Esprit de Corpse

Amber had shown us back when we were studying for the Reaper exam. Using the insides of my eyelids as dual movie screens, I replayed that scene in my mind. First that had happened, then that, and then . . . oh, skeg! Shannon had been the last person to touch the stapler. She’d picked it up to defend herself after Conrad had clobbered me.

And then, when Security had rushed into my hospital room, she’d been the one holding the smoking gun, er, stapler.

“Oh, skeg. Now what?” I asked.

Shannon, Dante and I all stared at the floor, considering our next move. Around us, the wheels of justice not so much spun as sputtered and clanked along. The booking officer handed Detective Leo a stack of forms.

After that, things moved pretty quickly. First they unlocked Conrad from the ring in the bench and escorted him to the cop-shop photo booth.

“Face front. Now turn to the right. Your other right.”

Click, click and that was done. Then on to fingerprinting. I’d looked forward to him getting ink all over his stolen hands, but these days they use a computerized sensor to capture fingerprints and enter them into the international fingerprint bank in one smooth, high-tech move. I wasn’t surprised to find Shannon had no priors. Like me, she’d never done much of anything on the Coil. At least she’d earned a degree.

Still, the fingerprinting process was interesting. At least for the first few fingers. I was very glad we didn’t have to sit through Kali being scanned.

Detective Leo marched Conrad back to the bench, handing his clipboard to the booking officer. No matter how sophisticated our systems become, we can’t seem to escape from clipboards. I think they’ve somehow become embedded in our DNA.

“She’s all processed. Can we get an escort to Holding, Angus?”

Angus rubbed his eyes. “No can do. Sorry. Busy day and every cell’s filled to the limit.”

“Must be a full moon,” Detective Leo said. “And it’s not even dark yet. I gotta drive home in rush-hour traffic.” He glanced at his watch. Shook it and held it to his ear. Was time out of whack again? Up here?

“I’m off in an hour, myself.” Angus tapped the clipboard with a pen as he perused it for errors. It reminded me of my first day in Hell and how Sybil had double-checked my work. Mine had been perfect. I preened at the happy memory as Angus showed the detective where he’d missed filling in a box. What? So I’m a little competitive. It makes me a good worker. Better than most.

“She can’t sit here all night. Who’s going to babysit her?”

“I’m not staying.”

Of course Conrad leapt in with a promise to return tomorrow morning if only they’d let him go now. They shot him a pair of amused glances and returned to their discussion.

“Look, here’s what I can do for you.” Angus leaned over the counter, speaking in low tones. I had to move in really close to eavesdrop. “I can arrange something so we can both get the hell outta here. There’s a guard coming up from Vanier to pick up another female prisoner.” At Leo’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Murder one, too.”

“Huh? There’s a murder twelve now?”

“What? No. I mean . . . Never mind.” He waved away the confusion. “We’ll send your alleged murderer along with my alleged murderer out there for the night. Then it’s on them to bring her downtown for arraignment tomorrow morning. Here’s the transport form you need to fill out.”

For a moment, I’d hoped they were actually going to talk about something interesting, like murder and mayhem. But once again, they were back to “fill in this line,” and “tick off that box.” I think it’s a plot by file clerks the world over to keep their jobs going in this computer age.

Detective Leo rubbed his chin. His fingers rasped over stubble as if five o’clock were an actual deadline. “Okay with me. Who’s on transport?”

Angus walked back to his desk, checked another form. “Mudders. Theresa Mudders.”

“Oh, that woman’s a saint. I’m good with her.”

Down the hall, a door opened and shut, sensible rubber soles squeaking on the worn tiles.

“Speak of the devil,” Angus said.

“Where?” Dante and I chorused, standing at attention. I craned my neck, seeking our frumpy Underlord, but instead of Her Satanic Majesty Lucy Phurr, I saw a slim, attractive Asian woman about my own age, or at least the age I’d been when I’d died.

“Hi, guys. How’s it going?” The new arrival beamed. Her ancestry featured the Philippines, or possibly Thailand. Putting that together with her accent-free English and the Anglo-esque last name, I guessed she was probably mixed race. I’d once had a classmate with similar looks whose folks hailed from Trinidad although she’d grown up in Brampton just outside of Toronto.

In addition to being pretty, Theresa also appeared intelligent and friendly. I liked her instantly. “What’s up with the media circus in the parking lot?” she asked, accepting the omnipresent clipboard from Angus.

“Media?” Leo echoed.

“Circus?” Angus chimed in.

“Yeah. They’re all abuzz out there because you’ve arrested some big corporate exec’s daughter who’s supposed to have . . .” Theresa trailed off, probably having guessed the daughter in question might be the young woman in the business suit cuffed to the bench. “Uh, hi?”

“My name is Conrad, I mean Shannon Iver and I demand to be released. This is preposterous. Now if you’ll uncuff me . . .” He tried to hold up his hands, but the short length of chain wouldn’t allow it. He must have been picking at the plastic cuffs, though, because his manicure was now all scuffed and chipped. My friend Charon would never be seen in public like that. His nails were always impeccable.

“Yes, of course. Got your paperwork right here.” Theresa smiled at Conrad in a warm and comforting way. “They’re bringing up the other woman awaiting transport right now. We can get on the road in a few minutes and then get you settled into your accommodations for the night.”

This Theresa made me feel better about the whole day. Especially the part where Conrad was going to spend the night in a cell.

I’d never heard of Vanier, but if it had bars and locks and really bad television, I was good with Conrad having to spend the night there.

Another officer arrived, one who fit more closely with my personal stereotype of what a female officer should be—big, sturdy, short-haired—with Phelps embroidered across her right breast. She looked strong and competent, which was a good thing considering the prisoner she escorted also better fit my image of a stereotypical criminal.

The cuffed woman loomed large and menacing. Her hair was cropped into short, sharp spikes dyed a red not found in nature. She wore ripped jeans and a sequined halter top that showcased a bodybuilder physique painted with a swirl of inky tattoos. Half the sequins had fallen off her top, leaving bare patches of too-tight fabric. Charon’s perfect sequined horns glittered in my mind’s eye.

She looked right through us.

Well, of course all the living looked right through us, but she looked right through the living as well. And yet I’d describe her eyes as dead. How was that even possible?

“This here’s Maddy Stryker. You transport?” Phelps asked, obviously bored, tired and anxious to go home.

Theresa bobbed her head, “Yup. That’s me.” She accepted Stryker’s paperwork with a perkiness that would have done Miss America proud. She was the polar opposite of the tired officer whose only perkiness probably involved coffee.

While Theresa checked the paperwork for both prisoners, Leo unclipped Conrad from the bench but left the cuffs firmly in place.

“I’m going to need backup getting these two into the truck. It’s a zoo out there.”

After some discussion, Theresa led the way, followed by the two prisoners, each in the care of her respective escort: Detective Leo guiding Conrad along by the bicep again, while the scary guard marched the scary prisoner toward the waiting transport van.

I hopped down off the counter where I’d been perched, trying without luck to get a forgotten paper clip to