The broad glass doors at the front of the station swung in at a touch, revealing a spacious lobby with the Beaulac PD emblem worked into the tile of the floor. A scattering of people sat on chairs, probably waiting for copies of police reports or for appointments with detectives. I avoided eye contact with any of them and went straight to the door that led to the offices, swiping my ID card and heading on through as soon as the lock clicked open.
I hardly ever entered through the front door, but I couldn’t see the point of walking all the way around the building to get to the back entrance that patrol officers and detectives often used. However, using the front entrance meant that I passed right by all the offices for administration and the higher-ups. Normally that was no big deal, but to my surprise I heard my name called out just as I passed by Chief Morse’s office.
I blinked and took a step backward, peering around the door frame in case I’d misheard. It was by no means common for the chief to call random passersby into his office. In fact, he hardly ever associated with the troops, and I didn’t think he even knew my name.
I was wrong. Chief Eddie Morse stood in the foyer of his office, in front of his secretary’s desk, a manila folder in his hand and a slight frown on his face as he looked at me. As usual, he was dressed impeccably, white shirt starched within an inch of its life and tucked perfectly into place, dress slacks immaculately pressed, tie in a tight double Windsor. Not a single steel-gray hair on his head was out of place. “Detective Gillian,” he repeated. “Do you have a minute?” It was asked in a tone that said that he didn’t give a shit if I had a minute or not but that I’d better make a minute.
I resisted the urge to gulp nervously and merely nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He jerked his head toward his office, then headed that way, clearly expecting me to follow.
I obliged and followed him, taking in the surroundings in a quick glance as he moved to the far side of the broad oak desk. The office was neat and perfectly styled, much like his person. Dark-blue carpet matched the colors in the Beaulac PD seal, which had been painted on the wall behind his desk. Books were arranged by height. Certificates and plaques on the wall were ordered in perfect harmony with one another. One shelf was devoted to trophies, and the brief glance that I was able to make told me that they were either for athletic events or firearms competitions.
The chief motioned me to sit with the folder in his hand. So I sat, trying to not appear uncertain, even though I definitely felt that way. Chief Morse never called nonranking detectives or patrol officers in. Even if someone was in serious trouble, the chief preferred to have his immediate underlings take care of ugly tasks like discipline or firings.
He leaned back in his chair while I remained sitting stiffly upright. He flipped open the folder, looked at the contents for a second, then made a “hmmf” noise and looked over at me.
“You’re working these murders,” he said.
It didn’t sound like a question at all, but I gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”
His frown deepened, though I couldn’t tell if it was a frown of displeasure or of thought. This was the first time I’d spent more than five seconds in the man’s presence, so I didn’t have much experience to draw on.
“I read your initial report on the first case,” he said, voice clipped. “Same symbol on this latest one as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve read up on the previous cases?”
“Yes, sir.” I resisted the urge to fidget.
“So you’re the resident expert.” There was still no clue from his tone as to where he was going with this. He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but he was looking at me as if expecting a response.
I hesitated briefly before answering. I didn’t want to appear cocky, but I probably did know more about the case than anyone else in the department. “I don’t know if expert is the right word, sir,” I finally said, “but I have a strong familiarity with the case.”
Chief Morse set the folder down, expression still unreadable. “Captain Turnham says that you asked for the Symbol Man files not long ago.”
“Yes, sir. I was transferred to Violent Crimes just a few weeks ago, so I figured I’d take a look at some old case files to start getting a feel for it all.”
His lips pressed together and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk and lightly clasping his hands together. “Why the Symbol Man cases?”
“Well, sir,” I said, as I tried to gather my thoughts into something coherent, “it’s not often that any detective gets the chance to work this kind of case, or even see the details of the case. I’ve been a detective for only a couple of years—in Property Crimes—and I thought that by reviewing the files I could learn something about homicide investigations. And that’s pretty much the biggest unsolved case we have, and … Well, I’ve been interested in the case for quite some time.”
His eyes were intent on me, as if expecting me to say more. “I see. So you’re just trying to be a better detective?”
I couldn’t read his tone at all. Very frustrating. “Well, yes, sir. I mean, I really enjoy police work and intend to make a career of it.” I could feel myself getting flustered despite my best efforts at control. “I’m sorry, sir, but have I done something wrong?”
“I saw you out on the scene at the wastewater plant, Detective Gillian,” he said, ignoring my question. “You seem to be pretty meticulous and organized.”
He’d obviously never seen the inside of my kitchen cabinets. “I do my best, sir.”
“What were you doing to the body?”
“Er, what?”
He scowled. “You were squatting by the body and waving your hand over it.” He made a horizontal waving motion with his own hand. “What was that all about? Did you touch the body?”
Shit. He’d seen me trying to feel the arcane resonance. “No, sir, I didn’t touch the body,” I said, thinking furiously. “I, uh, was trying to see some of the cuts better, and there was some glare from the halogens.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Glare. Uh-huh. And Tessa Pazhel is your aunt?”
I just nodded, not wanting to say anything that could make me look like more of an idiot. Glare? That was the best excuse I could come up with?
“She has a rep for being a weird little bird,” he said, “but I’m sure you know that.”
I couldn’t help but bristle at the slight. “Sir, my aunt is—”
He lifted his hand, cutting me off. “I know, I know. I’m out of line maligning your family. I shouldn’t have said that. But I want to make it very clear, Detective Gillian,” his sharp blue eyes stayed on mine, “that I want these murders to stop, I want the bad guy to go to jail, and I don’t want any bizarre shenanigans on scenes. It’s not enough just to solve a case. We have to be able to take it to court as well. You weren’t wearing gloves, and it looked like you touched the body.”
“Yes, sir.” What more could I say? He was right. “I didn’t mean to get so close to the body. I’ll be more careful, sir.”
He looked steadily at me for what seemed like several minutes, though I knew it was probably only a few seconds. I willed calm, maintaining my demeanor as he regarded me only by utilizing my training as a summoner.
Finally he waved a hand at me. “You’re dismissed, Detective. Just keep in mind what I said.”
I stood. “Yes, sir. I will.” I turned quickly and exited. The secretary glanced up as I passed, giving me a small wink and smile that managed to drag my morale back to normal levels. She’d probably overheard quite a few ass-chewings over the years, and I felt a bit better after the silent reassurance.
Returning to my office, I shut the door and sat heavily at my desk. I deserved that, I had to admit. At least he hadn’t pulled me off the cases. I forced myself to take some comfort in that—not easy after being rebuked by the chief. But apparently he still had faith that I could handle it. I just had to be more careful. The last thing I needed was for people to think I was as strange as my aunt. It was besides the point that I was as strange as my aunt, but that didn’t mean I wanted people to think it. Who are you kidding, I thought wryly. They probably already do.