I grimaced and bit mylip. “Look, I don't knowhow much helpI can be,” I began.
Both men completely ignored me asDetective Coulson waved us in.
We entered an open plan office crammedwith desks and old carpeted partitions. Again I was struck byhow dingyand ancient everything seemedto be.
Detective Coulson waved us over and commandeered a seat forme. He sat me down, and then warily he shifted his attention toMax. “I didn't know you knew Chi?” he said off-hand. And the way hesaid it – the measure of familiarity – told me that these twogentlemen had met before.
Max shrugged. “I don't know her.”
Coulson frowned. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Joan would have wanted it thisway.”
Both men appeared to share a moment andsomething crossed between their gazes.
I frowned. Before I knew it, Coulson turned away and beganto leaf through something in a drawer. Just before I could hopethat his case had somehow been eaten up by the paperwork monster onhis desk, he found something. He plucked out a manila folder kindof reverentially and set it down on a smaller mound ofpapers.
There was no denying how tight his chestwas, no denying how stiffly he held his jaw as he searched throughthe folder for something. “I guess I don't need to explain this,”he said. “I imagine, just like your grandmother, you've done plentyof cases like this before. So I'll just give you the photos andgive you some time. And as soon as you’ve got any information onthe murderer,” his voice became tight, “You let me know,okay? We’rethinking he’s killed atleast three other people, maybe up to six. We have to stop this guyas soon as possible before he can murder again.”
I had no idea how terrified my expressionwas. From the exact feelof my cheeks and lips, I imagined I looked like Detective Coulsonhad just suggested the impossible. Because hey, he had just suggested theimpossible. “Um, look Idon't really know—” I began.
“She will do fine,” Max said through a stiff smile as heleaned forward and clamped a hand on my shoulder. It absolutely wasnot for support. The exact way his fingers weighed down into mymuscles was kind of like an anchor locking me in place.
Though my fright had been on the simmer until now, suddenly it hit the boil.“Look, Detective Coulson, I really don't think I have time to—” Ibegan.
Max’s fingers weighed down all the harder until it felt likehe was going to push me through the veryfloor.
“Show us those photos,” he suggested, his thick brogue echoingright by my ear.
Now, I was no expert when it came to thesethings, but I was the one Detective Coulson had invited to help inthis case, not Max. So why did Coulson compliantly leaf through thefile, grab some photos and hand them to Max?
Max looked at the photos, his expression grim.
Then he handed them to me.
I screwed my eyes shut, thank you verymuch. Because there was no way in hell Iwas going to stare at some photos of a real murder. I didn’t needfresh blood and body bags kicking around in mysubconscious.
Still, before I managed to close my eyesand jerk my head to the side, I caught a glimpse of the photo onthe top of the pile. I saw a thick grove of pine trees, trampledgrass and dirt, and, off amongst the broken branches on a bed ofpine needles, a body….
I clenched my teeth and hissed as if I’djust been struck.
“Um, look, Detective Coulson,”I stuttered through my words,but at least I was pushing them out, “I'm really… ah, thankful foryour offer,” I tried, “but—” I didn't even get the chance to finishmy sentence.
Max leaned forward and clamped a rather heavy, rather pointedhand on my shoulder again. “What Chi is trying to say,” he said ashe cleared his throat with all the resonant power of someoneblasting on a horn, “is that she’ll look over these files and havean answer for you by the morning.”
With that, Max leaned forward, gatheredthe contents of the file, popped them back in the Manila folder,tucked them neatly under his arm, and rose to leave.
Detective Coulson looked mildly confused, but rather thantake a stand and point out to the brutish Scottish fairy that hewasn't the one being employed here, Coulson shrugged his shoulders.Then he turned a smile on me. “That would be great.Because this murderer,” he shook his head as hetrailed off, obviously too overcome bythe brutality of the killing to string a sentencetogether.
I felt cold. Okay, cold was an understatement. I felt like some prick had draggedme into the Arctic, dug a tomb for me, and shoved me under the iceforever more. And which prick had it been? Oh, I only had to swivelmy gaze to the left to see him.
In between feeling completely terrifiedover what was happening, I somehow managed to shoot Max a sneer. Hesimply smiled back.
Then he gestured to me with a rather rudeand dismissive flick of his hand. “Come on, Chi – it's rude to keepthe detective waiting,” he said pointedly.
Rude, ha? I’d give him rude. There wasabsolutely no way under the sun that I was ever going to help outwith this murder. It wasn't just that the idea of violent crimemade me squeamish. It was that, hello, I was a completelyfakefortune teller. Okay… there'dbeen that weird incident with Max when he’d tried to attack me, butI had no idea how to replicate that experience, nor did I wish to.It had been the most frightening episode of my life. And yet, eventhough I knew in my heart there was absolutely no way I was goingto help out with this murder, I didn't suddenly point that out. IfI mentioned that, dear old Max would probably take me home and tieme to a chair again. Because, hey, it wasn't like he had anyproblems tying women to chairs. Nope, if I wanted out of thissituation – and I desperately, desperately did – I would have to besmart.
In other words,
