P. Stormcrow

It wasn’t as if she had a lot of experience with visiting crime scenes to compare this one to, but there was something eerie about how much remained untouched, frozen in time. Though the scene had already been processed, they had yet to clean it, as if someone had left everything as was just for them, or for her partner to investigate.

“Well?” Agent Newman jammed his hands in his pockets as he lagged, allowing her and Jackson to wander at will.

Jackson held up a hand and waved him off. “Give me a minute.” 

She had seen him work on picking up a scent before, but this time was still no less fascinating to watch. He tilted his head back and shut out his sight, his bangs, which had grown longer since she had first met him, sliding off his face. She almost expected his nose to twitch.

Keeping his eyes closed, he prowled the area. Finn suppressed the urge to rush to his side in case he crashed into something but his other senses must also give him some sort of alternate vision as he appeared to know exactly where he was going.

Then he walked out of the room.

Finn exchanged a quick look with Newman and followed at her partner’s heels.

The house had a stale mustiness to it, like all had aged and while someone had worked to keep everything in their place, it was just shy of clean with a layer of thin dust collecting in places. Old photos hanging in the dark hall. She recognized the younger version of the victim in many of them along with a woman who must have been his wife, deceased, according to the file. Some also included a small girl that grew older in other shots, but none of the most recent ones had kids.

So no grandchildren.

Finn rubbed her forehead and almost ran into Jackson as he skidded to a stop. He let out a long sigh and spun on his heels to face her, his expression drawn.

She resisted the urge to ask the same question as Newman and waited instead with as much patience as she could muster.

“Lots of magic, but nothing recent. Like it has sunk into the walls. But all of it is old. Even here, where it’s the strongest.” He stomped his foot and opened his eyes to look from her to Newman who had come up from behind. 

“So this case’s yours?” 

Finn caught the note of hope in the older agent’s question.

“Well, not sure yet. Just because a magic user likely used to live here doesn’t mean the murder is magic-related.”

She would have guessed that Jackson would have jumped at the chance to bring the case to their fold, but what he said make more sense. The idea of a powered serial killer sickened her. She turned to include both men in her field of vision as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Okay. We know all the vics are older, but is that the common theme? They’re all magic users?” Maybe not all witches. Some could be druids, shamans or the myriad of others every culture offered. She had learned that from her recent studies.

“Honestly? I’m not even sure he was.” Jackson looked away, as if still distracted. “When did you say the wife died?”

“About two years ago,” Newman answered.

“Sounds about right,” her partner mumbled under his breath.

“Okay, fine. But any way of identifying if the other victims are also…” Finn waved her hand in the air and tried to think of the proper term.

“Supernaturally woke?” Jackson suggested with a knowing grin.

Good enough.

Jackson shook his head. “We can go back and try to interview any surviving family members but…”

But it would mean reopening old wounds or even giving false hope. They glanced over at Newman who only shrugged, resigned. It was clear. He was going to leave the decision up to them.

They weren’t done here yet, though.

“Who discovered the death?”

“The cleaner. She was coming in for her weekly session. Why?” Newman drew closer.

Right. And that was why it was bothering her. It didn’t add up. That amount of dust collected on the surface couldn’t have gathered in such a short time. This person either sucked at her job or something else was going on.

“I have a few—”

At that moment, Newman’s mobile went off and he held a finger up to her to hold that thought as he answered. She snapped her mouth shut but pursed her lips.

“Yeah. Okay.” Newman nodded once and hung up. “Ainsworth called and said there’s a thing about the call sign we should see.”

The thing is fucking haunted. She knew it though she didn’t give voice to her thoughts.

“What was that you were saying, Reed?”

Finn snapped her head up, surprised by Newman. She had expected that he had forgotten he had cut her off. It happened all the time since the FBI was full of machismo. It came with the hero complex that was so part of the job and in her previous more technical field, there were even more men making it a pervasive culture. Microaggressions happen frequently, not only to women but also to new agents.

“Reed?”

She shook her head clear and fought the smile that was creeping up on her lips, empowered by the discovery that Newman valued her opinion. “The dust. The stains on the counter.” She jerked her chin towards them. “If the cleaner came every week, and she called this in yesterday, then it meant she would have worked on the place last Tuesday. It couldn’t have gotten this dirty this fast.”

Newman’s eyes widened and, without replying to her, he picked up his phone in a hurry again. His fingers flew across the screen as he typed until he finished and looked directly at Finn. “The guys will bring her in. I want you to question her.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll head back and see what Olivia has for us.” Jackson beamed at her with pride.

“We’ll drop you off.” Newman nodded and turned to leave. 

Jackson motioned to Finn to go ahead, but not before he mouthed a silent “good job”, accompanied by a thumb up sign. And for the first time, hope rose in her. Maybe being a Stranger wasn’t so bad, after all. Even if it meant she had to deal with stuff out of horror movies. 

Dr. Laurent would have a field day with this one.

***

Tania Jennings, thirty-two. She had been cleaning for poor Bob Flemming for three years, so she wasn’t a stranger to him. They had hired her when the health of Bob’s wife started deteriorating and continued to work for him after she had passed away from cancer. By all accounts, the woman appreciated the steady job while she studied to get her lab technician certification and was glad she could help the older man out.

Finn pored over her testimony taken from yesterday, combing through the writing words to figure out her line of questioning. It would be the first time she led and though so much of hacking had social components, this still felt more intimidating than it should be.

Would she get anything useful out of Tania, or was this going to be a dead end? There must be something here to give her an in, some thread to pull loose. 

“Here.” Newman pulled out a stool beside her and set down a paper cup. “It’s shit coffee but it’ll settle your nerves.”

Her first instinct was to snap back at the man, but she accepted the drink instead, remembering that there was no reason for her to be confrontational. He had given her this opportunity. So she took a sip, then grimaced at the acidic taste. Definitely over roasted cheap stock.

The older agent chuckled and drank from his own mug. “Yeah. Don’t care much for this stuff myself either.” He paused, staring at the dark liquid then gave her a clap on the back. “Careful to not psych yourself out. You’ve got a good head on your shoulder and you’re observant. That’ll get you further in questioning than you think. The rest, go with the flow. She’s not a suspect and there may be other reasons she’s holding back any intel.”

Not a suspect. “Assume innocence until proven guilty?” Surprised by Newman’s attitude, she eased away from the table to study the man in a new light. 

“Got to. Or this job will wear you down until you’re seeing only the bad in every corner.”

Was everyone a shrink around here? “Huh.”

Movement passed by the window and she snapped her head up to see one of the guys from the briefing earlier escorting a frazzled woman, wisps of blond hair escaping a loose bun that was well on its way to falling apart.

Newman rose from his seat and jerked his chin toward the door, still clutching his mug. “Let’s go. Show time.”

Finn choked back the rest of the content in her cup, wishing that it was liquid courage instead of hot coffee. But it would have to do.