Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3) (16 page)

             
The elevator doors rumbled open to a garish, florescent-lit corridor. The third door down on the right side had a sign that read ‘Evidence Lock Up: Major/Cold Case’.

             
“This has been our most frustrating case,” he explained a moment later as he placed a cardboard box on an examination table. “It’s from ’73, a little before the World’s Fair. This woman was found in a construction site in Riverfront Park on Havermale Island.” Back in Spokane’s genesis, Havermale Island was a small stretch of rocky land that divided the Spokane River into two branches. The first settlers used the island as a garrison against attack from the Nez Perce Indians.

             
A shudder crawled up my spine as I thought of my last foray to the island across that suspension bridge. The bridge where I lost my mortal life and became Caphar.

             
Bannister pried open the box and set it reverently aside. It may have been over forty years ago, but the dead still deserved his respect. “You’re not squeamish, are you?”

             
Given the amount of blood and gore I’d endured in fighting the Wraith, a little bit of rusty, decades-old blood wouldn’t bother me.

             
“Naw. I can handle blood and guts.”

             
He chuckled. “No guts. Just a lot of blood.”

             
The woman’s blood-spattered clothes were neatly sealed in plastic evidence bags. He lifted them out and handed them to me.

             
“We can’t open them, obviously. But at least you can see what’s available to the investigation.”

             
The evidence bag disappeared to my touch as I pushed into the memories embedded in the blood.

             
She runs, shedding her high heeled shoes that twist her ankles and hinder her speed. She shouldn’t be here, she knows. The other girls warned her of a ‘creepazoid’ lurking in the construction area where they solicite the workers during the day. But she just needed to get to the other side of the park—something she now wishes she hadn’t done.

             
He’s gaining, she can feel it. Like the gravel ripping her feet and the crush of her heart as it pounds inside her chest, she can feel it. Fear turns to ice in her veins. His fingers clasps her hair and jerks her sideways. She crashes and skids across the sandy lot. He pins her beneath him, between his legs. His full weight crushes the air from her lungs. He flips her to face him as she scratches and claws at him, but his primal leer turns her blood to glaciers. She can’t even muster a scream before the jagged rock in his left hand comes crashing down on her skull.

              I gasped and dropped the bag on the table. The sergeant’s hand was warm, heavy, reassuring on my shoulder, anchoring me to the present.

             
“All right there, Miss Sweet?” he asked, concern coloring his voice.

             
I placed my palm on my beating heart. “Yeah. I guess it was a little surprising to see so much blood,” I lied. Bannister began placing the evidence bag back in the box. “I’m okay. I’d like to see the rest—except maybe the photos.”

             
Bannister scowled in contemplation. “All right, then.” He took out another bag: the rock the man used to bludgeon her to death. I hefted in my hands.
He hated ‘whores’.

             
“Was she a prostitute?”

             
“Why do you think that?” he asked with arched brows.

             
“Well, why else would she be down at the construction site that late at night?”

             
“Hmph! Yeah, she was.”

             
“Where were her injuries? Like what side of her face?”

             
“Why do think her injuries were to her face?”

             
I showed him the clothes again. “The concentration of blood is near the top of her blouse.”

             
“You sure you’re not a detective in disguise?” he kidded.
If he only knew.
“You’re awfully observant for a civilian.”

             
I flashed him a modest smile. “That’s all it is: observation.”

             
With hands on his hips and pursed lips, he gazed down at me. “The blows were to the right side of her face and head.”

             
“So, he was left-handed?” I deduced.

             
“It appears so.”

             
“Any witnesses?”

             
The sergeant sorted through the file. “An actor from the Civic Theatre was on his way to his apartment downtown when he says he saw a man running away from the site wearing dark-colored clothes. But he wasn’t close enough to get a description and only came forward when he saw the police at the scene the next day.”

             
“Did she suffer?”

             
“They don’t believe so. He must’ve been a big man. And strong. The coroner’s report says she was probably dead after the second blow. They reported at least five separate impact points.”

             
I shuddered at the image of violence. “Was she raped?”

             
The detective blushed at my candor. “No. There was no evidence of rape.” He watched my face as I contemplated the facts. His fingers on my shoulder squeezed gently. “Miss Sweet, I…”

             
“It’s Emari, Sergeant. And I know you know who I am. Doesn’t everybody in this town, by now?”

             
He smirked and nodded. “Are you sure this is the best thing for you to be doing right now?”

             
“If not now, when?” I smiled to silence his protest. “It’s actually kinda therapeutic for me.”
What evidence do I need to get a lead on this guy?

             
He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t see how, but okay.”

             
“Okay. So there’s no statute of limitation on murder, right?”

             
“No. Major crimes like murder, assault and rape have no statute of limitations. So if we figure out who any of these guys are, they’ll be arrested and tried. But we have to have solid evidence, and that’s tough after so many years.”

             
I thought about that in silence for a moment. “She probably fought back. Did they scrape her nails during the autopsy?”

             
Bannister handed me the bag. “Recently run through CODIS. No matches.”

             
“So he hasn’t committed any other murders as far as you can tell?”

             
“Nope. There were no other matching cases, solved or cold,” he explained. “But they also said the tissue was too degraded to get a good read. So they only had so many markers to go on. It wouldn’t ever stand up in court.”

             
“Hmm. Anything else?”

             
“Not really.”

             
There has to be something else.
“With the velocity of the swing, isn’t it possible the assailant cut himself on the rock?”

             
The sergeant flipped through the file of paperwork on the case. “There doesn’t appear to be an analysis for that.”

             
I hefted the rock back and forth in my hands, and fingered the sharp edges through the plastic. I turned it over and over, trying to get a read on this guy. If I could’ve touched the victim, I might’ve been able to see her last memories, seen her murderer through her eyes. But after so long, her remains were crumbled and food for worms. As I grazed me fingers across the surface of the rock, I picked up something different than the icy fear in the girl’s blood. This felt searing with rage.

             
Rage at himself. Rage at the prostitutes that brazenly flirt during the day under the blazing sun in this made-over train yard. And with the internal rage comes the image of the man, the image he holds of himself. Tall, about six foot three. Blonde. Lanky, muscular and fast. Icy blue eyes that seem to frighten even him, because they remind him of his father. He hates the whores, because that’s what his mother calls the woman that ran off his father. His father who left him to the abuse of an angry mother.

              “Miss Sweet—Emari? Are you all right?”

             
“Uh, yeah. I’m fine,” I lied again.

             
He took the rock from my hands. “I think that’s enough. You’re starting to scare me a little.”

             
I scrambled for a way to present my thoughts. “Um…can I give you my profile of the assailant?” I asked with a demure smile. He scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “Just for fun?”

             
“Sure. I guess. Just for fun,” he conceded.

             
“I think your guy is tall—maybe about six foot three, because of the power he used to wield the rock. I think he was fair haired, so usually that means blue eyes. I think he’d be about nineteen or twenty at the time of the murder—so he’ll be sixty-ish now. I think he was a child from a broken home, and he’ll have been abused by his mother after his father abandoned them for another woman. I think his mother called the other woman a whore, so when one of the guys on the construction site used that word about the prostitutes sashaying around, it triggered a lifelong rage and he laid in wait for one of the girls to come by. I think he’s never served in a job that’s required fingerprinting or blood-typing. And I think once he was done with the girl, it freaked him out so bad he would never do it again.”

             
Sergeant Bannister stared down at me in shock. “Are you sure you’re not with the CSI team?” I laughed and shook my head.

             
“I should’ve known I’d find you two down here in the dungeon,” Molly said from the doorway.

             
“Of course. Where else would we be?” I said and stood from my chair. Bannister stood speechless behind me.

             
“I gotta get back out on patrol. You ready to hit it?” she asked.

             
“Sure thing.” I turned back to the Cold Case cop. “Thank you for your time. I hope you’ll let me know if you decide to follow up on that blood evidence.”

             
“Uh. Yeah. I’ll do that,” he stammered.

Chapter 21  Once Upon Your Dead Body

              Back out on the streets in the patrol car, Molly glanced at me from the corner of her eye and back at the road.

             
“What?” I finally asked.

             
“Did you crack a case?”

             
I laughed. “Hardly. We just talked about a case from ’73. I gave him my purely
un
educated profile. I was just messing around. Guess I’ve seen too much
Criminal Minds
and
CSI Miami
.”

             
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bannister speechless. No wise cracks. Nothing. You must’ve wow’ed him with your
un
educated profile.”

             
The radio beeped. “Unit 363. Unit 391 is in route to a 10-54. Please respond Code 3.” And the dispatcher gave the address.

             
Molly eyed me again. “Dispatch, be advised I’m still 10-8 with a ride along.”

             
“Copy 363. Proceed with protocol.”

             
“Copy dispatch.”

             
“10-54?” I asked.

             
“Possible dead body.” She switched on the lights and siren, and flipped a U-turn. “Are you up for it? I can have another unit come for you when they’re available.”

             
“No. I’m fine. I’m doing this to see what your day is really like,” I argued.

             
“It’s not like on TV, Em. And on an average day, we don’t get a DOA.”

             
“I know.”

             
Her brows crunched together, while she scanned my face.

             
“Emari, are you sure this is wise? Given your—history?”

             
“I’m fine. I promise. I’ll walk away if I get freaked out.”

              Her lips puckered in disagreement. “You’ll have to stay in or by the car.”

             
“I understand.”

             
When we arrived on scene, it was apparent there was no ‘possible’ about the dead body. There was definitely a corpse crumpled next to a garage in a dirt alleyway. I sat in the car and observed the police procedure from a distance. A crowd was growing like ants at a picnic. Gawking neighbors and police scanner jockeys pressed against the police tape erected around the crime scene. News crews were already on scene and setting up for the next live feed. Molly conferred with the responding officer, nodded and turned back to me.

             
“This is going to take a few hours to gather evidence and reports,” she said.

             
“Yeah. Gonna get pretty boring for me, huh?”

             
She nodded. “Yeah. You want that ride now?”

             
“In a little while. I’d like to watch.” She nodded and walked back to the scene.

             
I leaned against the fender of the car, basking in the sunshine, and watched the crowd gathering.
If I could just see the last images the victim saw, I could help solve this.
              Nick and Sabre’s angry protestations ricocheted around in my head. I closed my eyes in what I hoped looked like sun-worshipping, and stretched my mind toward the victim. But the buzz of thoughts of so many minds knocked me off course. My chest flashed warm as Ari pricked my skin with her spindly spider legs.
Ouch! All right! I’ll use your magic too.
I cupped the pendant under my palm and focused my thoughts through the melee and out to the body laying on the sandy ground in a clump of tall, heat-scorched grass. Together, we crept closer to the victim, and I imagined my hand resting on his forehead.
Who killed you?
I asked him.

             
Just as the first pink of morning blushes across the eastern horizon, the victim stumbles down the rut-filled alley. His face is already broken and bloody. His lip and left eye are swollen to the point of almost bursting the skin. He doesn’t feel much of the pain. He thinks he’s far less severely injured than he is. The fifth of Jack he’d kept to himself to keep him warm on the chilly night numbs everything. But he’s stirred a hornet’s nest with someone. And that someone is in thundering pursuit, and aimed at inflicting more damage. The pursuer, a gangly man, addict-thin and obviously hopped up on something, reaches the wobbling drunk and spins him around. Violent words are exchanged between them and the pursuers face glows crimson. He withdraws a switchblade, with a rapid click and the shoosh of ejected metal. He leers at the drunk and shoves the blade, over and over, up under the man’s ribcage, lacerating his diaphragm and leaving him without breath. I count five thrusts—and one more for good measure. The victim’s eyes open wide, like the lens of a camera, and captures a portrait of the man who murdered him. Perfectly framed in his vision is the face: gaunt and ashen, stubbled and scarred. The blue eyes blur into a single eye, as the shadow of death collapses his final view.

              I gasped and choked, as the sensations of the man’s death drenched my body. Ari’s spiky legs pierced my fingers and brought me back from the brink of the victim’s death. I’d just witnessed the murder through the victim’s eyes. After catching my breath, I scanned the bystanders, looking for the face in dead man’s final memory. The investigators were combing the crowd for witnesses, apparently coming up short. Molly strolled back to my side and stood quietly at my side, examining my eyes as they roamed the crowd.

             
“Your eyes are amazing,” she said.

             
“The better to see with, my dear,” I said and laughed. “And no, I do not wear contacts. They’re an inheritance from my mother.” But my eyes that she admired never left the crowd. Ari thrummed against my skin as my eyes raked over the faces in the distance.
It’s him! she whispered.
Standing at the corner of a dilapidated garage, was the killer. His weight shifted from foot to foot, his own eyes dashed and darted as though chasing a finch as it dived through the air. I nodded toward him. “See that guy over there?”

             
Molly followed my line of sight. “Tweaker dude at one o’clock by the garage?” she asked. I nodded. “Yep. What about him?”

             
“Does he look nervous to you?” I couldn’t just come right out and say I’d seen him kill the other man. Could I? My gaze roamed over his body and clothes. He’d changed his clothes and washed most of the evidence away. But he missed a smear of blood on his right, inner arm.

             
“Hm. Yeah. I’d say he looks nervous, but addicts usually do when the cops are around.”

             
“See if you can get closer to him. I think I see something red smeared on his arm,” I suggested.

             
Molly looked me square in the face. “Emari. This isn’t a cold case you can play around with. This is a serious, active, murder investigation.”

             
Finally, I turned to her and returned her stern expression. But I let my features soften and took her hand. “Molly, I know you have absolutely zero reason to trust me. But I’m telling you…I’m asking you—would you at least check it out? Please? If I’m wrong, no foul. But if I’m right, you get the credit for the arrest and that’s one more criminal off the streets.”

             
She grumbled and nodded. Slowly, nonchalantly, she made her way to the back of the crowd and moved up behind the gangly man.

             
“Excuse me, sir,” she said as she placed a light hand on his arm. The culprit nearly jumped out of his skin.
Anxious much?
He rounded on the female cop, scanned her diminutive size and lurched away from her. Molly’s hand went for her gun as his hand went for the switchblade. Molly was faster. “I need back up,” she yelled to the nearest cop. But the murderer made a break for it. Still, Molly was faster. She holstered her weapon, grabbed his arm and flipped him face down onto the ground in a single fluid motion.
Killer academy training.
I smiled at her bad-assitude. She twisted his arm behind his back and planted her knees on his spine. The man roared as rage and realization swept through him. Other officers responded with drawn weapons but gathered to find the suspect already in custody. Molly cuffed him, hauled him to his feet and escorted him to a waiting squad car for questioning.

             
“Emari, how did you know?” she grilled me a few minutes later.

             
“I just saw the blood,” I hedged.

             
She eyed the distance and the suspect’s position in the crowd, and scowled. “You must have pretty damn good eyesight to see that from here.”

             
I pushed away from the patrol car. “That’s what I hear.”

             
Her brow corrugated. “Well, your ride’s here.”

             
I wanted to hug her, my newest friend, but I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her fellow officers. “You don’t need me for anything else? I’d rather not become involved. I’d rather you took the credit and left me out of it.” Molly just nodded, so I started for the waiting patrol car, but turned back to her. “Molly?” I said quietly. “Um…” I wasn’t sure how to broach this topic.
May as well just jump right in, right?
“I—um—get the impression that you…”

             
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “That I what?”

             
That you’re gay? Or you’re a lesbian?
I swiped my face with my hand. This was all new territory for me. “Um, I have this friend…”

             
“Ivy? The sprite from the other day?” I nodded. “Yeah, she’s cute.”
Well that makes it easier.

             
“Since I’ve been seeing Nick, she’s been—a little lonesome. I kind of promised her I’d tried to find someone she could hang with. You two seem to have a lot in common.”

             
“Oh, you mean like being gay?” she said bold as day. Apparently, the police force didn’t have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.

             
Okay, maybe the only one this is awkward for is me.
“Uh, yeah. Like that. But not just that,” I backpedalled. “She’s a great girl. I love her to death, but I…”

             
“Like boys,” she finished for me and I smiled at the echo of a previous conversation with Ivy. “And it’s a damn shame too.” This time, I laughed out loud as Ivy’s words spilled from Molly’s lips.

             
“Yeah. Would you be interested…”

             
Molly smiled beamed with sincerity. “She’s adorable. And I was going to ask you about her already. You still have my cell number, right?” I nodded. “You’re welcome to give it to Ivy. Tell her I’d love to spend some time with her.” And then, she hugged me—kevlar vest, nine mil pistol and all.

Chapter 2
2  Delirium Trigger

              Sabre switched off the news. “Are you insane?” he yelled.

             
“Says the man teetering on the edge of deranged,” I scoffed. Apparently, one of the news crews, channel five, of course, had filmed my conversation with Officer Molly in the moments leading to the apprehension of the killer. There was no audio, but it was apparent I’d pointed the man out to her. I rubbed tiny circles in my temples, trying to relieve some of the stress-headache that was building behind my eyes. The newscaster had dubbed me ‘The Capeless Crusader’: dedicated to the eradication of crime in our fair city.

             
“Sunny’s gonna be pissed,” I groused. “She never intended for my story to be anything but a call to action for rape victims.”

             
Nick paced the living room like a caged panther. Silent. Contemplating. Deadly. But he wasn’t the only one with a lot on his mind. What better time to drop a bomb on them?

             
“I’ve decided to take a trip over to Fourth of July Pass, where Mom and Dad were killed.” My parents had driven down to California to find a ‘snowbird’ home to retreat to during the Northwest’s harsh winters. It was on the return trip that they died. And I needed to know…

             
Nick rounded on me. “Why?”

             
I shot him a defensive leer but lost the wind in my sails. My shoulders drooped. “I just…I feel like there are things I need to know. Things I need to see with my own eyes. Thomas has shown me his perspective of the wreck. But I…I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just need to see where it happened.”

             
A canyon split Nick’s brow. “Why now?”

             
I wasn’t even completely sure myself. Maybe I wanted to find the last traces of their lives. Just something to hold on to as the memories of them slipped away, and I forgot their faces, the sound of their voices. Not that I could truly ever forget—not now that I was Caphar. But memories that bubbled easily to the surface before, now took time to unbury from the detritus of my life. Nick came to stand in front of me and gently took my arms. His breath was hot and sweet on my skin as leaned down and kissed my forehead.