Rabbit Trick: A Mindspace Investigations Novella (3 page)

“What is it now?” I asked.

Her eyes flashed. “Now, you’ll go back into that head of yours and remember I’m your boss. The key to your continued job security.”

I took a breath. Rubbed my eyes. I needed a nap, bad. “I’ll rephrase then. What exciting assignment do you have for me today?”

She let it go, pushing some papers to the side of her desk. “North DeKalb is asking for you again. As I don’t want a cop killer roaming the streets, I’ve said yes. Cherabino will take you. I’d suggest you get ready.”

I frowned. “They didn’t seem to like me at the scene last night. And the scene will be even less substantial this morning.”

“Liking has nothing to do with it,” she said, firmly.

“What will I be doing?”
 

“They didn’t say.” She met my eyes. “Now, get packed.”

I sighed. More work. Peachy.

Cherabino was unusually quiet on the drive to North DeKalb, her driving – for her – relatively sane. Tired focus leaked from her, and I noticed her hands shaking, her breathing just a little fast like she’d had far too much coffee.
 

“Where are we going?” I asked, to distract myself from the craving. They said in the Program if you distracted yourself, you wouldn’t want it anymore. Sometimes it was true. Today maybe I was tired enough for it to be true.

“Audrey’s house,” Cherabino said. From the case in the parking garage, her mind supplied.

“Why go to the house?” I asked. No one had died in the house, had they? I felt like I was missing something, brain not quite tracking.

“Not sure,” she said, and would say nothing else. Since she spent the rest of the trip thinking about an unrelated shooting case, I couldn’t even steal it from her thoughts. Assuming she was even lying. Maybe she didn’t know. I wondered even so.

I mean, I’d as much as told her yesterday that the guy was a professional. I would have laid money on him being a hitman, a murder-for-hire guy. At the least, ex-military. It was hard to be that cold while killing; it took a lot of practice and a lot of confidence. I didn’t see where going to the house was going to get us to the hitman. Maybe they were just chasing down leads. Either way seemed dumb to invite me, but hey, if they were willing to pay the fees, the Homicide department needed the money.

Twenty minutes later, Cherabino touched the car down onto a small residential street, most of the homes small, with native red brick and small shrubs. Two lots were taken over with mammoth twenty-first century mansions, built right up to the property line. The wood on those was blackened, the porches starting to sag despite many artificial supports and a fresh paint job. The small brick houses still stood as strong as they had a hundred years ago; progress was overrated, apparently.

The house we wanted was a slightly-larger version of the same modest brick ranch style house, complete with carport and carefully-trimmed shrubs. Brightly colored toys were strewn about the front yard, one stuffed rabbit still soaked from last night’s rain. It would mold if someone didn’t bring it inside, I thought.

We got out of the car and crossed to the front door, using the sidewalk. From inside, I could hear a baby crying. I braced myself, building heavy shields to keep me from the despair already wafting from the house. This would not be fun.

Wiggles opened the door. When he saw Cherabino, he waved her in. Me he addressed cautiously. “Walk careful.”
 

“I understand,” I said, in a careful, calm tone. No need to get anyone any more upset than they already were. The sound of baby crying came louder from deeper in the house.

He closed the door behind us. “Jake’s in the kitchen.”

Cherabino nodded. “Anything we should focus on?” She wasn’t quite sure why she was there, but trying to bluff her way out. I sat back and let it happen; she was better in this environment than I was.

Wiggles nodded, slow. “Jake won’t say anything. And we need an ID, ASAP.”

“He’s five,” Cherabino said quietly. “Maybe you should give him some time.”
 

“I know he’s five, dammit. He’s my partner’s kid. But I’ll be damned if I let her killer walk away from this. He’s not talking to George. He’s not talking to me.” He looked at me. “We need him to talk, and you’re the logical choice.”

“You want me to read the kid’s mind,” I said, finally putting two and two together.

“That’s what I said.”

Great. I took a breath. “Legally, I can’t read a child under the age of thirteen without his express consent,” I said. “Unless he’s in real physical or emotional danger, or a measurable telepath. Privacy laws.”

“Audrey’s killer is out there. Walking the streets. A cop killer, you understand. A cop killer.”
 

People kept saying that, like it was a mantra. “It doesn’t change the law,” I said.
 

Wiggles’s anger swelled like a tidal wave. Cherabino grabbed my arm and pulled me into a side hallway. The ugly architectural wallpaper was faded from age.

“Could you not be difficult right now?” she hissed. “This is a cop’s worst nightmare, and you’re just making it worse for him.”

“I’ll talk to the kid,” I said. “I never said I wouldn’t.” Then, after a second: “He seems awfully attached for someone who’s just a partner.”

“A partner’s everything on the beat,” she said. “You spend more time with them than your family, you fight together, you trust them with your life.”

“But she’s a woman, and he’s, well… not dead.” I said. “There has to be some level of sexual tension, or feelings, or something.”

“Some of the older guys say women partners are better,” she said, defensively. “The adrenaline cycles are different, so someone’s always thinking, always thinking somewhere in the fight. Plus one tear isn’t going to get you screwed over.” Her mind added: why the younger guys were so macho, why they couldn’t get their shit together… (and why she couldn’t find herself a stable partner…)

I reined myself in, refusing to respond to the stability comment even though I wanted to. I wasn’t supposed to be reading her anyway. Distantly, I heard the far-off baby stop crying. I was still holding out reservations about Wiggles and the partnership.

She looked down, and I noticed the painful wallpaper again. She considered not telling me what she’d found out, decided I needed to know. She leaned forward, close, very close. The edge of her presence in Mindspace brushed against me like silk.

Her breath touched my ear. “Audrey had a Narcotics case undercover a while ago. A couple of big enemies on the street. But, she just testified in a case against a former lottery official. An official who’s Wiggle’s cousin. He’s a clean cop, by all the records. A good guy. It doesn’t necessary mean anything.”

She paused, her breath tickling my ear, painfully close. “Be gentle with Jake. He could act younger than he is. He could do – well, anything. Don’t make it worse.”

“I understand,” I said, smelling the closeness of her hair. Something inside me mourned as she stepped away.

Two more cops were standing in the Peelers’ small living room, Detective Bull and another guy from last night. Both were distrustful of me, but Bull was also nervous. I paused in the living room, Cherabino and Wiggles following me. It seemed strange he was nervous.

“I need to go,” Bull said, firmly. He turned to the back door.

Wiggles was suddenly beside him. “No,” he said with punch. “No, stay.”

Bull looked at him, wary, trying to figure out how to leave the sticky situation, angry he had to be here at all.

And Wiggles was mad, mad and guilty.
 

“What’s going on?” I asked, words echoing into the awkwardness. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them.

But I was closer to Wiggles, closer and I’d read him once already this afternoon. I saw the trail his thoughts made – his instinctual answer to the question. I dipped in and stole them.
 

Huh. I’d expected a power play, the uniformed cop who’d never been promoted angry at the detective a decade his junior. Instead what I got was a rivalry, a rivalry with a woman at its center – Audrey Peeler. Bull and she had been lovers.

No one responded to my words, but they hung in the air like lead weights, making everything more intense.

Some twist of guilt rolled in Wiggles’s gut, a twist that made him even more angry, and he grabbed Bull’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere until the teep reads Jake,” he said. “It’s the least you can do, after…”

Bull stared Wiggles down. Wiggles slowly removed his arm, frustration painting the air like sparklers.
 

Hmm. There was something there. Something deeper than was obvious.

“Jake’s in the kitchen,” Wiggles said, still standing far too close to Bull.
 
“Jake’s in the kitchen,” he repeated, now clearly to me.

I took my cue.
 

The small eat-in was decked with more brightly-colored ugly wallpaper meant to mimic blueprints. The heavy-lined background made the walls dance to the eyes, and made me nauseated. Worse was the teeth-jarring high-pitched buzzing in Mindspace that I could feel as I got closer.

“You have a quantum stasis box?” I forced out. They were easily ten times the cost of a fridge – and a waste of money. The electromagnetic field they generated as a side effect also interacted with Mindspace in a way that was already giving me a headache.
 

I assumed the man in the kitchen was George, Peeler’s husband. He looked absent, like he was in shock. He nodded to me – after a long moment of delay – with an empty look. He was average looking in every way, medium complexion with messy hair, wearing a wrinkled button-up shirt and juggling a baby, a toy, a jar of peanut butter, and overwhelming confused grief. The baby, maybe six months old, was hiccupping quietly.

At the kitchen table next to them, a boy of five – the same boy from last night – was chewing slowly on a peanut butter sandwich. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anyone.

“Can you turn off the stasis box?” I prompted. Thank God they were expensive enough to be rare. Keeping meat in stasis would make it last practically forever, sure. But if you actually ate your food, you didn’t need it to last forever. You needed it to last two days. The fact that the family had one of these and Peeler had driven a crap car said bad things about the couple’s relationship. Priorities all out of whack. Plus an annoyance to me, an annoyance that would keep me from doing my job if it didn’t get shut off.

When the man just looked at me, I walked over – the pain getting stronger with every step – and flipped the switch myself.

“Mr. Peeler,” I said.
 

He looked at me for a moment with dead eyes, then the baby hiccupped again. “George,” he said. Uncomfortable baby thoughts floated across the room, underscored by his complex grief.

I nodded. “I’m a Level Eight telepath. The department sent me over. Do you mind if I talk to your son?”

“Why?”

I took a breath, reminded myself to be patient. I could afford to be patient; let’s face it, this wasn’t going to be fun. Watching a five year old’s view of his mother dying did not sound good.

“He might have seen something that will help us find your wife’s killer,” I said.

George winced, looked away. Then back at me. “I’ll have to be here,” he said. “If he gets upset, it’s over.” Grief came off of him in waves.

“I understand,” I said, in my best soothing voice, not that I expected it to do anything but keep the situation from getting worse. With the baby there I didn’t want to project anything emotional.

I felt Cherabino’s mind settle behind me, Wiggles following. She was maybe standing right outside the kitchen. “Be careful,” she murmured.

I took a breath and sat down at the table with the kid. He drew back from me, the remaining bite of the peanut butter sandwich dropping to the floor.
 

“You probably don’t remember me,” I said quietly, trying not to be scary. “But I was there last night, with the police. I’d like to talk to you about what happened.”
 
I wasn’t good with kids, even when I’d been one, and the Guild didn’t get anyone until they were at least nine or ten. Five was very young, much younger than I knew what to do with.

Vague thoughts like blobby birds flitted across his mind, with strong snaking emotions. That was all I could see and still keep my distance in Mindspace; I would give him space, unless he gave me permission.
 

The kid looked at his dad, who nodded encouragement. Then he looked back at me. His energy was wary.

“I’d like to talk to you about what happened,” I said. “I’d like, if you’ll let me, to help you remember.”

He looked away. Climbed down to the floor, going after the leftover peanut butter sandwich.

The dad looked on suspiciously as I moved down to floor level as well. I sat down where the dad could see both me and the kid clearly. Then I tried to figure out what the next step was.

The kid put the bite of sandwich in his mouth, chewing messily, peanut butter leaking out – he pushed it back in with a hand. A smear of it and purple jelly sat on the floor. He didn’t look at me.

Well, this wasn’t going very well. Maybe he needed a minute, to see I was okay. But the dad was looking at me closely, and I just didn’t have the patience to sit on a dirty floor for hours. Time to ask the question a different way.
   

“We need your help,” I told the kid. “The bad man – we’re going to find him and lock him away. But I need access to your memories – I need you to remember.”

The kid looked up, a small glance, then another. He smeared the peanut butter across the floor.
 

I waited. Finally I prompted: “the bad man?”

“Will he hurt me now?” the boy said very, very quietly.

“We’ll find him,” I promised, hoping it was true. “He won’t hurt anyone ever again. Not anymore. We’ve got a lot of strong, clever policemen who will make sure he won’t.” I paused. “Do you know what a telepath is?”

The boy frowned. He looked at his dad, who made a gesture. Then he looked back at me. “Someone who can see… in your head… like a lightbulb.”