you?"
"I haven't managed to figure out where they bought the rugs, no receipts in their inboxes and so on, so most likely not online purchases. But they're all fairly new. I called the women's mothers since they all appeared to have a good relationship with their families."
Nikolai nodded. Who the fuck would they call if he ended up killed? Julian was still listed as his emergency contact. He had to change it, but he had no one else.
"Okay, victim number one, Gabriela Montes.
Mrs. Montes wasn't sure exactly when she got the rug.
Gabriela never told her she'd bought one, and while they had dinner together once a week, Mrs. Montes didn't often visit Gabriela's apartment.
She was there on August twenty-second to borrow Gabriela's car, and there was no rug then.
So sometime between August twenty-second and when she was killed--" He grabbed a notepad from next to the laptop and flipped a page.
"--on October seventh, she got the rug."
"Okay. That's not too bad. We can check her bank transactions."
Isaac nodded. "Victim number two, Leah Redding, was found on December twenty-seventh. Her mother was in her apartment on December sixteenth, no rug."
Nikolai winced. "Christmas."
"Yeah, I know." A solemn expression slid over Isaac's face. "Terrible to have a family member murdered under any circumstances, but around the holidays..." He shook his head.
Yeah, of course. It wasn't what Nikolai had been thinking though. "She could've been gifted the rug. If it wasn't there on December sixteenth, it could've been a gift from someone."
A crease formed between Isaac's brows. "Not good. We'll never be able to trace it."
"Unless we can figure out who gave it to her."
"True, but then the whole concept of it being the rug guy falls apart."
Nikolai huffed. "The rug guy?"
"New rugs. It's the only link we've found."
Was it a link? "What if the killer brought the rugs with him, and they never bought them at all?"
Isaac stared at him, then looked down at the notepad in his hand. "Right. Buuut victim number three, Jennifer Elder, was found dead on April fourteenth, and her mother dropped her cat off a week before because she had a conference out of town, and the rug was there."
"On April seventh?"
"She was there on the evening of April sixth, but yeah."
Nikolai nodded. "Did they talk about it?"
"No. Mrs. Elder was running late, so they only talked about the cat."
Nikolai looked at the whiteboard. "We haven't missed a victim, right?"
Isaac tossed the notepad on the conference table. "Hush." Then he frowned. "Why did you ask?"
"October, December, and then April. Shouldn't there have been one in February?"
All Isaac did was groan. "Maybe we should ask Medlin if we can call in the Maiden."
The what? "Who?"
"The Sun Maiden, the psychic."
It was Nikolai's turn to groan. He didn't want some fucking psychic meddling around in the investigation. It never helped. "Why is she called the Sun Maiden?"
"It's a guy. He always carries around the small red boxes with Sun-Maid raisins."
Nikolai rolled his eyes. "What's his skill?" Psychics made him uncomfortable. They said they could do something, but how could anyone know for sure? All they had was their word, and it didn't hold up in court, so what was the point?
"He's...not clairvoyant."
Nikolai stared at him. "Did I ask what he couldn't do?"
"Ass." Isaac threw his pen at him, but it was a half-hearted attempt, so Nikolai caught it easily. "I don't remember the word. He touches things and he...sees everyone who's touched it before him."
"Sees how?"
Isaac scrunched his nose. "Their faces. We've had him touch murder weapons a few times, then he either identifies them via photos or sits with the forensic artist and does a drawing."
"But it doesn't hold up in court."
"No, but if he can identify the killer, we can have him followed and prevent him from killing again while we gather evidence."
Nikolai wanted to object. What if they followed the wrong guy around? Was a psychic's word enough to warrant surveillance? "Would Medlin agree?"
"He has before, and this is a big case."
"Let's try to figure out where the rugs came from first." Nikolai didn't want to call in some fucking psychic.
He didn't want a psychic anywhere near him.
About point zero one percent of the population were psychic, which in his opinion were waaay too many.
He didn't want them killed or anything--his job was to catch killers, not give them an outlet--but couldn't they live in a colony on an island somewhere where they didn't bother the normal population?
Isaac shrugged but didn't disagree.
* * * *
Frode groaned when his phone rang. He'd known this week was too good to be true. Of course something would come up.
Looking at the number, he could tell it was from the precinct. Fuck.
He accepted the call. "Frode Bakke."
"Hi, Frode, this is Lieutenant Medlin from homicide."
Oh no, not homicide. "Hi."
"Are you available to look at a few things?"
A few things. Cold sweat prickled his body. "How many are a few? I only do one reading per day."
"I'm well aware. Three things."
"What kind of things? Do you have my list of what I won't do."
"Eh...yeah."
It didn't sound as if he did.
"Can you come in so we can discuss it?"
Did it mean it was something he had listed as a no-go, but Medlin would try to talk him into doing it anyway? "I won't do anything mentioned on my list."
"Come in, and we'll talk."
Fucker. It was something on the list. He was sure of it. "I don't know."
"For fuck's sake, Bakke. People are being murdered, and my investigators are stuck."
People died all the time. "Fine. When?"
"Can you come now?"
He didn't want to. "Sure."
"Good. See you in a bit."
Frode sighed and hung up. He booked a cab right away, then he called Hjalmar. It rang several times, which was unusual. Right as he believed the call would go to voicemail, it connected. "Frode?" Hjalmar was out of breath.
"Are you running?"
"At the gym."
Oh...Frode checked the time. "In the middle of the day?"
"Needed a break."
"Right."
Hjalmar breathed hard, then it sounded as if he took a swallow of water. "What's up?"
"Medlin called."
"Oh, fuck."
"Yeah, I'm heading in now. Only wanted to let you know in case you'd try to contact me."
"Do you know anything about the case?"
"Nothing, but he sounded cagey about my list."
Hjalmar cursed.
"He wants me to do three items." Frode grabbed his wallet and jacket and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder while pushing his hands through the sleeves.
"Back-to-back?"
"I think so. He said they're stuck. I don't know what kind of case, or it's murder, but..."
"Yeah." Hjalmar didn't sound pleased. It was funny. He was the one who'd wanted Frode to work with the police, but as soon as someone other than him wanted Frode's input, he got grumpy.
"I can drive you back after."
"I'll be fine."
"I will drive you back." There was steel in Hjalmar's voice.
"Fine. You can drive me back, but I have no idea how long this will take."
"Doesn't matter. I'll be there, and if I'm not, call me."
Frode suspected Hjalmar would head directly for the shower and show up at the precinct a few minutes after Frode. He tried not to be annoyed. It was nice to have someone look out for him, but he was an adult. He could take care of himself.
They said goodbye, and Frode went to talk to Captain Scratch while waiting for the cab to arrive.
When he'd paid for his ride and was walking up the stairs to the homicide floor, he ate a raisin to try to tamp down the nausea already bubbling inside. For fuck's sake. He hadn't touched anything yet, and he was already a trembling mess.
"Sunny!"
He looked behind him and saw a detective he'd worked with a few times jogging up the steps to catch up with him.
"You came." A big, bright grin.
Eh..."Medlin called."
The guy nodded, grin still in place. "Yeah, I asked him to. Come on. Let's talk upstairs."
Frode couldn't remember the guy's name. He believed they were about the same age, and he'd never been an ass to Frode, unless you counted calling him Sunny, which he was pretty sure came from the Sun-Maid raisins.
He didn't much care what the idiots in law enforcement called him, but couldn't they have come up with something a little more creative than the Sun Maiden?
Did Hjalmar ever hear anyone call him Sunny or the Maiden or some other name?
He suspected it would piss him off if he did.
He ate another raisin as they walked up the stairs in silence.
"So..." The guy looked around. "Worked any interesting cases lately?"
"I don't work cases."
"Right. Touched any interesting things lately?" There was a small grin on the guy's lips.
"Mostly bullet casings."
His eyes widened. "Oh, yeah, that's pretty neat. Though, I guess someone other than the person shooting can load a gun."
Frode nodded.
"Still though, you get an idea about who's involved."
Frode ate another raisin.
"Here we are." The guy spread his arms when they reached the homicide floor.
Frode didn't reply. He might most often work with Hjalmar, but he'd been here several times.
The man grimaced and led the way to Medlin's office. He'd been there before too.
Loud voices could be heard from within. "I don't fucking care! I don't want some creep touching things in my investigation." The snarl was impressive.
Frode's escort hesitated, then neared the open door. He knocked on the door frame and stepped inside. "The Sun Maiden is here." Then he winced. "Eh...I mean..."
Frode stared as he realized the impressive snarl must've come from Nikolai Nesterova, who was leaning against the wall in all his tall, hard-muscled glory. A scowl was on his face, and his eyes were shooting daggers. What was he doing here?
When he met Frode's gaze, there was a second of surprise, then it melted into disgust. "What the fuck is he doing here?" He gestured widely, and Frode's day went from bad to worse.
Nikolai fucking Nesterova. Hjalmar should've prepared him for the possibility of running into him here.
"Nope." Frode was not doing this. He turned around and stomped toward the exit. The silence behind him was promising, and he sped up his steps. He might make it. The staircase was within view.
"Hey." Rapid steps were coming closer, so Frode walked faster.
"Sunny, come on. We need help." The guy rounded him and blocked his path.
"I'm not working with Nesterova."
Confusion overtook his face. "How do you know Nesterova? He's new."
Frode snorted. "The word you're looking for is back. He's back. He grew up here, moved away, and now he's back."
"Oh, right. Still, we need help."
"No can do. Sorry." He tried to walk around him but was blocked. Then there were raised voices from Medlin's office, and the man winced and allowed him to pass. Frode didn't waste another second.
* * * *