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“And I thought I was an introvert.”
There was no response to the knock. Ambrose tried again. Pallas listened closely but there were no muffled footsteps. No one called out. Cautiously she heightened her senses a little.
A faint frisson of cold energy sparked across her nerves. She shivered.
“Something is wrong,” she said.
“I agree.” Ambrose tried the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand. He pushed the door open a few inches. “Dr.Fenner? Ambrose Drake here. Ms.Llewellyn is with me. Some new information has come to light that reflects negatively on the research you’re doing at the Institute. We would like to have your response to the material before we record the podcast.”
Silence.
Ambrose pushed the door wide and moved into the gloom. “Fenner?”
When there was still no response he took a couple more steps inside.
“Wait here,” he said.
He vanished into the gloom. A moment later he spoke again.
“Damn,” he said. “One problem after another.”
“Ambrose?”
“Fenner’s dead.”
Pallas got a grip on her nerves, clutched the messenger bag with both hands, and moved gingerly into the hall. The precautions helped but they were not enough to completely dampen the jolt delivered to her senses by the spiderweb of icy energy she stepped into.
She flinched violently. “Ouch. Shit. Damn it.”
She took a hasty step back, lost her balance, and fetched up hard against the wall. She managed to keep her hold on the messenger bag, but just barely.
Ambrose appeared at the other end of the hall. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Flattening her back against the wall, she edged cautiously past the invisible spiderweb. “Just walked into some bad stuff.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m pretty sure Fenner’s death is not from natural causes.”
Pallas shuddered. “Murder.”
It was not a question. She knew then that she had blundered straight into the spiderweb of violent energy that had been spun by the killer.
Spiderweb. Why did that image come to mind? Why not a storm or snakes or fire or scorpions? She needed to draw.
“Looks like whoever killed Fenner wants the authorities to think it was an overdose,” Ambrose said. “There’s a needle and an empty vial.”
“I want to draw the energy in the hallway, but I should look at the body first,” she said. “The more context, the more useful the picture.”
Ambrose eyed her with a wary expression. “Are you sure?”
She steeled herself. “Unfortunately, yes. I rarely get an opportunity like this. The podcast does cold cases, remember? The body is always gone by the time we get there.”
“Have you ever seen a corpse?”
She clutched the messenger bag with both hands, holding it in front of her like a shield, and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve attended a few open casket funerals.”
“This is different. Very different.”
“I know. I have to do this, Ambrose. The sooner I get it over with, the better.”
