Eternal by V. Forrest (new reading TXT) 📗

the fire had made Bobby’s tendons tighten, pulling his arms and legs up into his body. Twisted, on his side, the once big man appeared infantile. Helpless. She shuddered when she saw in her mind an innocent child sleeping, sleeping in flames.

The Kahill sept had come to the New World in search of sanctuary, to escape from those who had committed these outrages against their people. No humans were aware of their presence in Clare Point. Everyone in the town knew that all of their lives depended on keeping the secret of their identity, and so it had been for centuries. No one knew but the family. But what if someone did?

Fee…

Sean’s voice inside her head startled her. She straightened up in the squeaky office chair, letting her arms fall to her sides. She glanced up. Both Sean and Duncan were standing in front of the desk, looking at her.

“I’m sorry, I was concentrating. What did you say?”

“I sent the midnight and day shifts home; no more overtime today. Most of ’em have been at it twelve hours or more, and the mid-watch has got to be back in four hours.”

“Good call,” she responded. “Tired cop’s as bad as a drunk one. We don’t want anything missed.”

From the rear of the bull pen came the crackle of the radio, and the evening dispatcher, in her small office, responded to a transmission. From behind the large glass window, neither the officer’s words nor the dispatcher’s could be heard. Just static and indistinct, disembodied voices.

Sean wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “I told my boys to keep looking, fer sure, but every dumpster’s been picked through. Every alley walked. Mahon even drove out to the old feckin’ city dump. He said no one could have been there any time recently, he did. Weeds were too high.”

“No sign of the head,” she said softly, her gaze falling on the photo directly in front of her again. From the side, where you couldn’t see his hands grotesquely bent back towards his forearms, Bobby looked as if he was praying. His legs were all wrong, chubby thighs narrowing down to the knees, then coming to a charred point at the ankles. What the hell was up with taking his feet?

“No blood in the alley behind the building, I suppose?” she asked.

“Nope. No blood anywhere. No tire tracks, neither.” He glanced at the other agent, who was just standing there. “We were thinking, Glen and I. It’s after eight. Maybe go grab a wee bite at the pub?”

So Special Agent Duncan and Uncle Sean were buddies now, were they, on a first name basis? And his name was Glen. “What about fingerprints you collected so far in the post office?”

“Didn’t get much. A lot of people go in and out of that post office, they do, Fee.”

“But not in and out the back door.”

Sean shook his head, folding up his handkerchief. “Couldn’t recover any but Bobby’s.” He hesitated. “So what ye say, eh? Let this go until morning. Get an early start? Go get a bite, now?”

She stood and began to shuffle the photos together. She couldn’t imagine eating, but she knew it wasn’t food her uncle was thinking of. It was his evening pint. “I didn’t know if you just wanted to grab something to go, Special Agent Duncan,” she said without looking up. “Go to the hotel. Maybe review a few things. Peggy, the station’s administrator, made us reservations at the Lighthouse before she took off for the day.”

“I don’t know.” Glen shrugged. “I could use something to eat. Maybe a beer. Been a hell of a day.”

He pulled his suit jacket off the back of a chair and slipped into it. It was warm in the station, even with the air conditioners in the windows running full blast. Fia had taken her jacket off earlier, but she suddenly felt self-conscious. She grabbed her jacket and pulled it on over her thin silk T-shirt. Glen was watching her. She couldn’t tell what he was looking at, maybe her boobs, but she didn’t think so.

He met her gaze across the desk. “Maybe talk to a few people,” he went on. “See if anyone saw anything. Heard anything.”

His eyes were green. Of course they were.

This was going to be tricky, trying to solve Bobby’s murder with a human hanging around, breathing down her neck, especially one as sharp as he was.

She looked down at the photos in her hand and reached for the manila envelope they had come from. It was smart to go to the pub tonight. See what the locals were saying. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been good investigative work. Of course, there was no way for him to know that Kahills didn’t talk to strangers. Oh, sure, they would give him the appearance of being open and cooperative, just as Sean and his patrolmen were doing. But she knew from past experience that the town would dance a merry jig around him when it came to giving up anything of any real consequence. The federal government might have sent someone to work the case, but the citizens of Clare Point would solve the murder on their own.

“All right,” she said slowly, tucking the photos and a growing pile of notes into a file folder. “Easiest thing is to just leave the cars at the hotel and walk over to the pub. Not a lot of parking. It’s faster to walk most places in town, anyway.” She strode toward the front door, the evidence under her arm. “We’ll see you at the Hill, Chief?”

Sean was headed toward the back where his small office was located next to the dispatcher’s. He gave a wave over his head as he walked away.

“He’s pretty shook up,” Glen observed, holding the door open for her. Because she was as tall as he was, he had to reach around her and his sleeve brushed her shoulder.

It took all she had not to flinch. Like most Kahills, she