“She’s not one of the American empaths—they’re all accounted for,” said Traynor.
“We think she’s French Canadian,” said Marist. “It’s an easy trip to Vermont from Montreal; she could have been down for a visit, or to see American family.”
“Could have,” Grayson repeated. “You don’t know?”
“Perhaps the Dead Man believes he can cross borders with impunity, but Canada is, in fact, its own country with its own laws, and Stone Solutions must operate within them,” Marist said, as she folded her arms. “Canada is taking cues from Europe, getting stricter about empath privacy, and Quebec has its own empathy agency that is notoriously difficult to deal with.”
“Pretty sure that Canada also regulates empaths at the federal level, not the provincial level,” Grayson said.
“Yes, and Stone Solutions has contacted Affaires D’Empath Quebec to demand records access. Wearetrying.” Marist tapped the picture, right on the gloves. “In the meantime, however, we have these. The serial number is faded, but the first few numbers align to Stone Solutions’ make, from a shipment sent to Toronto two years ago.”
With the way the empath’s gloved hands were crossed over her chest, the body had to have been deliberately posed. Had the killer wanted it known she was an empath? Grayson pulled the next picture out of the folder, the woman’s body on a stainless steel table. The blood had been wiped away. “How did she die?”
“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Facial injuries are suspected to have happened when she hit the ground.” Traynor leaned forward. “We don’t have the weapon or leads. There are American empaths in Albany and Concord, but they weren’t aware of any other empaths visiting Burlington.”
Grayson glanced up. “Were these pictures shown to empaths?”
“With her injuries?” Traynor shook his head. “Obviously not.”
Grayson wouldn’t sayobviously; his faith in both EI and Stone Solutions to do their jobs right was on shaky ground these days. “Were the empaths told she was murdered?”
“Of course not,” Marist said, with a touch of impatience. “You wield a lot of influence within the Empath Initiative, Agent Grayson. Everyone is aware of how delicately you think empaths should be treated.” Her tone made it clear that wasn’t a compliment.
“But Evan,” said Traynor warningly, “if we don’t figure out who she is and why she was killed, wearegoing to have to start interrogating the other empaths.”
The murdered empath stared blankly at Grayson from her photo. Traynor didn’t know there was an empath in a never-before-seen liminal state in Seattle—that if Grayson was in Vermont, it’d be even longer until he could check on Reece.
But an empath murder needed to be investigated by the Dead Man—especially one where the killer had made the gloves this obvious.
Grayson’s gaze lingered on the picture. “You book my flight to Burlington already?”
“Leaves in two hours,” said Traynor.
Grayson nodded. He walked across the room to pick up his bag as the others stood. After Marist stepped out of the room, however, Traynor joined him at the wall.
“You know, when I created the role of the Dead Man, it was to put non-empaths first,” he said pointedly, as the door closed. “Some of our directors feel like that’s not your priority anymore.”
Grayson could just make out Marist speaking to someone in low tones outside in the hall, not loud enough to be picked up by Traynor’s normal hearing but the words clear to Grayson’s sensitive ears.Has someone arranged your flights back to BC?
First thing tomorrow.That was Dr. Nichols. He must have been waiting for Marist in the hall.
“I’m not in the business of feelings, or making the agencies happy,” Grayson said, even more pointedly. “My job is making sure folks aren’t in danger from corrupted empaths. That also means making sure people don’t get to thinking about corrupting empaths—even if some of our directors would rather I stopped after part one.”
Protection, Reece had called the Dead Man,for the world and for empaths. It was a very pacifist way to describe Grayson, and no one in the room today would have agreed. Reece himself didn’t have any business thinking of Grayson in such warm terms, not when the Dead Man was the closest thing the country had to an empath hunter, but that was an empath for you, not a lick of self-preservation or defense.
“Yes, Evan,” Traynor said impatiently, “but if you keep defending the empaths—”
“Respectfully, Director,” Grayson said, “you of all people know exactly how far I’m willing to go to defend people from empaths.”
Traynor closed his mouth. His lips were pinched, but he didn’t argue any further. He hadn’t made a move to leave, though, so Grayson tilted his head. “Something more I can do for you, sir?”
Please tell me you’re not flying commercial, Marist said to Nichols, out in the hall.
Traynor seemed to be weighing his thoughts. “There’s some new research you should read,” he finally said. “We don’t have time to get into it before your flight, but I’ll forward it over.”
“Never a shortage of folks who think the empaths are a riddle to solve,” Grayson pointed out.
“I know,” he said. “But this new theory might make you think twice about yourjob.”
