Wrynter

Chapter One

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Wryn could hear the detectives talking among themselves in the other room. She had no idea if they were aware of how loud they were, but it amused her to listen to them. Especially since they were discussing her.

Is this woman for real?

The orders came straight from the Commissioner. I’ve talked with a couple of other guys who’ve seen her in action, and they swear by her.

Sorry. I’m from Missouri, and I call bullshit until I see it with my own two eyes.

There was no response from the other man. The denier persisted. So all she has to do is touch him, and she can read his mind?

Sort of like that, yeah.

Sounds too much like a carnival act to me. All smoke and mirrors. Hocus pocus. What is she? A witch?

The other man gave a bark of laughter. I bet you a steak dinner at The Beef House whatever she gives us helps us to solve this case.

You’re on, bro.

Smiling to herself, Wryn slipped her badge on its chain around her neck, letting it settle to where it dangled right between her breasts. It was a deliberate move on her part, shortening the ball chain to where the gold ID would draw eyes to her cleavage. It provided a good distraction, enabling her to put her hands on the suspect without them caring or being aware of the contact.

Pulling off her latex gloves, she used one of them to grasp the doorknob and let herself out. The two detectives from the other room were already waiting for her in the hallway. They both gave her badge a glance, then led her to the end of the hall where her job was waiting.

Samuel Thompson Oldstern was a forty-two-year-old habitual offender. Until now, all his crimes were non-violent—break-ins, petty larceny, and the like. Nothing brutal. Not even an assault and battery charge. Not until the daughter of eighty-six-year-old Margie Mays discovered her mother’s partially dismembered body in the woman’s home. One of Oldstern’s bloody fingerprints were found in the kitchen, which is what led police to charging him with the murder.

Of course, Oldstern denied killing the old woman. He claimed he’d broken into the home, thinking Mays was gone, and found the body. Forensics found no further evidence to suggest another person was culpable. But with nothing else to give them clues as to who to blame, the DA set his sights on the man. Yet, something about his vehement denials, about the fact that his story never changed, and maybe because Captain Regardt’s sixth sense told him the guy wasn’t lying, brought about her being called in to settle the matter once and for all.

At first, Wryn wondered why Mays’ death would need her special skills, until it was explained that the victim was the stepmother of a local law enforcement officer. A homicide detective, to be specific.

No. No pressure here!

One of the detectives, whose name was Melk, went in ahead of her. She entered the room next, followed by the second detective, a man by the name of Jimson. Melk took the chair on the other side of the table to face Oldstern. Wryn and Jimson flanked the suspect like bookends.

All right, Mr. Oldstern. One more time. Tell me about how you discovered Mrs. Mays’ body. He was following her orders precisely. By getting the man to think of the crime, it made her job easier.

Jim laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, enabling her to place a hand on the other one. With her fingertip, she moved aside the guy’s collar in order to touch his skin, enabling her to get the best, clear-cut view.

Well, I knew the old lady always went to the senior center on Fridays. I’d been watching her place for a little over a month now.

Did you see her leave before you broke into her home?

No, I didn’t see her leave. I was running late that day. I figured she was already gone by the time I got there.

Wryn closed her eyes. The voice of Melk and Oldstern faded, until they were no louder than whispers.

A back door. Old wood. Screened window in the upper half. A hand, Oldstern’s, reaches out to grab the doorknob. It’s locked, as he expected it would be.

A peek through the window. It’s the kitchen. Black and white linoleum floor, lime green countertops. Old white gas stove. A yellow cup towel hanging from the oven’s handle.

A glance around the backyard. The wood fence was sufficiently high enough to prevent any neighbors from seeing him. He pulls out a box cutter and extends the blade. He inserts the blade between the door frame and the lock. A little jiggling, a hard tug, and the door pops open.

He enters the kitchen and looks around. Nothing catches his eye, but he knows from experience that the easily removable goods are usually in the living area and bedrooms.

He moves through a doorway, into a living room. He stops. Gasps. Cold fear pours into him at the sight of a pair of legs sticking out from behind the sofa. One shoe on, the other missing. Someone’s lying on the floor next to the recliner. What looks like blood is splattered all over the place.

He hesitates. Struggles within himself. Should he run? Should he notify the cops? But curiosity compels him first to see who it is. If it’s the old woman, or…

Wryn was unable to stop the shudder that went through her. The roiling in his belly became hers, but she managed to quell it enough to not embarrass herself. Lifting her hand from the man’s shoulder, she caught Melk’s eye and slowly shook her head. Without saying a word, she left the interrogation room to head straight for the bathroom.

Still shaking, she drew on the latex gloves to protect herself before touching the door. Fortunately, the place was empty, and she was able to pull herself together without being observed. Throwing some water on her face, she used a paper towel to dry off and gave herself a cursory examination before leaving.

The figure in the wall mirror was unremarkable. Wide-set blue-gray eyes. A nose a tad too long. Her only saving grace was her thick brown hair. It had the texture and gloss movie stars paid thousands of dollars to emulate. For her, it was natural. She never curled it. Just shampooed and let it air dry, leaving it to hang loose about her shoulders. Or, on days like this when she had to look official, pinned up into a bun.

For good measure, she drank a couple of handfuls of water from the tap to settle her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she exited the restroom to meet up with the two detectives and Captain Regardt to tell them what she’d learned.

Chapter Two

Touch

She opted to take a seat in one of the wooden chairs parked by the file cabinets. Captain Regardt and the two detectives eyed her but remained silent and waited for her to speak.

He’s telling the truth. He came upon Mays’ body during the break-in. It took some effort to keep her heart from pounding. The images in her mind were still fresh and real, as if she’d been there personally. She could even smell the blood’s rancid tang. He must have just missed seeing the murderer, or the perp could have still been inside the house and remained hidden while Oldstern was there.

Why would the perp hide from you? Why not try to take out Oldstern and prevent the guy from notifying the authorities? Melk wondered aloud.

Maybe the perp hoped to pin the crime on Oldstern? Wryn suggested, adding a shrug. I don’t know. I wasn’t in the perp’s head. But it would explain the bloody footprint.

How so? Melk asked.

After Oldstern left, our UNSUB fled the scene, and left the print by accident.

Regardt laced his fingers together and set them on his desk, on top of a manila folder she knew contained the photos and reports of the crime. A folder she specifically refused to read, much less view the contents of. These men knew the crime inside-out. They would pit that knowledge against whatever she told them in an effort to either affirm or deny her credibility. Describe what you saw, the captain demanded in a civil voice.

She explained it as best she could, from what she’d viewed through Oldstern. He was certain the woman was dead, but he still reached down to turn the body over just enough to where he could identify it. To be certain it was Mays. That’s how he got blood on his hand. He tried to wipe it off on his pants leg, but some remained on his little finger, which is how the print got on the door frame.

Melk looked to the captain. It explains the blood on his pants, the man remarked. Apparently they’d found Oldstern’s clothes and taken them as evidence.

Regardt gave a nod, turning his attention back to her. All right. So we might have to eliminate the man as our prime suspect. Was there anything you saw, anything that might give us a clue as to who’s responsible?

This was the hard part. If Oldstern had been guilty, all would be fine and good. Her job would be done, and she could go her merry way. But the guy was innocent, which meant she was expected to provide them with enough information to satisfy their needs. And also to compensate them for her paycheck.

Closing her eyes, she prepared herself for the onslaught coming off Oldstern’s senses. Yes, this was the hard part. Not because she needed to find some tangible clues, but because all that the man had witnessed and felt, all the fear and sludge resulting from his terror, would slam into her like pounding waves, threatening to drown her sanity.

Once more, she entered the kitchen from the jimmied back door. This time, however, she paid closer attention to what Oldstern glanced over.

The block on the counter has all its knives.

We know that. We figure the perp brought his own, Melk remarked.

Wryn shook her head. No, he didn’t. He pulled one out. She lifted a hand as if to point it out to him. "Second one on the top row. The one with the wide blade. It’s partially pulled out, as