Part 6 (1/2)
”How did you help my father?”
Subconsciously, she stroked her mother's brooch as she thought. ”Occasionally, when he was stuck on a serious case, he would bring me in after the forensic team had left the scene and the place was deserted. Sometimes I would be able to catch a glimpse of an echo left behind. On a good day I might be able to see the last few moments of a victim's life through their eyes.”
”What the h.e.l.l is that like?”
Jane pondered the question for a moment, still stroking the brooch. A few days ago, she thought that she knew everything about her gift, but now she was dealing with a whole new set of parameters. ”It was okay. It used to be that I could see but I couldn't feel anything ... like watching a bad movie.”
”Used to be?”
”This time, with this killer, it's all... different somehow. It's why I had to find you, why I had to get involved.”
”In what way?”
”This time it's like someone else is in control and, for whatever reason, their gift seems so much stronger than mine. Now I'm not looking through the victim's eyes, I'm looking through the killer's. I can feel what they feel; I can smell and taste things as well and it's all too real.”
”What's with the brooch?”
”It belonged to my mother; it kind of acts like a focusing aid. It helps me concentrate, I guess.”
”And feel closer to her? I'm guessing that she gave you this..., gift?”
”Yes. It came from her side of the family.”
”And your father?”
”He left when I was young.”
”I'm sorry.”
”It's okay. I seem to have nothing but good memories of him to keep me company.”
”This..., this vision thing,” Danny said, searching for the word. ”Is it just a one-way street?”
Jane smiled at his brain as it worked like his father's. ”I tried it once,” she admitted. ”I followed his trail back to the source and tried to get a peek at the guy's reflection in a bathroom mirror. He smashed it and gave me this,” she said, holding up her still bandaged hand.
She felt his eyes viewing her carefully, evaluating her words, expressions and body language for any telltale signs of deception.
”What can you tell me about him?” he finally asked.
”No physical description, I'm afraid,” she replied slowly, arranging her thoughts. ”You guys will know better than I do about height and strength I'm guessing, from the autopsy reports. I can say, however, that he's quick and nimble and he's big and strong but lean with it. He moves in an athletic fas.h.i.+on and he's always in control. He's older too, at least around our age if not a little older. He's mature and intelligent, and careful - he's very careful. He's not going to make mistakes at a crime scene.”
”Do you know how he's choosing them?”
”There's a bloom on the victims, a special kind of glow that only he can see, but I doubt if the victims are connected to each other.”
”What about the original Crucifier case?” Danny asked pertinently.
”Honestly, I don't know what the connection is, but I think that there is one.”
”Do you think..., Jane? JANE?” But Jane was suddenly gone as her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped on the sofa.
Alan Holmes stood back as the man poked around under the bonnet of his car. The good Samaritan had started to pull around on a few things under there, every now and then telling him to ”try it again”, at which point Alan would turn the key to another hesitant coughing whine of the struggling engine.
”Sorry, pal,” the man shrugged, emerging. ”I think that your problems are more than I can handle.”
Alan's heart slumped at the news. His bank account was already taking too much of a hammering from his ex-wife and daughter. He did a quick mental calculation about just which number he could call from his little black book of ageing divorcees that he could tap for some cash.
”Could I give you a lift anywhere?” the guy asked. ”There's a garage up the road a little way. I think that they've got a tow truck.”
”Sure. Thanks,” Alan replied as he followed the man over to his car.
The evening was still humid and his s.h.i.+rt was starting to stick to his back as he climbed in. There was an odd smell in the guy's car that Alan caught as soon as he sat down on the plastic wrapped seat.
”Sorry about the smell,” the man said, catching the look of displeasure on his face. ”I work for the water board; they have me going down all sorts of horrible places. I guess I've kind of gotten used to the smell. I have to use the plastic sheets to make sure that I don't get any kind of c.r.a.p on the leather.”
”I'm Alan, by the way.”
”Frank,” the man replied. ”So what line of business are you in?”
Alan started to open his mouth to speak, just as a flash of silver caught his eye. The movement was so quick that he didn't even see the knife until it had sliced his throat and was on the way back. There was a moment that seemed to last a lifetime between the blade's edge and the gasp for breath. There was no pain, only the confusion of an animal catching the scent of a storm and knowing that something monstrous was looming. Then his hands were flying to his throat as his blood began to erupt and spray the inside of the windscreen. He rocked back and forth violently in the pa.s.senger seat, desperately trying to cram his life back in through the hole but feeling the tide was.h.i.+ng him away.
Jane could taste the coppery metal in her throat as the car filled with death. The vision had struck her so fast that she'd not had time to prepare herself for the killing. There had been no easing in, no slowing pendulum to take her over the threshold and into the spirit world. Then she realised that this was happening now; this man had just murdered another victim and was showing her the footage on a live feed.
She snapped out of it as quickly as she had entered. She felt herself being shaken which only added to her sense of nausea. ”Easy, easy,” she slurred, holding up a hand to stop Danny from rocking her shoulders. Thankfully, he let go.
”Jesus, I thought that you were having some sort of seizure,” he said, concerned.
”I'm okay,” she replied unsteadily. ”Just give me a moment.” Slowly, the world stopped spinning and she began to regain control.
”Was that..., was that a vision?” he asked as he sat down again.
Jane nodded in reply.
”Was it the same killer?”
”Oh yes, but he was being careful again. He wants me to know that this was his work, but not you.”
”Who's dead?”
Jane took a minute to think. She tried to place her thoughts in order and review the footage. However unpleasant her thoughts were, she had a job to do. She saw the spray of blood from the vicious throat wound and ignored the revulsion in her gut. She rewound the images until the moment before the killer had struck and she recognised the victim. ”His name's Alan something. I've got his card around here somewhere.”
”You know him?” Danny asked with a touch of suspicion.