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"It'll get done," he said mildly. "I'm more interested in you and your brother."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because there are several strange things about the pair of you."
A smile teased my lips. "You're not the first person to say that."
He didn't look amused and I resisted the urge to sigh.
"I did some investigating when you were reported missing," he said. "The owners of the Bayview can't remember seeing you when your brother registered, and no one in town saw you wandering about before you went missing - although they can remember Evin coming in to buy groceries or to use the phone in the pub."
I shrugged. "Evin said I'd been depressed. Maybe I was just keeping to myself."
"Maybe," he agreed. "But it's quite a coincidence, don't you think, that not even an hour after you've been found, a mutilated body turns up? A body that you and your brother just happen to come across?"
I leaned back in my chair and stared at him. "Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to murder someone like that, then hang around not only to report it, but hand you a whole series of clues?"
He raised his eyebrows, his gaze assessing. "Why not? There's plenty of documented evidence about murderers getting their jollies by pretending to be witnesses."
I slammed my hands down the table and tried to control the anger that whipped through me. He was only doing his job, I knew that, but damn it, I was trying to help. "That man was attacked while I was out in the desert. Check with Frank as to where and when I was found if you don't believe me or Evin. In the meantime, why don't you run a check for similar crimes? Because this has happened somewhere before, I'm sure of it. And while you're there, run a check on me. That way you'll know whether I'm dangerous or not.">I ducked under the tape and stopped just inside the trees. I didn't want to disturb the murder scene any more than necessary and, besides, I really didn't need to go close to where the victim had died to feel his soul.
I could feel it from here.
I couldn't actually see him, but that really didn't matter. He was here. The thick chill said as much, as did the energy flowing from me, building in the air, giving him strength and sapping mine.
I had no idea of his name, so I simply said, "Why do you linger?"
Why was I murdered? I came here to start a new life, not have it ended.
His words were angry and his fury filled me, roaring through my body like a wave. But his statement sent a sliver of alarm through me. I'd heard a similar complaint once before ...
But where?
"What is your name?"
As I asked the question, awareness washed over me. I was no longer alone in the strand of trees - and the thick scent of warm spices mingled with sweat said it was Harris. I internally cursed my luck, and hoped like hell he let me finish questioning the dead man's soul.
Marcus. Marcus Landsbury.
Which wasn't a name that seemed even remotely familiar.
"How did you end up in this field, Marcus?"
I don't know. One moment I was walking home, the next I'm here, unable to move or talk, and some bastard is cutting my tackle off.
"So you saw him?"
No. He was wearing some sort of costume.
A sense of deja vu ran though me. I'd heard this before, even if I couldn't remember where.
"What sort of costume?"
A red devil mask. It had horns. He hesitated. I swear he had cloven hooves, as well.
Again that sense of familiarity. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Was he big? Small? Fat or thin?"
He was on the small side, but strong - really strong. He had to be, didn't he, because I'm not exactly small. He had broad shoulders and big arms, though. Moved efficiently, like it was a job, nothing more.
