Pack of Lies (16 page)

What the
hell?

I wasn't sure if it was his thought or mine. It felt like mine but it sounded like his, and—

“Hey.” Pietr stuck his head back into the conference room, his expression a little annoyed. “You coming, Torres, or do I carry this solo?”

“Yeah.” Venec sounded dazed, like he'd just seen—or
felt—something he wasn't expecting. That made two of us, Big Dog. “Bonnie, go.”

I didn't just go—I fled.

Pietr must have sniffed something in the current, because he hustled me out of the office like he was afraid the place was about to explode. I was so taken aback by what had happened that I let him, barely even noticing his presence as he handed me my coat and we went down the stairs and out through the lobby.

I pride myself, with some justification, on being more analytical than impulsive, on staying focused and calm. Even when I was diving into some new hedonistic impulse, I never lost control. And yet right now I felt like every single inch of me was fizzing and spazzing like a ten-year-old on her first current-rush. What the hell had just happened? Yeah, okay, Venec and I had sparks. We had chemistry. We had ha-cha-cha, like Zaki used to say. None of that explained the weirdness when we looked at each other in fugue-state, or my thoughts landing in his head without intent or effort.
That last…it just wasn't possible. There wasn't any such thing as telepathy, just fine-tuned pings, and pings didn't happen without intent. Not once you got past the wild years of prepuberty, at least, and the two of us were damn-well past that sort of idiocy.

And that…oh, my god that current-shock between us, just then? My legs went wobbly just thinking about it, and not just because it had been too long since I'd had a play-partner who was also Talent. That had been…wow. It made my earlier jumpiness feel like nothing, like an unpleasant hiccup knocked away by an orgasm. And okay, maybe not the best choice of analogies, even if it was probably pretty accurate.

Even once I recovered myself a little, my skin and synapses settling down, there were so many unanswered, probably unaskable questions filling my head and wondering what the hell? that I let Pietr, for once, do all the heavy lifting in the conversation.

It was a very quiet subway ride down.

 

We stopped on the way over to the scene, and picked up coffee and a bagel with cream cheese from one of the corner carts. The harsh caffeine did the job, burning my throat and making me focus on the here and now. Pietr kept sliding looks at me, the way guys do when they think they're being subtle. I ignored him, eating the bagel as we walked even though I wasn't really hungry. We burned calories fast, when we were working, and even with J's scolding I hadn't had a chance to recharge properly.

Finally I reached out and slapped my partner on the shoulder, letting him know I knew he was hovering.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I didn't know if it was true, but we were going to make like it was.

We crossed the street at the crossing, ducking around the cabs waiting for the traffic light to change, and turned left, surveying the site. The difference a few days made in an otherwise unremarkable site was…scary. Where, in the early morning of the attack, the ground had been bare and cold, reflecting nothing but blood and mud, it was now…

“Sick.”

“Huh?” I looked at Pietr, almost surprised that he was still next to me.

“All that. It's…sick,” he repeated.

“All that” was the piles of offerings: flowers and stuffed animals, saints' candles in their tall glass pillars, and countless notes, folded and already yellowing. One pile had built near the site of the actual attack, and the other located on the other side of the walkway. Literally opposed; one facing off against the other, vying to be the more impressive, more important statement.

“You've never seen memorials before?” They sprouted anywhere there had been a violent crime—hit-and-run, a deadly mugging, a drive-by shooting…some grew, some didn't. It all depended on how much publicity they got, how much word of mouth.

Pietr put his kit on the ground, and bent to pick up one of the notes from the second memorial. He opened it, and
then dropped it almost immediately in disgust. “Never ones dedicated to a dead would-be rapist.”

That's what the second group of notes and candles were: an homage to the dead man. I picked up the note Pietr had dropped, and smoothed the paper out so I could read it.

It was handwritten, in black ink, in a scratchy script that looked like a woman's, or a man with a penmanship class somewhere in his past, dripping with hatred for the ki-rin.

“Are they all like that?” Pietr reached to pick up another one, but I grabbed his elbow roughly, stopping him midreach. “Don't touch anything else. Wait.”

Pietr stood, and watched me, his gaze cool and patient. In the hierarchy of our pack, I wasn't alpha, but Pietr was omega. If I said wait, he waited.

“How many notes, would you guess?”

He looked the collection over carefully, walking around but careful not to step inside an invisible but obvious boundary. “Twenty? Maybe twenty-five? A bunch are weighted with stones, but not all of them. It hasn't rained or been particularly windy overnight, but some of them might have been blown away.”

“Seven candles. None of them have burned all the way down—one was never lit. Do you know what saints they're to?”

Pietr gave me a Look. “You think I'm a good Catholic boy? You're the one with the Latina last name.”

“Believe me, I'm not a good Catholic boy, either.” My dad might have been, but by the time I'd come along and my mom had walked out, he'd given up on the Church of Anything except his work. He'd been a carpenter, a damned good one. J said the only way I took after him was my attention to detail and a certain fondness for things that weren't good for me. J went to church but never made a deal about me joining him or not, and anyway he went Protestant.

And none of that had any bearing to the case, so I shut that line of thought down, and brought my attention back to the notes.

Pietr got down on his knees and pulled a small notebook and ballpoint pen out of his coat pocket, squinting at the labels on the sides of the candles and writing something down for each one. Was there a patron saint for accused rapists? I was betting there was. Probably the same one pedophiles and abusers prayed to.

“Count the visible notes, too,” I told Pietr. “But don't touch any of them, not even to get a better count. Not yet, anyway.”

“And the stuffed animals?”

There were only three in this pile. One teddy bear with a broken heart sewn to its front, and two snowy-white and sparkly unicorns with their horns cut off. Despite my attempt to be cool and calm, a shudder went through me at the casual promise of violence implied by that.

“Just make note of 'em. Unless you brought a camera?”

Pietr gave me a Look.

“We really need to start. Even if it goes on the fritz half the time. One of those cheap disposable ones that use actual
film, maybe.” I made a note to myself to buy a few and throw them into my kit. It couldn't hurt. Especially if it meant I didn't have to glean every damn detail at every damn crime scene, going forward. Relying on magic for everything was just stupid. And I'd tell Stosser that, too, if he bitched.

My partner shrugged and opened his kit, pulling out a vial of metal shavings and a natural-bristle paintbrush. The current-charged shavings, brushed around an object, would help us determine if anything had been magically booby-trapped, without us actually triggering it. Nifty and I had run that up, after one of Venec's nastier tricks during training. “You think someone left an unpleasant surprise?” I asked.

“Maybe. I'm not going to take any chances with people who leave offerings to an accused rapist.”

Accused, attempted rapist, technically. But since I shared the sentiments, I left Pietr to his job, and stepped across the paved jogging path to look at the other pile of offerings.

More stuffed animals here—a lot of unicorns with their horns intact and blue ribbons tied around their necks. Blue, for…right. The Virgin Mary. Purity and loyalty. Between that and the candles…had any of the victims been religious? I hadn't even thought to ask, or wonder if it might be important. Something deep inside said it wasn't a factor, but Stosser would give me hell if I thought of something and dismissed it on a gut feeling, especially if it turned out to be relevant, later. I pulled my own notebook out of my coat pocket, and jotted the thought down for later.

So. There were fewer notes on this side, but more candles, almost all of which had guttered out. Interesting. Had they been left here earlier, and the others placed later, or were
they better protected from the wind on this side, and so didn't blow out?

I pulled a strand of current from my core and played with it absently, passing the energy from gold to green and then back again as I thought. It wasn't as good as holding one of my scrying crystals, but it helped. “Is there a spell to determine when something was placed in a location, and if not, can we fake it?”

“What?” Pietr called from where he was crouched, his head turned to look over at me.

“Nothing. Thinking out loud. Damn bat-ears on your head, boy.”

My partner made a rude gesture, and went back to his own job.

About ten stuffed animals, a bunch of roses, now dead and brown, so they'd probably been put there right after the attack, and a hand-tied bouquet of early wildflowers, wilted but still pretty. Did florists sell wildflowers, or had someone actually gone out and picked them? A scattering of notes, mostly on note cards rather than the sheets of paper in the other shrine. I wasn't going to touch them until Pietr had tested this pile, too, but one of them was faceup and still legible:

Nice thought. Useless, in my opinion, but nice. Nobody deserved any of this—even the dead guy hadn't deserved to be gored like that, not without a trial and conviction.
I paused, and considered. Yeah, even though I hadn't felt anything watching him die, I really did believe that.

Good. Okay. A little of my balance came back, and with it, my focus. Let the anonymous mourners pray. I'd take a more proactive route.

I took out my notepad again, and did a quick sketch of the display from a couple of sides. I should have gleaned it, but the thought of having to regurgitate it all up again… This way everyone could see it, and leave me out of it after the fact. Distance. The Big Dogs were always on us about keeping distance, and I'd proven already I needed more of that. Besides, J had spent good money giving me art lessons. I should use it every now and again.

The scratch of the pencil on rough-coated paper was soothing, and the lines quickly resolved into something recognizable. I was no great shakes as an artist even after those lessons, but I'd become a reasonably competent draftsperson.

When I had everything sorted to my satisfaction, I put the notepad away and chewed on the end of the pencil, looking at the display without really seeing it. No preconceptions, Stosser said. Facts only. Find clues. Clues to what?

In my hyperaware state, I actually heard and felt Pietr come up behind me.

“Everything's clean on that side. No signature flares, no nasty surprises…just paper and plastic and baby-safe fabric.”

“Great. Check these?”

He knelt to do so, while I kept staring out across the site, my eyes half-focused. “What are we looking for?” I asked, as much for my own benefit as hoping he'd be able to tell me.

“Something that shouldn't be here.”

“Very helpful.”

Thankfully, expectedly, he didn't take offense at my sarcasm, but finished the testing.

“All clear here, too. When you did the gleaning…what were you picking up? I mean, I know what I saw, but…was that everything? If this was a crime of passion, do you think if we went in together…”

“Yeah. Oh. No. No no no.” I saw what he was leading to, and I wanted no part of it. “That ended really badly last time, remember?”

Last time we had gone in to get a full gleaning, and gotten trapped in the backlash of the emotions of a Talent as he died. We'd all been linked together, pooling current, and still the overrush had been so powerful we almost died, too. Stosser and Venec had laid down the law after that: physical gleanings only.

But Pietr had a point, damn him. The physical detail told us who was there, and what the end result was, but an emotional reading of the attack would tell us more about the
why
. I hadn't done it before, in my first gleaning, because it was dangerous—and unneeded. But now, with doubt about the attack itself, if I could glean the girl's emotions, maybe get a better idea of what she had been feeling…

Did not want to go there. Did not even think about going there. Losing objectivity was a really bad idea, and I wasn't sure it would count as a “fact” in Stosser's eyes. But if it let us nail down the case, then it was good, right? But I wasn't going to do it linked. I was better than Pietr at gleaning and—

And if it had been rape—even attempted rape—then I owed it to the girl to keep her feelings on this side of the gender fence. That went back to my feelings about the first gleaning: there was no need for her to be violated like that twice.

“I go in alone. And if this doesn't work,” I warned him, “we never ever mention it to anyone, and the Big Dogs never know.”

“Naturally.”

Hah. Good to be on the same page with that.

“You—”

“I've got your back,” he said calmly, and I could hear him settling down on the grass behind me. I could visualize him without even looking: slender and dark, his face still but his gray eyes watchful, probably making a face at how cold the ground was even through his long wool coat, but not saying a word of complaint; resolved and ready. If anyone came along while I was otherwise occupied, or if anything happened, he'd be there to take care of it. That was why we worked in pairs, whenever possible.

I could let go of the physical now.

It took me a few minutes longer than usual to slide into a working fugue-state. I was too aware of where I was, of what had happened here, to let myself relax, even with Pietr watching out for me. He was my partner, my friend…but he was also male, and right now that awareness was influencing everything else. No way to avoid it. This was a place where violence had been done; violence and sex wrapped up in each other and fueled by male aggression. Being female, in this place, had been dangerous.