Needing (3 page)

Once, he’d been taken down into the morgue to try to get information from an old guy who’d been found stabbed to death in his home. The grey-haired fella hadn’t been in the mood for conversing, had told Oliver straight out to fuck off and mind his own business, and he had. Gladly. He never had been good with the elderly.

Langham pulled over, parking close to where Oliver had earlier. Another shiver abseiled down his spine and he took a moment to wonder whether it was the return to the scene that spooked him or whether the victim teetered on contacting him. He concentrated, sensing nothing but his own thoughts inside his mind, and shrugged. The woman would speak when she felt like it and not before.

Langham cut the engine. “You ready to show me where she is?”

“Yeah.”

They strode across the field, Oliver watching out for potholes. He contemplated telling Langham to do the same, but seeing him fall arse over tit was an amusing concept. Oliver led the way, seeing the shape of the body more clearly now the sky had lightened a little. Not much, but enough to show her whereabouts. Oliver stopped in the same place as before and stared at her. Something was different. He narrowed his eyes and reached into his back pocket, relieved his flashlight was still there. Switching it on, he aimed the beam at the woman’s T-shirt. It had been clean before. Just a black T-shirt. Now, what appeared to be sugar strands peppered the fabric, the kind that were sprinkled on iced doughnuts. What the fuck? Surely not.

“Um, they weren’t here before.” He nodded at the multicoloured strands.

“What weren’t?”

“The sugar strands. On her T-shirt. Fuck.” It dawned on him that someone had been here as he’d walked across the field to his car. It had to have been the person in that other car. Had it been parked there when he’d arrived and he just hadn’t seen it? “I’d swear that car wasn’t here when I arrived, but now I’m not so sure.”

“It might not have been.”

Oliver turned to face Langham. “What, it might have come along after I got here?”

“Yep. How long were you here?”

“A while. Half an hour?”

“Right. Maybe the killer forgot to put those strands on her and came back. No maybe about it—it’s obvious that’s what happened. What did you do when you got in your car?”

“I switched on the engine and had a little think.”

“A little think. Right. How long for?”

Oliver tried to estimate the time. “I don’t know. Five minutes maybe?”

“And you noticed the car when?”

“I turned on the engine, glanced in the mirror.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“I saw a light.”

“Which could have been…?”

“The driver getting back in the car. Shit.”

“Yes, shit. You were lucky he didn’t bloody come for you. So, in future, will you at least ring me and let me know you’re going to a site, and wait for me to go with you?”

Oliver nodded. Yeah, he was a stubborn bitch, liked to think he didn’t need any help and could handle himself, but the past hour or so had been an eye-opener. Langham was right. He shouldn’t be doing this crap alone.

“Good,” Langham said. “Now then, d’you notice anything else different about her?”

Oliver flashed his beam over the woman once more. It pissed him off that he didn’t know her name yet, but that would come in time—
if
she decided to contact him again.

Oh, God. Her boots had been removed.

“Um, yes. Shit, yes. When I was last here, she had boots on. Hiking boots. One was tied tight, the other untied.” Dread pooled in his stomach. “I interrupted the killer, didn’t I? When I arrived…” He glanced at Langham.

He nodded. “Seems that way. And that’s something that hasn’t happened before. You felt different lately? Like your ability is evolving?”

He shook his head. “No, I feel the same. She called me like the others did. Woke me, said… Oh, Jesus.”

“What?”

“She said she was
being
killed, not that she was dead. I didn’t… I just didn’t think anything of it. I got up as usual and came out here after she told me where to go. Then nothing.” He swallowed. “So I got here and waited for her to speak to me again, and she did. Well, she never said anything, just laughed at something I said or thought, can’t remember now, and then… Then she realised she was dead and she hasn’t spoken since.”

“Okay.” Langham lifted a hand and rested it on Oliver’s shoulder. “Right. How long did it take you to get here?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes? Maybe twenty? Shitty traffic diversions.” And all that time, while Oliver had travelled without any rush, this woman had been fighting for her life. “Damn. Just… Fuck it!”

“You weren’t to know. This is a first for you.”

Oliver eyed the corpse, eyes glazing. “So I disturbed the killer, and what? He ran off? Waited in the fucking bushes while I stood here? Went off and got his bloody car to waste some time until I’d finished? He took a risk, didn’t he? I could have called you right away, right here. Jesus!” He slapped an open palm to his thigh and turned away, shirking off Langham’s touch and looking out onto the road. “Your buddies are here, Detective.”

“Is there anything else different, Oliver?”

Reluctantly, he slowly spun around. “Yes. Her legs are straight. They were at odd angles before. Her arms too.” He studied her some more. “And fuck me, but her stomach wasn’t anything like that.”

“Like what?”

“Split open and bleeding. It was a normal stomach. I remember thinking she must have liked the gym because it was so toned.”

“Right. And that’s all?”

Oliver panned the flashlight beam farther up.
Oh, Jesus Christ…
“No, that’s
not
all. Last time she had a face.”

What the hell had he stumbled on this time? It had been bad enough seeing the woman as she had been, let alone how she was now. Oh, Oliver had seen sights like this one plenty of times, but not just after they’d been carried out. Not when they’d been done to the body while he’d sat in his fucking car several feet away, thinking of where to put the information in his mind so he could cope with what he’d seen. And now he’d have to do that all over again, compartmentalise, except he’d have a whole heap of guilt to go along with it. Why hadn’t he sensed something was wrong? Why hadn’t the woman contacted him to say what was happening?

Why—a cruel word that sometimes had no answers.

He faced the road again and watched several officers navigate their way across the grass. One, a detective in his usual impeccable suit, bugged the shit out of him, and he closed his eyes momentarily to quell the irritation he always made him feel. He was an arrogant son of a bitch who tolerated Oliver, was one of the many who had scoffed at his ability in the beginning. The one who was still a thorn in his side and made no bones about the fact that he thought Oliver had been involved in all the murders so far. Just that he couldn’t prove it. What an arsehole.

He stopped in front of Oliver, eyes narrowed, the look on his face telling him he suspected him yet again.

“Ah, so it’s one of
yours
, is it?” he said, lacing his hands in front of him and rocking on the balls of his feet.

Shields would be pissed off when he saw the amount of mud up the sides of his shoes and on the hems of his trousers. Oliver smiled at the possibility of seeing Shields’ reaction to that.

“Might have known when Langham called it in,” Shields continued.

“Whatever, Shields. You think what you like. This has nothing to do with me.” Oliver presented his back to him, knowing it would piss the bastard off.

“So,” Shields said, moving to stand between Oliver and Langham. “What do we have here?”

Langham cleared his throat. “Oliver was called out and—”

Shields chuckled. “Called out. I just love the way you use that term.”

“Oliver was called out and it seems he disturbed the killer this time.”

“Is that right?” Shields asked, jabbing Oliver in the ribs.

“Yes.”

“So it isn’t that someone disturbed
you?
” Shields tilted his head and stared at Oliver, a little too hard for his liking.

“No, I wasn’t disturbed. I came out, as usual, saw her here and went back to my car to call it in.”

He related what had followed, ignoring Shields’ look of disbelief and the sneer on his fleshy lips. His dark, slicked-back hair was rigid, like he’d doused it with a can of hairspray prior to coming out, and he stank of freshly applied cologne. The cheap kind that cost a couple of quid on the market.

Oliver held back a snort of derision. “And then we came back and found her like this.”

“Right. I see.” Shields hunkered down, hands draped between his open knees. “So, let’s go with what you’ve said. Let’s say you’re telling the truth. Now ask this poor bitch who did it and save us a lot of hassle.”

Oliver sighed and flared his nostrils. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Convenient,” Shields said. “Gives your accomplices time to get away. I mean, think about it.” He rose and towered above him. “These dead people never seem to speak to you again until a couple days after they’ve been killed. Now why is that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they need time to adjust. Maybe they have to pass over to wherever the fuck they go to when they die. I don’t know. And I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“I don’t care what you appreciate, Mr Armand. I don’t care about anything but nailing you.”

“That’s enough!” Langham stepped between them. “You know damn well Oliver isn’t involved in this shit, and it isn’t something you should be discussing out here anyway. We have work to do, a scene to secure, evidence to find before it pisses down with rain. Arguing just halts the process. Let Oliver do his thing and you do yours.”

“Testy,” Shields said, squatting at the victim’s feet again. “So what did she look like before she had her face sliced off?”

“Pretty. Like a doll.” Oliver bit his lip, damned if he’d let himself buckle in front of Shields.

“You can give a description?” Shields rounded his shoulders.

“Of course I damn well can!”

“Christ, you’re testy too. What’s up with the pair of you?”

“You!” Oliver snapped, stalking away so he could be alone.

At the road, he leaned against Langham’s car. God, if he killed anyone it would be Shields. A giggle echoed inside his head.

Thank fuck!

“Hey you,” Oliver said. “How’re you doing?”

No response.

“Can I at least have a name? Yours? His?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Oh, right. Any clue as to why he chose you?”

“Something to do with work.”

“Which is?”

“PrivoLabs.”

“Ah. You a scientist?”

“No. A secretary.”

“And he works there?”

“No.”

“But he knows someone who does?”

“Maybe.”

“Love, you need to be a bit more specific.”

“Yes, he must do. I…I knew something.”

“And…?”

“He shut me up.”

“What did you know?”

“I can’t tell you. He said if I told you—”

“Hey, I don’t want to rub it in here, but you’re dead. He can’t hurt you anymore, so if you tell me—”

“No, he knows about you. He said he’d looked you up in his car. Your number plate. His laptop. If I tell you anything, he’ll hurt my son.”

“Wait a minute. He knows about me?”

“Yes, he said if I thought about telling the psychic faggot after I’m gone, he’d know. I can’t… I made you find me, that was enough. And he knows. He came back after you went to your car.”

“I noticed.”

“He told me then if I told you anything else…”

“I see.”

“I have to go.”

“No, wait! Just wait a damn minute. What’s with the sugar strands?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. My son…”

“Shit!” Oliver made his way back to the scene. Once there, he caught Langham’s attention and told him the latest news.

“So we have something, at least.” Langham pinched his chin between finger and thumb. “PrivoLabs. You fancy coming along with me?”

“Yeah. After I’ve showered and got rid of these shoes.”

“Ah, yes, the shoe thing. Okay. Let’s go.”

Chapter Three

The sun had brightened the sky and chased away the darkness of the last few hours, but it hadn’t erased them from Oliver’s mind. No, they’d remain there until this case was over, until he could file them in a mind box labelled ‘FORGET’, although that never really worked. Still, he tried to put solved cases to the back of his mind, told himself the dead were at peace once he’d helped them, and that was all he could do. A person could only help so much. After all the Ts were crossed and the Is dotted, the victims either had to find their own way or linger. He couldn’t force them to move on, could only block them out to make way for new ones. And shit, he wished there were never any new ones. Wished no one had to die the way they did.

Dressed in clean clothing and freshly showered, he stared up at the PrivoLabs building, Langham beside him. The sun bounced off the blue-tinted windows, of which there were too many to count. The structure stretched into the sky like an accusing finger, the roof obscured by puffy clouds that spoke of snow on the way. Fucking brilliant. With no car, he’d be forced to walk everywhere, and he didn’t own a pair of boots suitable for such weather. He’d have to buy some when he went to shop for some new Nikes. Or borrow Langham’s car. He had access to one from the police pool, so it wasn’t like he’d be reduced to working on foot.

“You ready?” Langham asked, walking up the grey marble steps to the double-wide glass front doors.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Langham pushed one door open and held it so Oliver could step inside. Allowing it to close behind them, he muttered, “As usual, keep your mouth shut, your eyes open and your mind tuned for the victim to contact you.”

“Her name was Louise, not ‘the victim’.”

Shields had done his job and secured an ID, informing them of her identity as they’d driven through the city towards PrivoLabs. He’d also made sure Louise’s son was in a secure place under protection, with Louise’s mother. At least the arsehole had done something that didn’t bug Oliver.