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I resisted the urge to gulp nervously and merely nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He jerked his head toward his office, then headed that way, clearly expecting me to follow.
I obliged and followed him, taking in the surroundings in a quick glance as he moved to the far side of the broad oak desk. The office was neat and perfectly styled, much like his person. Dark-blue carpet matched the colors in the Beaulac PD seal, which had been painted on the wall behind his desk. Books were arranged by height. Certificates and plaques on the wall were ordered in perfect harmony with one another. One shelf was devoted to trophies, and the brief glance that I was able to make told me that they were either for athletic events or firearms competitions.
The chief motioned me to sit with the folder in his hand. So I sat, trying to not appear uncertain, even though I definitely felt that way. Chief Morse never called nonranking detectives or patrol officers in. Even if someone was in serious trouble, the chief preferred to have his immediate underlings take care of ugly tasks like discipline or firings.
He leaned back in his chair while I remained sitting stiffly upright. He flipped open the folder, looked at the contents for a second, then made a “hmmf” noise and looked over at me.
“You’re working these murders,” he said.
It didn’t sound like a question at all, but I gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”
His frown deepened, though I couldn’t tell if it was a frown of displeasure or of thought. This was the first time I’d spent more than five seconds in the man’s presence, so I didn’t have much experience to draw on.
“I read your initial report on the first case,” he said, voice clipped. “Same symbol on this latest one as well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve read up on the previous cases?”
“Yes, sir.” I resisted the urge to fidget.
“So you’re the resident expert.” There was still no clue from his tone as to where he was going with this. He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but he was looking at me as if expecting a response.
I hesitated briefly before answering. I didn’t want to appear cocky, but I probably did know more about the case than anyone else in the department. “I don’t know if expert is the right word, sir,” I finally said, “but I have a strong familiarity with the case.”
Chief Morse set the folder down, expression still unreadable. “Captain Turnham says that you asked for the Symbol Man files not long ago.”
“Yes, sir. I was transferred to Violent Crimes just a few weeks ago, so I figured I’d take a look at some old case files to start getting a feel for it all.”
His lips pressed together and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk and lightly clasping his hands together. “Why the Symbol Man cases?”
“Well, sir,” I said, as I tried to gather my thoughts into something coherent, “it’s not often that any detective gets the chance to work this kind of case, or even see the details of the case. I’ve been a detective for only a couple of years—in Property Crimes—and I thought that by reviewing the files I could learn something about homicide investigations. And that’s pretty much the biggest unsolved case we have, and … Well, I’ve been interested in the case for quite some time.”
His eyes were intent on me, as if expecting me to say more. “I see. So you’re just trying to be a better detective?”
I couldn’t read his tone at all. Very frustrating. “Well, yes, sir. I mean, I really enjoy police work and intend to make a career of it.” I could feel myself getting flustered despite my best efforts at control. “I’m sorry, sir, but have I done something wrong?”
“I saw you out on the scene at the wastewater plant, Detective Gillian,” he said, ignoring my question. “You seem to be pretty meticulous and organized.”
He’d obviously never seen the inside of my kitchen cabinets. “I do my best, sir.”
“What were you doing to the body?”
“Er, what?”
He scowled. “You were squatting by the body and waving your hand over it.” He made a horizontal waving motion with his own hand. “What was that all about? Did you touch the body?”
Shit. He’d seen me trying to feel the arcane resonance. “No, sir, I didn’t touch the body,” I said, thinking furiously. “I, uh, was trying to see some of the cuts better, and there was some glare from the halogens.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Glare. Uh-huh. And Tessa Pazhel is your aunt?”
I just nodded, not wanting to say anything that could make me look like more of an idiot. Glare? That was the best excuse I could come up with?
“She has a rep for being a weird little bird,” he said, “but I’m sure you know that.”
I couldn’t help but bristle at the slight. “Sir, my aunt is—”
