Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 32

"I just made some tea. Come on in."

Cheryl turned away from the door and stepped back inside the little porch. She likes making tea, Devetko jotted on the corner of his notes, holding it up so Kristeva could see it. "Nice to feel useful," Kristeva replied aloud.

"Pardon...?" Cheryl glanced over her shoulder, puzzled.

"Nothing," Kristeva said, as they entered the living room. The Singer house was relatively small--much smaller than Kristeva's--somewhat cluttered, and seemed stuck in a previous decade, the late Seventies or early Eighties; he had to wonder if Singer's disappearance had anything to do with the way time seemed frozen there. The walls and furnishings were decently maintained but it looked like nothing had been updated in years; if he hadn't known the circumstances of the former inhabitants he'd have assumed it was intentionally retro.

Cheryl gestured at the two chairs on one side of the coffeetable and each detective took one; the table itself was taken up by several scrapbooks and photo albums. "Be back in just a minute," she said, hurrying out of the room and leaving them alone.

Devetko leaned forward and flipped open one album. "She showed me this the last time I was here." He turned a few pages and Kristeva saw the old photos within. Various shots of Cheryl and her aunt and uncle, sometimes together, sometimes alone. "She dug all of their photos out of the attic and put them in these books. Works on them a little bit every evening. I get the feeling she wants to hold on to every little bit she has left."

"You think that's so strange?"

Devetko frowned at him a little more than Kristeva thought was warranted. "I didn't say that, did I?"

Cheryl reappeared in the doorway, carrying a pitcher and mugs. Devetko shut the album and nudged it aside as she started setting things down. "Sorry about the mess," she apologized, pouring tea for them both and putting the mugs in their hands without asking. "It's nice to see you both here together," she said as she sat on the small couch on the other side of the table. "Det. Kristeva never mentioned he had a partner when I first met him. It's good he doesn't have to do all this work by himself." She turned to Devetko. "I don't know how much he's told you? He's done a whole lot more than anyone's done with the case in years. I don't blame them at the police station, I know it's cold and there isn't much left to go on and they have bigger things to work on now...it's just...you know, I figured, when a police officer is involved, it's important, you know?" She ducked her head a little and brushed back a lock of hair. "I'm sorry if I sound pushy. Anyway, I think maybe they just forgot about his case for a while, but Det. Kristeva looked into it again when nobody else wanted to. I don't expect anybody to work any miracles or anything. Just knowing somebody's looking into it again helps."

"I noticed your aunt never filed a missing persons report," Devetko said; Kristeva frowned at him, then cast what he hoped was an apologetic glance in Cheryl's direction. Cheryl looked down at her mug of tea.

"Um...yeah. She never really thought he was missing. So I guess that's why she didn't report it. They didn't get along very well most of the time I lived here. I'm not sure how much I told Det. Kristeva? It was pretty obvious there was someone else...Aunt Brenda was right about that, at least...but I know he wouldn't have just run off with her, because he said..." She trailed off, looking down into her tea.

The two detectives sat and waited. "What did your uncle say, Ms. Singer...?" Devetko asked after a moment of silence.

Cheryl swayed the cup to swirl the tea. Cleared her throat. "He said...he told me once that, when the case was over, he and Aunt Brenda were going to get a divorce...and I could live with him...and I think he meant this other woman he was seeing. That's the thing though, I'm not sure who she was. But she wasn't that lady he was getting info from, that informant or whatever. He meant someone else." Kristeva looked at Devetko at the same time Devetko looked at him; he knew they were both thinking the same thing, that this was news to them. "That informant, I think what happened with her was a mistake, he never talked about it much for obvious reasons, he was worried about her but he didn't love her. Aunt Brenda, I know he loved her, once, but things just went downhill...she...wasn't really right in the head, you know? She had to go into hospice care toward the end...she wasn't really lucid most of the time. She thinks he ran off on us but I know he wouldn't, because he still had that case to work on, and he still had me." She cleared her throat again and seemed to shake herself out of it. "Sorry...I just...want to make sure you both know what kind of person he was. He never even blamed Aunt Brenda for what she thought of him, you know? He always forgave every mean thing she said or did...and she did some mean things. But anyway...I know that's not why you're here. You said you had a couple of followup questions?"

"You already know about the skeletal remains the state troopers found not far from the Souris Narrows Bridge*..." Devetko started to say.

"Yes, you showed me that necklace..." Cheryl's eyes grew. "You've ID'ed it--? It's...it's him?"

"Actually, the only way the remains can be positively identified is with a DNA match."

"Oh..." Cheryl's face fell a little, and Kristeva bit the inside of his mouth. "I figured the necklace would be enough. I'm positive it's his, he wore it all the time."

"The necklace is good circumstantial evidence, but we have no way to prove how it ended up where it did. And also, it may have been a mass-manufactured item, meaning anyone could have had an identical necklace. Things like that were popular at the time, mandalas, astrology, that sort of thing."

Cheryl's expression turned vaguely skeptical. Kristeva saw her stare shift just slightly toward him, and realized she must be looking at his own necklace. He felt like hiding it in his shirt but the gesture would be too obvious by now. "I guess," was all she said, after a moment. She sat up a little. "I...I don't know too much about DNA. I know you have to have a relative to compare it to? I'm just his niece, would it still be enough of a match--?"

"Between an uncle and a niece there would be about a 25% match," Kristeva said, "give or take. Your uncle's DNA isn't anywhere on file...and you're the only remaining blood relative we know of..."

"...So, if I'm a 25% match to this skeleton, then that means it's probably him." Cheryl swallowed, then nodded. "Okay...so, what do I do?"

"If you stop by the county building any time during the week they can take a blood sample and hand it over to the medical examiner directly. He's the one who'll be processing any DNA he can get from the skeleton. If any is still viable."

"'Viable'?"

Kristeva paused a little too long. "Given that the remains are almost two decades old, and have been submerged under water for an extensive period, there might not be any DNA available to test," Devetko explained. "It could be too degraded to make a comparison."

"Oh." Cheryl looked down at her mug. "Well...I'll stop in there tomorrow, anyway. Can't hurt to try, can it?"

"I'm sure Dr. Steiner will do everything he can to try to get a sample," Kristeva said, since he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I know...just..." Cheryl sighed. "It'd be kind of a disappointment to get all this way and then nothing comes of it...you know?"

"I know...that's why we'll keep looking into it. Just in case there are any leads aside from the DNA." Kristeva noticed Devetko sipping his tea, then took a drink of his own since he realized he hadn't even touched it yet. Cheryl stood and they followed suit.

"Well...I don't want to keep you too long from it, I guess. I know you have other things you have to be working on too." She set her own mug down and reached out for their own; they handed them over, Kristeva feeling a little bit guilty that he hadn't drunk much of the tea, though she didn't seem to notice. "Thanks for keeping me up to date on it all, by the way. Even if you don't find out much, it's good just to know somebody's looking into things again after all this time..."

"Oh." Devetko said this as Kristeva stared to turn away, and cast him a slightly accusatory look which Kristeva didn't quite understand. "That's right, we almost forgot," he said, in a tone of voice that indicated he hadn't almost forgotten anything at all. "You told Det. Kristeva that you and your uncle were close, right?"

"That's right." Cheryl turned to the kitchen with the mugs. "After my parents died...he was pretty much like a dad to me. I think that's probably why he told me a little more about his work than he probably should have. Why, was there something else you wanted to know?"

"We were just wondering if you and your uncle ever used any kind of code with each other."

Cheryl halted in the kitchen doorway. She turned back to look at them, one mug in each hand, furrowing her brow.

"Code...?"

"What my partner means," Kristeva said, casting Devetko a look of his own, "is if your uncle ever...wrote to you in any kind of shorthand, or something."

"I don't know shorthand," Cheryl said. She looked at Devekto. "I'm sorry, just...how do you know about the code?" When Kristeva and Devetko glanced at each other, then back at her, she took a step back into the room, lowering the mugs a little. "You have something Uncle Fox wrote--?"

A pause. "Some notebooks," Devetko finally said. "His notes on the case he was working on at the time."

"His notes?" Cheryl's brow furrowed again. "I figured you had those all along, why are they coming up now--?"

"Until now we only knew the whereabouts of the final version of Det. Singer's notes. We..." Devetko trailed off, seemed to ponder whether he should say anything further. "We had reason to believe certain information had been left out of the final version," he said at last.

"Why would he leave anything out?" Cheryl asked, looking even more confused. "That doesn't sound like Uncle Fox at all."

"Actually, it was the officer working on the followup to the case who advised that some information be withheld from the public," Kristeva said. "The information was still supposed to be in the final report. It was just misplaced." He hesitated just the briefest second before saying, "misplaced," and hoped she wouldn't notice, since had hadn't planned on going into such detail.

"But...why withhold..." Cheryl cut herself off, bit her lip. "You said his notebooks were misplaced...you found them?"

"Apparently your uncle wrote everything in some sort of code," Devetko said. "We'll be able to compare the notebooks and the longhand notes, and figure out the rest from there, but it'll take some time. We don't know anybody else who would have known the code themselves...when you said that you and your uncle were close..."

Cheryl stood staring at them. After a moment she looked down at the mugs, turned, and headed back into the kitchen. She came out a moment later, wringing a small towel in her hands.

"We...sometimes, when Aunt Brenda was in one of her moods, it wasn't easy to talk," she said quietly, "about anything. Sometimes it was like she'd use anything as an excuse to get mad. Uncle Fox would only argue with her when I wasn't in the room, maybe he thought I couldn't hear them. Sometimes it was easier to just write things down. He gave me cards sometimes and he wrote in them...he taught me the code. I didn't know it was shorthand." Her face lit up a little. "I think I still remember most of it. I can write it down, if you want." She turned quickly and disappeared into the kitchen again, reappearing a moment later with a pad of paper and pencil. She sat on the couch and started scribbling.

"It's not really like an alphabet," she said, "it's more...phonetic, I think the word is? Different sounds. And a few signs for words. He might have had some special ones he used for his police work, he wouldn't have taught those to me, I don't think." She tore the sheet of paper off, blushing a little as she held it across the table. "There's what I remember of it...I hope it helps save you some time."

Devetko took the piece of paper and put it in his folder. "We appreciate it," Kristeva said. "When you stop by the county building, make sure to let them know who you are and why you're there, and things should go a little smoother."

"How long will it take to find out if there's a match or not?--if he gets any DNA from the...the skeleton, that is."

"We're not sure...it could take a while."

Cheryl let out a soft sigh. "Well...I'm used to waiting, I guess." She hurried ahead of them to the front door when they turned to it. "Please let me know if there's anything else I can help with. Any time. I don't mind at all. I just wish I had something more useful..."

"You've helped quite a lot so far, thank you. We'll let you know if we get any results."

Kristeva offered a halfhearted wave to Cheryl as she peered out of the porch door, their car pulling to the end of the driveway. He looked at the street ahead. "Turn left, will you--?"

"Station's the other way," Devetko said with a frown.

"I know. I wanted to try to get a look at something, first. Left, please?"

Devetko rolled his eyes but changed the turning signal from right to left. "I really doubt that matters--" Kristeva started to say, only to jerk to the side when the car pulled out so abruptly the tires squealed. "Careful, next thing you know you'll be performing illegal U-turns, and it's only a short step from that to homicide."

"What exactly is it you have to get a look at, right this minute?"

"Just turn onto Seventh and head straight until I say stop, all right?"

Devetko looked like he wanted to say some choice curse words, but refrained and scowled at the windshield instead, wipers sloshing away the rain. The already sparse housing dwindled even more until they found themselves driving through an area of mostly empty fields lined with a few scraggly trees and the occasional small, rather dumpy house. Kristeva saw the look that came to Devetko's face, and realized he'd figured out where they were; he didn't need to point out where to slow the car down, since Devekto did it on his own. They drew to a stop opposite a rutted driveway with two gnarled trees near the road, and stared toward it for a moment.

"Not what I was expecting to see," Devetko said.

"Me neither," Kristeva frowned. They opened the doors and got out, Devetko opening his umbrella, and made their way up the driveway, careful to avoid stepping in puddles. Devetko almost slipped in the mud once, Kristeva catching his elbow; they halted where the driveway ended. Just beyond it lay the remains of a house's foundation; a glance around them showed faint evidence of what had once been a yard, a tree stump out front, the stumps of bushes near where the house's front door likely would have been. Beyond was nothing but empty field.

"So this is that 'squatters' house," Devetko said.

"Sure didn't leave much behind, did they," Kristeva replied. He stepped up to the foundation and looked it over. "Not that it was much to start with...at least from what I read. Ace said you could even reach under the floorboards if you wanted."

A honk from behind drew their attention and they glanced back to see a white police cruiser pulled up at the driveway's end, the Sheriff's Department logo on the side. Kristeva made a slight face but they left the empty lot behind and approached the car anyway. He shielded his eyes to try to get a better look when the passenger window rolled down and the deputy behind the wheel leaned toward them, but he didn't recognize him.

"Help you with something?" he called over the noise of the rain and the car.

"We were just wondering about the house that used to be here," Devetko called back.

"Private property."

"We know. We're with the city." Kristeva lifted his arm. "Gonna show you my ID, okay?" He fished out his badge case and flipped it open, holding it toward the window. The deputy squinted at it, then shut off his engine.

"Oh--sorry. Just that we get a lot of weirdos out here and have to make sure they don't put any of that weird shit on the trees or anything anymore, right? Not that I need to explain that to you, obviously you've heard of it."

"You two work together?" Devetko asked.

"Nah, I came along after he left."

"Devetko."

"Halvorson." The deputy gestured at Kristeva. "Everybody knows him. Why you looking at the place now? Haven't gotten any reports today about any dumbasses messing around with it."

"We just weren't aware it was...missing," Devetko said; Kristeva was too busy trying not to grimace at the knowledge that everybody knew him.

"Yeah, torn down last year. Guess they got tired of all the shit that kept showing up on the walls. That big mess was years ago, you figure people would've moved on by now, yeah? But no. I guess some folks need hobbies."

"What kind of shit kept showing up on the walls?"

"Oh, you know, same shit as always, like that stuff at the Falcon's Nest. Ask him, he knows all about it." Waving at Kristeva again.

"Considering that we only just found out the house is fucking gone, I think I don't really know all about it," Kristeva snapped. "Maybe explain it like we're five years old."

Deputy Halvorson raised his eyebrows. "Sorry...figured you were the expert on this stuff. But it's like I said. Same stuff like at the Falcon's Nest. Stars and circles and crosses, edgy teenager shit."

"Any dead animals under the floorboards?" Devetko asked.

Halvorson made a face. "Wouldn't know about that. But I don't think so. Most of that really weird shit stopped when those assholes went to jail. The rest of the kids around here, they're just messing around, nobody really believes any of that devil stuff."

"You ever talk with any of them personally?"

"Not really..."

"Then I guess you aren't really qualified to speak about what they believe or not, are you...?"

Halvorson's expression turned vaguely sour and he restarted the car. "Dickhead," Kristeva could've sworn he muttered just as it roared back to life.

"When's the last time you guys got a report about this place--?" Kristeva nearly had to yell over the noise.

Halvorson revved the engine and for a moment he figured he wouldn't get an answer. "Hasn't been for at least a few months now," the deputy said. "But before that, was maybe at least once or twice every week or so. Like I said, not the same kind of shit as way back then. Just kids' stuff. Stupid graffiti. Moving sticks and rocks around to look all spooky. So, probably not the same guys who were doing stuff here before. Unless maybe I'm assuming too much again...?" A pointed glare in Devetko's direction.

"If you hear anything else, you'll let us know--?" Kristeva fished out a card and held it through the window.

Halvorson stared skeptically at the card for a moment before taking it. "I'll think about it," he said, and, rolling the window back up (Kristeva had to quickly pull his hand out), pulled back into the road and headed toward town. They stood and watched the car vanish before turning back to their own.

"What?" Devetko said as soon as they slammed the doors and reached for their seatbelts.

Kristeva raised one hand in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't say anything, did I--?"

"You were thinking it, so spit it out."

Kristeva shrugged. "I was just thinking, it's a nice change of pace to not be the one on the receiving end of being called a dickhead." He buckled himself in and added, "Guy had it coming, though."

Devetko's own expression had been growing sour, but he paused and looked vaguely uncertain, as if expecting some kind of backhanded comment to follow up. "We should probably get some other work done," Kristeva said instead; this time he expected a retort, but Devetko merely started the car. They both glanced at the empty space where the house had been before pulling away in the direction the deputy's car had gone.

Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 31

The visit to Dr. Steiner had to be put off. There was no way to show up at the morgue saddled with a big evidence box and hope to avoid any awkward questions.

Returning to the city police station with the box wasn't much less awkward. The sergeant at the front desk gave them an odd look, and so did a few others in the main office, but aside from that they were left alone. Kristeva alternated between peering up at Bowen's and Kincaid's office windows, expecting either one of them to come out and start questioning them at any minute, though so far they'd been left to themselves. Then he wondered why he expected such behavior from Kincaid at all, and peered toward Bowen's windows only. Their chief was looking at something in a folder as he talked on the phone.

"I can't figure out what the Sheriff's Department was doing with this," Devetko said, drawing his attention back. They were looking through the longhand notes, the shorthand notebooks stashed out of sight in the box since they seemed more likely to draw unwanted attention.

Kristeva lifted a shoulder. "It was a joint investigation, as far as I'm aware."

"Still, the city had jurisdiction, didn't it? It was our investigation. Why would the county end up with the most important files?"

"You're really going to ask that now, after all the other shit we've had to deal with? I figured the answer must be obvious..."

Devetko made a sour face. "Yeah, I can figure out the answer. Somebody didn't want Singer's files easily found. But why not?"

Kristeva briefly mulled over offering his own theory, decided against it, and shrugged instead. "No clue."

The other detective peered over the edge of the page he was browsing. "Yeah, sure you have no clue."

"The bigger thing I'm wondering about is, why hide the original when the report is already in the system?--unless there's something in here that was left out. Mark's note on the followup makes me think that's the case. I'm not seeing anything different just yet, though."

"Well..." Devetko flipped through a few pages and frowned. "Maybe he never transcribed all the notebooks...? Without poring over the whole mess there's no real way to tell. Unless there's somebody else who's familiar with his code."

"Probably just the people familiar with the original case, and the first one I'd think to ask is a no-go, for obvious reasons." Kristeva bobbed a pen in his mouth. "Wonder if Kinnie would know it. Seems like he has a good memory for random shit."

"You think Mark would've shown him these notebooks...?"

Kristeva made a face. "I don't know him well enough to say...but it seems like it would've been a bad idea. Short of talking to Rhoades or Chief Bowen, I can't think of anything else. Singer doesn't seem like he was the social sort, and it looks like he was doing everything solo, so who would he bother sharing it with--?"

"What about Cheryl, you think she'd know--?"

"Cheryl--?" Kristeva blinked, surprised to not realize who Devetko was even talking about at first, and earning a dubious look in response. "I'm not sure," he said. "She did say they were pretty close...you really think he'd share this kind of shit with her--?"

"He showed her that photo, didn't he? I'm not even saying he would've shown her the notebooks, just that maybe, if they were close, she would know about whatever code he used, too. Maybe he left something else behind in the house, who knows." He shrugged, holding papers aloft. "It's either that, or send these to a professional codebreaker somewhere and have them deal with it, and who knows how long that would take."

"Obviously we're not sending them away anywhere," Kristeva nearly snapped, getting another look. "Fine...I'll ask her. Needed to get in touch with her again, anyway."

"For what--?"

"For the reason I planned on talking to Dr. Steiner earlier." Kristeva slumped back in his seat a little. "We need a DNA sample. To compare to the skeleton."

"Oh." Devetko lowered the papers, subdued. "Dr. Steiner actually got DNA from that?"

"I don't know yet. He said it'd be iffy after so many years, but was worth a shot. The jaw is missing and the teeth aren't entirely intact, which rules out dental records; Singer's DNA isn't on file, and Cheryl's the only remaining blood relative I know of. So if the remains are going to be ID'ed, that's how it's going to be done." He grimaced a little and took the pen out of his mouth. "That's a conversation I'm really not going to like..."

"Well, she's held up this long. I doubt asking her for a DNA sample will jar her much." A pause. "Don't you have such conversations all the time...?"

"Actually a lot less often than you'd expect. Missing people usually aren't really missing..."

"Devetko?"

Both detectives sat up straight, then glanced toward Bowen's office. The door was open and Chief Bowen was leaning out; when he saw he had their attention, he gestured at Devetko.

"Got some info on that transfer request."

He turned and went back into his office. Kristeva glanced at Devetko just in time to see the stricken look come to his face; the other detective rose a little too abruptly, and followed Bowen into his office, the door shutting behind him. He stood stiffly in front of Bowen's desk as the chief held his telephone receiver in one hand and talked to him.

Kristeva almost jumped out of his chair when Det. Tulie appeared seemingly out of nowhere, leaning over his shoulder and whispering uncomfortably close to his ear, "I can go back in the storage room and listen in, if you want."

A grimace. "I'm not giving you an excuse to go boink Officer Such-And-Such, thank you very much."

Tulie shrugged and turned away. "Your loss."

Kristeva peered askance toward Bowen's office window. He picked up his own phone and pretended to punch a few numbers just to look busy; Tulie's offer, however distasteful, had been rather difficult to turn down. He heard an odd rolling noise and glanced to the side just as Officer DelBora propelled her chair over to the side of his desk. His ears burned when he noticed everyone else in the office looking in his direction; as soon as they saw this, they turned back to their own work. He hadn't realized just how silent the room was until everyone started buzzing again.

"Tulie did that thing where she talks about going to do that thing...?" DelBora whispered.

Kristeva glanced toward the ceiling. "I really don't feel like talking about this..."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty damn positive, DelBora--"

"No, that's what Chief Bowen just said. 'Are you sure?'" When he looked at her, she nodded toward the office window. "His lips."

A frown. "You read lips?"

"My cousin is deaf. We used to play all the time when we were kids, I just picked it up." She squinted and frowned. "I can't tell what Chance is saying, he's turned away too much..."

"You're on a first-name basis with my partner--?"

Bowen, still holding the phone receiver and covering the mouthpiece with his other hand, frowned a little and shook his head. "'I can't hold on to it if you're not interested,'" DelBora said, then frowned herself. "I think that's what he said...not sure what it means, though."

Kristeva said nothing, not sure if it meant what it sounded like. Devetko said something in response; Bowen only shrugged, looking resigned and gesturing at him before putting the receiver back to his ear. Kristeva turned back to his own phone, and DelBora wheeled herself away faster than he would have thought possible, when Devetko opened the door and exited. When he sat back down Kristeva could have sworn his own ears were red, though he didn't look too closely. He dialed an actual number as Devetko looked at his desktop and then moved a few items into slightly different positions as if the situation required it.

"Anyway," Kristeva said, earning a look, "she's probably home so I'll see if she's okay with us just dropping in. Not that she shouldn't be, by now."

"Huh...?" Devetko said; then, "Oh." Moved a folder aside. "Right."

Kristeva had a couple of seconds--and rings--to ponder saying something bitchy, though nothing came to mind; he was puzzled to find that he felt more resigned than anything. A click and a voice in his ear snapped him out of the thought and he pushed himself out of the slouch he'd slipped into. "Hi, Ms. Singer?--sorry...Cheryl. I'm fine, thanks. Actually I was wondering if we could stop by and ask you a couple of questions...? It's nothing big yet...sorry...just some followup. Okay. We'll be by in a few minutes. Thanks." He hung up and stood, Devetko following suit. "Well...time to see if she has anything left to offer. God knows we haven't had very much to offer in return."

Devetko looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. He retrieved his umbrella while Kristeva took his jacket off the back of his chair. On their way out of the station Kristeva pondered starting a different conversation, to try to break the tension a little, then decided to just let the awkward silence simmer on the drive there.

Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 30

Devetko glanced left, the direction they weren't heading in. "I thought we were going to speak with Dr. Steiner...?"

"Later. May as well try to kill two birds with one stone." Kristeva gestured ahead; they'd turned right. None of the times they'd come here so far had they been required to check in with anyone, and nobody ever questioned what they were doing there. Kristeva would get a nod now and then as somebody else passed. "Unless your heart's not in it," he added as they turned a corner.

Devetko's eyes clouded over a little. "In what...?"

"I don't plan on spending too long here. But if Rhoades has anything to share, I'd be interested in hearing it."

Devetko made an odd noise through his nose and looked ceilingward. "I imagine your track record here is about the same as at the MPD, considering that you don't work here anymore."

"Like I said, if your heart's not in it..."

Devetko opened his mouth, but didn't get to speak. "Max!" an excited voice cried from ahead, and they both halted, heads popping up. Two deputies in the light brown uniforms of the Sheriff's Department, a man and a woman, were coming their way; the woman's face lit up and she started jogging so the man had to hurry to catch up. A moment later she'd thrown her arms around Kristeva in a crushing hug. "It's so good to see you!"

Kristeva barely saw Devetko's eyebrows rise, but didn't notice much else, as the unexpected embrace sent a jolt through him and all his limbs went stiff as a board. He ground his teeth and fought the urge to shove her away; fortunately, she pulled back on her own, and he saw that the male deputy had her by the arm, giving him a vaguely apologetic look.

"Easy, Trace! You act like you haven't seen him in ten years..."

The woman finally let him go and took a step back to give him his space, a flush rising in her face; she brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and smiled sheepishly. "Well--it feels like it! You never keep in touch or anything!"

Kristeva barely heard this at first, trying to keep from shaking himself off like a wet dog; he noticed the way Devetko stood beside him with arms crossed and eyebrow still raised, and smoothed down his clothes, to give himself enough time to settle his nerves. "Dev...this is Tracy Hatcher...and Kennard Scott...we used to work together. Guys, this is Dev, my partner."

"Devetko," Devetko corrected, reaching for Deputy Scott's hand, since he'd offered it first.

"Just Scott," Scott said, with another apologetic look. "I really hate 'Kennard'..."

"Partner--?" Hatcher pumped Devetko's hand up and down next. "Wow, took them long enough! Max and I were partners way back when..." She released his hand, and for a second Kristeva was just about certain she was going to add, And a little more than that, too, before she grasped Scott by the elbow and beamed back at both of them. "...But now it's Scott and me. Max! I keep telling you. Stop being a stranger. I miss talking about all the stupid shit we used to do!"

"'Stupid shit,'" Devetko echoed, tilting his head, and Kristeva grimaced.

Hatcher waved. "Oh, yeah! We used to pull the dumbest pranks. It gets boring here sometimes. I bet the MPD is way more interesting. But anyway we always had to find stuff to do. I crashed Max's computer once...I really didn't mean to do that, honest. But anyway. We were tossing paper airplanes once and one of them hit Sheriff Rhoades and...Max can keep a straight face, but I was about ready to die...I can't believe he didn't fire us..."

"Really," Devetko said.

"Oh, yeah! And that's just the start of it, seriously, it's a wonder sometimes we got any work done..."

"Speaking of..." Kristeva waved a bit himself, to get her attention before she could start chattering again, "...that's kind of why we're here...is Rhoades in? We probably should've called ahead, I know..."

"Oh--? Yeah, he's in. Oh!" She dropped her voice almost to a whisper and took a step toward them, head bending forward; Scott followed suit. "Are you still working that cold case? The one with Sgt. Kincaid's bust and all...?"

"Yeah," Kristeva said without thinking, at the same time that Devetko said, "Unofficially."

"You might want to know," Scott said, just as quietly. "Rhoades found out. We didn't tell him..."

"Honest!" Hatcher added. "I swear he has eyes every-fricking-where! We erased our searches in the computer system but I guess he found out anyway. So if that's what you're here about, well...fair warning."

"I didn't get either of you in trouble, did I?"

"That's the weird thing," Scott whispered.

"He hasn't said anything about it!" Hatcher exclaimed under her breath, gesturing for emphasis. "We keep waiting to be called into his office but so far--nothing! It's bizarre!"

"I think it'd be easier if he did chew us out," Scott added. "At least we wouldn't be waiting for the ax to fall. I'm used to Rhoades when he's pissed off--the devil you know, right?"

"But this, whatever this is," Hatcher said, gesturing again, "this is just weird. We have no idea how to handle this!" She took another step forward so their heads almost touched, and Kristeva made himself not step back. "What exactly is that you had us look into--? It can't be just the Kincaid bust, can it? That's ancient history. And there's no way that has anything to do with that Singer thing, is there--?"

Kristeva had no idea how to answer that without dragging them even further into something they didn't belong in; something must have shown on his face, and Scott must have noticed it, for he grasped Hatcher's sleeve and tugged on her arm a little bit. She glanced at him as if to ask what he wanted; this gave Kristeva the second or two he needed to collect his thoughts by the time she turned back to him.

"It's...kind of complicated. And we're looking into it kind of unofficially so I don't want you two getting in trouble for anything."

"We don't mind getting in trouble," Hatcher started to say, but Scott was tugging on her sleeve again.

"I think they're kind of busy and just need to talk to Rhoades," he said, in a hint-hint tone of voice; Hatcher furrowed her brow at him, not seeming to get his meaning at first, but when she looked back at Kristeva and Devetko it seemed to finally strike her. She took a step back, face going slightly red again, and Kristeva felt his tensed muscles relax. Hatcher gave an awkward smile.

"Well...okay. Sorry. I just miss the stupid shit we'd all get into, you know? But yeah, Rhoades should be in his office, just--be careful! It kind of makes me think he's been waiting for you to show up just so he can chew you out!"

"We can handle ourselves," Kristeva said, gesturing at Devetko and hoping his comment didn't sound too dismissive; the entire situation just seemed far too awkward to continue engaging in. He halted when Hatcher grasped his arm and then hugged him again; it wasn't as hard this time, and he managed to give her a brief hug back before she let him go. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek; he felt like slapping Devetko for the way his eyebrows went up again, but at least Scott seemed to take it in stride, giving them one last apologetic look before pulling Hatcher back.

"Call us sometime!" Hatcher insisted as Scott turned and started tugging her along after him down the hallway. "We can catch up. Lunch. Falcon's Nest!" She pantomimed a telephone receiver at her ear, and they disappeared around a corner.

Kristeva opened his mouth to say, Say one word, but Devetko beat him to the punch.

"They make a cute couple."

Kristeva shut his mouth and they walked in silence for a moment. "Probably cuter than you two did," Devetko added, and Kristeva looked toward the ceiling.

"You must be so much fun at parties."

"Which just brings me back to an earlier point. The history you say you have at this place. Remember when I asked if any of your drama would interfere with this investigation in any way? And you were quick to say no?"

Kristeva muttered, "I never actually said no..."

"Well, seeing as how you outright admitted you've had some drama here--is there anything I should know about? Like whatever that was, back there--" he jerked his head over his shoulder, in the direction Hatcher and Scott had gone in "--that's not going to come back to bite us, is it? Or whatever this 'history' is you say you have with Sheriff Rhoades?"

"Scott and Trace are good. You heard them, if I wanted them to walk over hot coals they would, not that I'm that sort of sadist."

"And Rhoades...?"

Kristeva pursed his lips and didn't answer immediately. Devetko barely suppressed a sigh, halting at a water cooler and filling a cup while Kristeva slowed down, and they resumed walking, footsteps echoing. A file clerk went scurrying past, arms loaded with folders, before they were left in silence again.

"Rhoades put the moves on me back when he was one of my instructors in academy."

A spitting noise. Devetko had just been taking a drink from his cup, but now he gagged and put a hand up to his mouth. He started coughing violently; Kristeva put up with this for a moment before raising his own eyebrows.

"One would think you've never even heard of such a thing before..."

Devetko coughed a few more times, wiping his mouth and wincing. "Isn't he married--?" he croaked.

"That's never stopped some people."

"Isn't he straight?"

"Apparently not."

Devetko made a few more noises that made it clear he was trying to catch his breath or compose himself; Kristeva figured the conversation was over, when he managed to say, "There's no possible way you can think that won't have any influence on any of this."

Kristeva shrugged. "I can't help but suspect it's part of the reason he wanted me out of here, yeah. But I made it pretty clear I wasn't interested, and that was that. I'm over it. I can't help if he's not. Aside from shuffling me out of the Sheriff's Department though, and trying to get me to spy on Kinnie, he's pretty good at keeping himself out of things personally."

"Well, let me know if your opinion of that changes once we've talked with him." A pause. "This isn't going to be awkward, is it...?"

"Like I said, I'm over it. Can't help if he's not."

Devetko made a face. They passed through a set of doors into the main office of the Sheriff's Department, not too dissimilar from that at the Minot Police Department; several officers seated at their desks glanced up at them before losing interest and going back to what they were doing.

Kristeva gestured at two empty desks. "Scott and Trace. That desk used to be mine." A gesture at another desk which was empty at the moment. "Then that one. DelBora used to sit way over there."

"I forgot she worked here. Any idea what was Rhoades's motivation getting rid of her...?"

"Easy. I was supposed to spy on Kinnie, she was supposed to spy on me."

"Looks like both of you were a disappointment."

"You could say that." They halted before an office door, the blinds drawn shut on the windows. Kristeva put his hand on the doorknob and turned to Devetko, who was tossing his cup into a trash can. "A word of warning--"

The door abruptly pulled away from his hand and he jumped back. The two of them found themselves staring at a tall imposing man in the same Sheriff's Department uniform that Scott and Hatcher had been wearing; he glowered down at them as if they were bugs in a jar, and Kristeva not only noticed Devetko wilt just a little, but could feel everyone else's eyes on their backs.

Sheriff Rhoades just glared at them for a brief moment, then turned back to the office, jerking his hand in a "follow" gesture.

Kristeva leaned toward Devetko and whispered as quietly as he could in his ear, "Don't worry yet, that's his normal expression."

Devetko just swallowed. The door slammed behind them after they entered, making him jump; Rhoades was already standing behind his desk, and he jerked his hand again at the two chairs before it, a "sit down" gesture. The two detectives did so, like chastened schoolchildren ready to be rebuked by the principal.

"Had a feeling you'd be showing up here," Rhoades muttered, pulling his chair toward his desk. Even sitting down he was taller than they were, and continued glaring at them malevolently.

"I would've given more warning if I'd been able," Kristeva said, since Devetko didn't seem to be in any frame of mind to say anything, which was probably for the best.

"Yeah, sure you would have. And before you go feeding me some bullshit story, you should know that certain computer searches trigger a program that sends automatic e-mail notifications. I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about."

Kristeva bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not that good with computers," he said. "Just ask Dev."

"I don't need to ask anybody anything. I'd like to know your reason for dragging my deputies into your shit. Shit that I'm pretty sure you're not even supposed to be looking into. You think Bowen and I don't share info, well, you're mistaken."

"Kind of figured that by now," Kristeva said, feeling like he was wilting now, himself.

"I also heard you got access to some files you really had no business having access to. Some piece of shit named Shane Buchanan? And your talks with Dr. Steiner and that statie in the hospital. And your little visits to the state prison. Looks like they're not giving you nearly enough work to do, if this is how you're spending your time."

How the fuck are they finding all this out? a voice in Kristeva's head said. He tried not to wince, didn't do a very good job. Devetko gave a small cough; he was looking askance and drumming his fingers atop the folder on his knee. Kristeva took a breath and let it out.

"Like it or not, it's a missing persons case, and that's what they have me working on over there."

"Not exactly what I sent you there to work on," Rhoades said.

Kristeva shrugged. "I'm not the boss there, and apparently neither are you."

He couldn't believe it--Devetko actually squinched his eyes shut and showed his teeth, like he'd just stuck his hand over an open flame. Rhoades didn't bother looking at him, stare focused on Kristeva instead. Kristeva held the stare longer than he thought he'd be able to; thankfully, Rhoades turned to look at Devetko instead.

"And what the fuck is your story?"

Devetko blinked and sat up straight. "I...was assigned to the Missing Persons Unit to assist on cold cases," he said, after the slighest pause. "They have no other openings at the moment, so I assume that's why Det. Kristeva was assigned there. A private citizen asked us to look into a cold missing persons case, so that's what we've been doing. She was misinformed that the case was closed."

Rhoades said, "Maybe being misinformed is the best place to be right now."

Kristeva didn't even need to look at Devetko to know that confusion must have flitted across his face, for he felt the same happen to him. "You're really going to say that with that skeleton lying down in the morgue right now...?" he asked.

Rhoades looked back at him. "That skeleton is currently unidentified. The ID is going to be pending for quite a while, if it ever gets ID'ed. So I'd appreciate it if you quit bothering our medical examiner, and let him get back to more pressing cases, of which we have no shortage. You're familiar with file rooms. I know you don't have any shortage of cases to work on, either. So maybe get back to working on those, and quit fucking around where you have no business."

A pause. "With all due respect, Sheriff..." The words came from Devetko, and Kristeva looked at him, not having expected them. "It is our business, because it's a missing persons case, and that's what we do, and we don't pick what we do and don't investigate."

A very long, uneasy silence this time. Rhoades's stare shifted from Devetko back to Kristeva, and again he fought to hold it, even though by now it seemed like it would have been a better idea to just get up and leave the station entirely.

"Mind telling me," Rhoades said, "why exactly it is you're digging into this?"

"Dev just told you. We were asked to, by a relative of the missing person."

"You know very well I can tell when you're feeding me a line of bullshit. You're saying Kinnie has no hand in this?--or maybe somebody closer to home?"

Kristeva furrowed his brow. "Kinnie helped get us in the prison, but no, he didn't ask us to do anything, as far as I'm aware he has no idea what we've been up to. As for 'closer to home,' I have no idea what the fuck you mean by that. Unless you feel like clarifying...?"

He actually hoped Rhoades would do so, as the comment left a niggling feeling in his brain; was he talking about Chief Bowen?--somebody else on the force? Rhoades, however, offered no further clarification, just continued glaring; Devetko shifted his foot a little, probably to keep himself from fidgeting. Kristeva was about to outright ask if he was talking about the chief, when Rhoades abruptly pushed his chair back and stood, seemingly one motion--both detectives flinched back a little. He strode around his desk and yanked open the door. As he stepped out, he jerked his hand at the air again, the same "follow" gesture as before. He didn't bother waiting to see whether they obeyed or not.

Kristeva and Devetko looked at each other, both equally confused. They stood and followed the sheriff out of his office.

Rhoades strode through the main room so quickly they had to jog a little to catch up; Kristeva spotted Scott and Hatcher at their desks, peering up at them as they passed. Scott got a sympathetic look and Hatcher even mouthed the word, Sorry, before Rhoades turned to enter a side hallway and they disappeared from sight.

They followed Rhoades to the end of the hallway, where the sheriff halted and pushed the button next to the elevator door. He entered the empty elevator, turned, and snapped, "File room twenty," before the door shut and the elevator hummed away.

Kristeva and Devetko stood staring at the closed metal door. "Guess he knows about you and elevators...?" Devetko said, before Kristeva headed to the stairway on the left and started climbing. They fell into step beside each other, footsteps ringing off the narrow walls.

"I kind of thought him having the hots for you might work in your favor," Devetko said.

Kristeva made a face. "He's never been the romantic type." He glanced at the landing above them. "File room twenty...that's where we always sent cases to die. Not just cold cases, but really hopeless cases. Stuff with less than zero evidence. I don't remember that I was ever set to work in there, now that I think of it, and I'm familiar with most of the stuff here. Can't imagine what he would want in there."

"Think maybe we're being punished...?"

"Wouldn't put it past him, by now."

They reached the landing and turned right, then right again. Rhoades was already standing by the elevator, arms crossed; seeing them, he turned and headed up the hall. Kristeva sighed and they again followed. He halted before a door with the number 20 stenciled* on the frosted glass, and unlocked it with one of a number of keys on a ring on his belt. He pushed it open and disappeared inside; the detectives picked up their pace and entered, Devetko faltering a bit when he saw how much bigger it was than the file rooms at the city police station, rows and rows of metal file cabinets interspersed with the occasional long table. Kristeva gestured and they followed the sound of footsteps to the back right corner of the room, where Rhoades was unlocking the next-to-bottom drawer on the last file cabinet, stooping down rather awkwardly to do so. He yanked it open so hard it almost came off its tracks, reached in, and pulled out what looked like a cardboard evidence box. When he slammed the drawer the noise rang off the walls like a gunshot; he turned and dumped the box on the nearest table with a thud.

"Tell Bowen he can keep it," he said, and walked around the table and past them, glowering the entire way, disappearing from sight behind the file cabinets. The door rattled as it opened and then slammed shut again.

The other two said nothing until the silence started to ring, then Kristeva murmured, "I hope he didn't lock us in here..."

"This looks like something that should've been entered into evidence," Devetko said with a frown, approaching the box. He pinched the ribbon holding it shut. "Shouldn't we be signing for this or something...?"

Kristeva turned back to him with a shrug. "Rhoades is the one who handed it over, if that isn't chain of custody then I don't know what is. Do you see any form to sign...?"

Devetko's frown grew, but he didn't argue. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a knife, flipping it open and slicing the ribbon loose. He lifted the lid and peered inside as Kristeva approached, and his frown shifted into a look of confusion.

"No...it's just files after all. Don't know why they warranted their own evidence box." He pulled out a thick manila folder, flipped through it, and handed it to Kristeva. "Looks just like the same stuff we've been seeing already."

Now Kristeva frowned, taking the folder and giving its contents a cursory look. He snorted. "Should've known he'd pull something like this to get us out of his hair...maybe there's a few pages we don't have at our place. May as well dig through it all."

Devetko pulled out an accordion folder and riffled through its pockets. He pulled out a handful of small spiralbound notebooks. "Christ, this thing is loaded with these." He flipped through a few pages of each and made a sour face. "I hope they're transcribed somewhere, because they're all in some kind of shorthand."

"You mean to tell me you don't know shorthand?"

"I know shorthand, I don't know whatever insane code this is." He set that folder aside and pulled out another with papers in it. "Longhand...good. I imagine somebody had a lot of spare time to do all this, though..." He fell silent, reading the first page he'd pulled out, then dug in the folder and pulled out the entire sheaf of papers contained in that pocket; Kristeva got a brief glimpse of the other pockets and saw that they contained papers as well, before he returned his attention to the manila folder. He was starting to grow peeved by now, and picked up one of the notebooks just to give himself something to do. The lines inside made no sense to him, either.

"I know I said Rhoades is an asshole, but I never figured he'd pull a stunt like this," he said, since the words stung less than saying, Sorry to put you through this trouble. Devetko ignored him, browsing through the looseleaf pages. "Guess we should've saved ourselves the trouble and gone to see Dr. Steiner instead." He fell silent as Devetko continued turning through the pages. "I'm pregnant, by the way," he added.

"Son of a bitch," Devetko said.

Kristeva raised his eyebrows. "Well...that's kind of a crass way of putting it, but..."

Devetko finally looked up at him, and held up the sheaf of papers. "It's a transcription," he said. "Probably of these notebooks. Of course they'd be in shorthand."

"Yeah," Kristeva said, "I thought we'd established already that somebody had a lot of time to spare..."

Devetko made an irked face and moved his mouth a little, as if trying to make himself not retort. He shook the papers.

"Singer had a lot of time to spare, moron. These notebooks and papers. This is his original report."

Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 29

The young blond man peered from one badge to the other, seeming vaguely confused. "Minot Police Department...?" he said.

"You're Ace Pauley, right?" Kristeva asked, he and Devetko still holding up their badges.

"Yyyeah," the blond man said, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You're not in any trouble. We just want to talk, is all."

"About what...?"

"Just some details that might be related to the Mitchell Barnes case, but might not."

Ace blinked. "You're sure I'm not in trouble--? I was told I wouldn't get in trouble for any of that..."

"If you didn't do anything wrong, then you have nothing to worry about," Devetko said; Ace opened his mouth, but Kristeva spoke up before he could say anything.

"What he meant to say was, if everything you said at the trial was true, then you have nothing to worry about."

Devetko frowned this time. Ace, for his part, brightened and took a step back, opening the apartment door wider.

"Oh! Okay then! Sure, I'm good to talk, I guess. Come on in. Sorry about the mess, I'm just in the middle of something."

"A whole lot friendlier than Mitch," Devetko whispered as they stepped inside.

"Not too much brighter, though," Kristeva whispered back, but his voice trailed off when they reached the main room of the apartment. They halted in the entryway and stared at what was presumably the coffeetable, except that it was hardly visible, its surface covered with an assortment of...what looked like the guts of numerous electronic devices.

"In the middle of something...?" Kristeva echoed, looking around at the mess.

"Yeah--sorry about that. Still tweaking a few things." Ace opened a small closet, pulled out a sheet, and draped it over the disassembled pieces. "Don't want 'em getting all dusty, it's not like I'm in a sterile environment or anything." He gave what he must have hoped was a winning smile, then gestured for them to follow. "It's a little bit cleaner in here if you want to sit down or anything."

He led them into a small kitchenette*/dining area and pulled out a couple of chairs from under the counter, which itself was strewn with various items. The only clearly recognizable thing was a computer tower and monitor, some sort of gibberish all over the screen.

Ace gestured at this, noticing their stares. "Just coding some stuff. I hope to afford my own server soon, or maybe I can make my own. Then things'll really take off."

"Things--?"

"Well--yeah. The Internet?" He stared back at them for a second or so, then continued. "The Internet is where it's at. At least, where it will be. Just wait, in a year or two everybody and their grandmother will be online, and they'll be doing everything there, like shopping and dating and, well, whatever people do all day long, you know?"

Kristeva shrugged. "We just search databases, is all."

"Well, yeah!--that too. Just wait. Soon everything'll be online and all you'll have to do is click a mouse and BAM!--there it is..."

"Or more like, creak creak creak, fifteen minutes later there it is, if you're lucky," Kristeva murmured to Devetko.

"...and everybody's job'll be a hundred times easier, just wait, soon you probably won't even have to leave your house to do anything, all you need to do is log on and there the world is, at your fingertips." He gestured at the humming computer, smiling, then lowered his arms and turned back to them. "Oh--right. You didn't come here to yap about this, I know. Just keeping myself busy ever since...well...you know." He made a slight face, then pulled out a stool and sat on it. "I figured I should probably get my life on track, find something more responsible and, uh, productive to do, right? Though I figure anything is more productive than hanging out with Mitch." He gestured at them this time. "But anyway. Shoot. If I can help with anything...though I thought that whole thing was over with."

"We're just following up on a few details that might be related to another case from a while back. We don't have any reason to believe you intentionally withheld anything, but thought there might have been some details they didn't go over in court."

Ace frowned. "Details...? I did tell everything I knew, at least, I think I did. Mitch and that bad cop guy are behind bars and all, right...?"

"Did you know Officer Jenner personally?" Devetko asked, looking through some papers.

"No...not really. I mean, I saw him around now and then, it was kind of hard not to, with how much Mitch kept in touch; and I knew Mitch was talking with somebody in a, what do you call it, position of power?--but he was never clear on who that was, never even told us it was a cop. All he said was it was somebody who could get things done, you know, like make people disappear if he needed to." He made another face and shook his head. "Anyway. Most of us just figured he was yanking our chain, you know?--Mitch could always talk big, but never really did anything big, well, until..." He shrugged and looked down at his hands.

"So you'd seen Jenner around but just didn't put two and two together," Kristeva said.

Ace peered up at him, biting his lip. "Well...in, uh, retrospect, I guess it makes sense that he was the guy in a position of power, right? But like I said, we figured Mitch was just telling stories. He was like that. Sometimes I thought maybe, I dunno, he'd gotten in some kind of trouble and had to report back to this cop guy, and he just didn't want to tell us, but when I think about it that doesn't really make sense, Mitch would've just bragged about something like that. I guess it was kind of dumb of me not to put two and two together, yeah. But, well, in my defense, they didn't really seem to get along that much."

Devetko lifted his head and both he and Kristeva stared at Ace inquiringly until he started to fidget a bit. "Get along?" Devetko prompted.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, Mitch acted all cocky going to talk to him and stuff, but then when they were actually talking--and I'm sorry, I never heard anything they talked about--he kind of, I don't know how to describe it, well, you ever see a puppy that's pissed all over the carpet...? He kind of looked like that whenever they talked. That cop guy, Jenner or whatever, he never looked particularly threatening or anything, but that was how Mitch acted when they talked. Jeez." He grimaced. "Now it's obvious he was the guy! How could I have been so dumb...? I guess I just didn't want to believe it was a cop, you know? I have no problem with cops, never really have, I mean, the worst thing I ever did was drink before I was twenty-one, and trespassed a little in that stupid house, but that was all, none of that shit--sorry--stuff Mitch did."

"Stupid house." Devetko flipped a page. "You mean the abandoned house Mitch and his gang hung out in on Saturday nights, right?"

"Yeah, well, except it wasn't really a gang or anything like that, Detective. Really we were just there to get plastered and listen to Mitch yap about whatever. And cripes, did he ever yap. Always waving his stupid little book around and blathering like he knew it all. Jeez, why did I hang out with that moron..."

"Stupid little book..." Devetko said, and turned another page, and only then did Kristeva realize he was actually looking at a file.

"The Satanic Bible," he said, and the other two looked at him. "In the court transcripts it was mentioned how he would read from it and claimed to follow its philosophy. A false claim, by the way, since it doesn't advocate animal mutilation or murder."

"Yeah," Ace said. "I mean, I don't know shi--um--anything about that kind of stuff, but, well, after this all blew over, I looked the thing up, just to see what it was about, since I didn't really get it at the time, but I read it, and it was all weird and stuff and wasn't at all like anything I'd like to follow, but at the same time, it wasn't really like the stuff Mitch kept preaching, you know? I remember at the time I figured he was pulling all of this stuff out of his a--um--out of thin air, and well, maybe I was right."

"Maybe not," Kristeva said, earning another look. "Something that was never made clear in the court transcripts was the ownership of this house you all met in."

"Oh. It was really abandoned, I remember that, 'cause Chief Bowen mentioned it, he got a search warrant for the house because Mitch was trespassing and didn't really own it."

"Did you ever have any other issues with police coming to the house? Police besides Officer Jenner?"

Ace opened his mouth, then shut it. Blinked. "Uh...no. Not when I think about it. Wow...sounds kind of crazy now! I mean, sometimes we'd blast music there at all hours of the night, and then there was the weird shi--um--stuff that Mitch would do, like one time he killed this cat..." another grimace "...and stuffed it under the floorboards...sorry...don't want to think about that too much. I knew I should've stopped going there when he got into that crazy animal stuff. Oh!" His head abruptly popped up and he pointed at Kristeva. "I knew your name was familiar! You were on that news thing a while back--and you're that guy who investigates dead animals and stuff! Right?"

Devetko turned to look at Kristeva, who didn't even bother trying to hide his own grimace. "Yeah...and other things. I guess it didn't occur to you that maybe Jenner had a hand in keeping everyone else away from the house, did it."

Ace's eyes grew wide. "Oh! I mean--yeah, I guess that makes sense! No wonder he kept stopping by but not doing anything about us being there...wow! 'Cause he was in on it?" He shuddered. "God am I glad I got out of that life! I hate asking it, 'cause I know there's probably nothing you yourself could've done, but, how does somebody like that even get on the force, anyway?--I mean, don't they test you guys or something...?"

"Some people are just good at gaming the system." Kristeva raised his eyebrows and looked at Devetko, since he'd been about to say something similar, and hadn't expected his partner to beat him to the punch. Devetko didn't even look up from his files, so he turned back to Ace.

"Yeah...I guess," Ace said. "Kinda get the feeling that's what Mitch would've wanted to do, well, if he'd been smart enough." He noticed Kristeva's look and shrugged a little. "I know I'm not too bright, Detective...never said I was...but I can pick up a thing here and there. Like these computers. And yeah, I know, I never did anything useful with the info, but anybody could've seen Mitch had some screws loose." He frowned. "Makes me wonder what the fu--um--what this Officer Jenner guy saw in him, you know?"

Now Devetko looked up, and Kristeva could tell he'd thought the same thing. "That's actually what we were about to ask...if you had any idea why Jenner would single out Mitch to work for him."

"'Work for'...?"

"Officer Jenner was employed in a secondary line of work as an enforcer. You'd probably know it better as a hitman."

Ace's eyes went round. "Holy shit."

"And considering his connections and all, it just strikes us as odd that Mitch is the best he could do in terms of recruiting somebody."

Ace frowned. "Well...maybe he wasn't the best? I mean, if there's a cop in on it, then maybe there's some guys you missed?--some guys higher up than Mitch? No offense, I'm not saying you're stupid or anything. Maybe Mitch was just, I dunno, the easiest guy to catch? I mean...maybe that cop guy hired him because he's stupid...?"

Silence. Kristeva and Devetko stared at him so long that he started to fidget, and actually turned to the nearby computer and punched a few keys, not really looking at the screen, as if to give himself something to do. "It was just an idea," he piped up after a moment.

"Actually not a very bad one." Kristeva frowned a little now, the other two looking at him. He shrugged. "You saw him, you really think he would've been stupid enough to employ Mitch on accident?"

"You think Mitch was meant to get caught all along? Jenner ended up in prison, too."

"But that was something different, wasn't it?" They looked back at Ace, who was looking from one of them to the other. "I mean...yeah, that cop ordered Mitch to shoot that lady, but that thing with that other lady and Kinnie, that was just bad luck, right...?"

"He didn't know Kinnie was going to show up." Devetko said this as if just realizing something, and flipped through the pages; Kristeva finally leaned to the side to peer at it and realized it was at least part of the trial transcripts. "He even admitted it on the stand," he went on, stopping on a page. "'Lt. Kincaid wasn't part of the plan.' He really didn't intend to shoot him, at least not that night. Ms. Cooper was his target, and he claimed he only went after her because she seemed to possess some knowledge of the case, even if she said it was 'psychic knowledge.'" He turned a page. "July Lockett was the only original target."

"Two birds with one stone?" Kristeva suggested. "Use the opportunity to get rid of July to get rid of Mitch as well. The question is, why."

Devetko nodded toward Ace. "He already gave a theory."

Ace blinked. "I did--?"

"'Maybe there's some guys you missed,'" Devetko said, "'some guys higher up than Mitch.' Maybe not just higher than Mitch, but higher than Jenner, too. Jenner said he was just a cog in the machine, meaning somebody else is running things. Letting the little cog take the fall can draw attention away from where it really matters."

Kristeva made a face. "Shit...I was wondering why Jenner caved so easily when he was caught. Pleading guilty and testifying for the prosecution and everything? That part of the case never made sense to me. He was too helpful. Because he was drawing attention away from somebody, himself." He snorted and pushed Devetko's folder shut. "He practically told us so himself...I just didn't catch the meaning. Should've known the asshole was still up to something."

A clacking noise drew their attention back to Ace, who was typing a bit manically on the computer. "Sorry," he said sheepishly when he noticed their attention, "nervous habit." He shoved the keyboard back and turned on his stool, fiddling his fingers instead. "I was just thinking, you know, if that Jenner guy wasn't the one in charge, well, who does that leave?--somebody even higher up than that? Who would that be, even?--another cop? I don't think I'd ever believe it'd be Kinnie, I mean, yeah, he's a little weird, but not murderer-weird. So...who else? Sheriff Rhoades? Chief Bowen...?"

"I really doubt that," Kristeva and Devetko said at once, and looked at each other, both frowning; Kristeva belatedly realized he'd been defending Rhoades, and he suspected Devetko was defending Bowen, though he had no idea why either of them would be doing this, and he could tell Devetko was thinking the same thing. They deliberately looked away from each other, saw the uneasy look Ace was giving them both, and Kristeva felt his ears grow warm.

"Well..." Ace slowly drew the keyboard back toward himself. "I mean, I wasn't saying it was them...just...I dunno...thinking out loud, you know? Maybe it's somebody else, maybe not even a cop at all, I don't know. I don't think I know anything."

"You've actually been pretty helpful," Kristeva said, hating how it sounded more like a backhanded compliment than anything, but Ace perked up a little anyway. "We might have more questions in the future but I think that's it for now."

"Okay. I'm glad I could help, I mean, if I really did. Oh..." He stood up as they did the same, and wrung his hands a little. "Um...seeing as there's probably still somebody out there involved in all this...do you, I dunno, think I might be in any danger or anything? I mean...even Mandie went into hiding somewhere, Kinnie told me, he said he could do the same for me if I wanted it but I didn't think I needed it back then since Mitch and that cop were in jail..."

"Kinnie hid Mandie--?" The words popped out of Kristeva's mouth before he thought about them; Devetko frowned but the confused look that flitted through his eyes made it clear this was news to him, too.

Ace blushed. "Well--I mean, I figured you knew? After the trial. She was freaked out about the whole thing, and Kinnie said he helped her find someplace safe to live. I don't think it's too far away or anything, but I have no idea where it is, so maybe he did a good job. He offered to do the same for me but since Mitch was put away I figured I was safe! You think maybe I should look into it after all--?"

Kristeva took a breath, made himself think this time, and let it out. "No...there's no reason to think you might be in any danger at the moment. We're just following up a cold case. Might not even be directly related." He ignored the sideways look Devetko gave him. "If the situation changes we'll make sure to let you know. You just...keep doing whatever this is you're doing with these computers, all right? Keep yourself out of trouble. We'll get in touch if we need to know anything else."

"Okay then...like I said, I don't think I have anything else, but I'll be right here, I guess." His face lit up. "Unless I really get things going and get a bigger place! Might need more room for my server..." He'd been turning to the computer, but turned back again, and hurried through the main room of the apartment. "Oh! Let me show you out...watch your step...and feel free to stop by any time, I'm not going anywhere just yet..."

On the landing, Devetko made a point of stopping by the elevator, as he had before on the way up, but Kristeva headed for the stairs instead. They fell into step beside each other and started heading down.

"Pussy," Devetko muttered.

"Any particular reason you're so quick to jump to Chief Bowen's defense...?" Kristeva said.

"Any particular reason you're doing the same for Sheriff Rhoades...?"

"Rhoades is an asshole, and I'm pretty sure he has loads of ulterior motives, like shipping me off to languish in the MPD, but I seriously doubt he's in league with a Satanist hitman."

"And I could say the same about Bowen, except leave out the asshole and ulterior motives parts."

"Considering that Bowen's the one who shut down the original case, are you still so ready to say he has no 'ulterior motives'...?"

"Word through the grapevine is that Rhoades shipped you off to the MPD to keep an eye on Kinnie after that whole Jenner fiasco. What was that you were saying about motives, again?" Kristeva's expression soured. "So the word through the grapevine is true, then," Devetko added.

"Whatever Rhoades's motives in shipping me off to the MPD, no, I never had any intention of spying on Kinnie for him. Where exactly is this grapevine you've been listening to, by the way...? Because it'd sure be nice to know why everybody there has hated me from the start."

"You're not as wonderfully subtle as you like to think you are. A cop gets transferred from one station to another with no real explanation, rumors are going to fly around. So if you never had any intention of doing what Rhoades asked, why did you go along with it?--because it hardly sounds like you're a fan of his, either."

"Take a look what Kinnie's reputation is, and then look at my reputation, and you should have your answer, since you're so astute and all."

Devetko opened his mouth, then shut it and looked back ahead. "Oh."

"Translation, please?--just so I know you're on the right track."

"Kooky Kinnie, who's always looking into weird cult cases," Devetko said, "and you, the guy who investigates dead animals."

"Guess you're right, and I'm not too subtle after all." He skipped a step, just to make Devetko have to do the same to keep up. "Rhoades and I have our history...I won't get into it. Let's just say he had plenty of reason to want me out of there."

"You seem to have a lot of history with people."

"Keeping an eye on Kinnie was just the most convenient excuse. Oh, sure, he probably wanted me to do that, too. And I admit I jumped at the chance. Not to spy on Kinnie or the MPD, though. It's just that the MPD has better resources than the Sheriff's Department."

"Kinnie's focus on ritual crimes." Devetko frowned. "You really think that's what's behind all the dead dogs and farm animals?"

"Singer's report kind of makes it clear, doesn't it? I figured you were past the doubting stage, by now."

"That still doesn't explain why you think the sheriff deserves the benefit of the doubt."

Kristeva rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, how about this one, then. He's the guy who felt somebody had to keep an eye on Kooky Kinnie because obviously, all these reports about cults are just bullshit, and anyone looking into such stuff is giving the department a black eye. If you really think Rhoades had me looking into this to make sure nobody found out too much, you're overestimating his interest in the matter. He thinks Kinnie's as big a crackpot as anybody. Still have him pegged as the grand Satanic pooh-bah, now?" They turned a corner and kept heading down. "And how quickly you forget that even Jenner said Bowen had a hand in keeping the entire case quiet."

"I figured you were smart enough to understand the why, when Mark Kincaid was more concerned about Kinnie's welfare than anything. And what were you just saying about crackpots?--yes, I've seen the looks they give you. Apparently Mark had some experience with that look. Did you stop to think that maybe the reason Bowen doesn't want anyone looking into this too much is exactly because people call our lieutenant 'Kooky Kinnie'...?"

Kristeva slowed down and stopped several steps from the bottom. Devetko didn't notice this at first, and halted only when he reached the bottom step, turning to frown up at him.

"What?"

"Footsteps." Kristeva looked at the floor, up at the stairwell behind him, and then down again.

Devetko waited a moment, then sighed and put his hand on the railing. "Mind sharing...?"

"Kinnie wasn't Jenner's original target, we know that already."

"Huh...? What's that have to..."

Kristeva waved his hand impatiently. "Bowen is good, Rhoades is good, let's just go with that, all right? I don't think either one of us really believes they're tied in with things even if they haven't been the most upfront."

Now Devetko rolled his eyes. "Believe what you want, but don't go speaking for me, I can make my own decisions."

"Fine, then. But anyway. What you just said about Mark knowing that look..."

"And I think that has a lot more to do with why the case was kept quiet than the chief being involved in some weird devil cult..."

"I'm actually agreeing with you here, all right?--let me finish?" He paused long enough for the other detective to barely suppress a scowl and cross his arms. "Mark knew this cult shit wouldn't be taken seriously. Bowen knows this cult shit won't be taken seriously. Me, I know it won't be taken seriously, I just don't care. Kinnie...I don't know what the fuck Kinnie knows about or not, but he doesn't seem to care what effect it might have on his reputation."

"He did sign those prison forms," Devetko said.

"Something Bowen would've been super-pissed about, if he'd known. Bowen didn't even like him going to visit Jenner himself." He glanced up the stairs and then down again. "Kinnie might not have been the original target but he definitely was one, it just wasn't his turn yet. I don't know why yet, maybe he's more useful alive than dead. Still with me?"

A shrug. "Why not."

"Jenner mentioned how that could change, though. He said not following in his dad's footsteps was the reason he could end up dead. It was just a matter of time."

Devetko was silent. It was hard for Kristeva to read his facial expression in the dim light of the stairwell. "Mark was trying to be careful," he said after a moment. "He knew the way the case was perceived could ruin everything. Kinnie..."

"Kinnie's not so careful. He's never cared how the case is perceived, as long as it ends up solved. At least, that's what I assume, since I can never get a fucking read on him." He jumped the last few steps, landing beside Devetko, who let go of the railing and took a step back. "Know who else wasn't careful?--I'll give you one guess, he was off the cuff and not by the book."

"Being by the book doesn't seem to spare people from ending up dead, either."

"Well...maybe Mark wasn't being so careful anymore."

"So even if Kinnie hadn't interrupted Jenner's date, he would've ended up dead at some point."

"And still might. Not that I'm worrying about him too much at the moment, I think he can take care of himself. And Bowen's done a good job keeping everything quiet." Devetko's expression started to sour, but that wasn't why Kristeva fell silent for a moment. He looked back up the stairs, then at the door in the lobby ahead. "Shit."

"What now?" Devetko's voice was just as sour as his face.

Kristeva bit the inside of his mouth, then started for the entryway. "When I had Scott and Trace...some coworkers of mine from the Sheriff's Department--look through the county records to see if they had any info on the Singer case. Nothing that we didn't already have at the MPD. But they dug up Mark's part of the case, the raid where he found Kinnie."

"There's no way that info isn't also at the MPD."

"I know, I just wasn't looking for it at the time. That's just it, though. They were looking for Singer's case. They found Mark's case. He wasn't mentioned in it, but Tracy said the info on the Kincaid raid came up when she did a search for Singer's name."

Devetko shrugged. "If Singer's name was included in the search terms, yeah, of course it would bring up Mark's case since the two are related." The two of them stopped and stared at each other for a moment. "Shit," Devetko said.

"The city and county and state were involved in that raid," Kristeva said. "We had jurisdiction, but everybody helped out. So of course the Sheriff's Department has its own files."

"No particular reason to hide Singer's role in the case in plain sight, though, is there?"

Kristeva continued staring at him a moment or so more, chewing on the inside of his cheek, then resumed walking, albeit slower now. "So, okay...Rhoades was trying to keep things quiet, too. But it only makes sense if you include Bowen in the mix."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression they don't care for each other very much...?"

"Rhoades doesn't care for Bowen. I don't know what the chief thinks, maybe you're on a better wavelength with him." He noticed Devetko roll his eyes but ignored it. "Looks like they're in bed together on this matter, though. You still think Kinnie's welfare is the only reason--?"

"I never said it was the only reason. Just that for Mark, it was probably the main reason. Bowen and Rhoades, I can't speak for them. I'm kind of surprised you haven't picked up on the double meaning of what Jenner told us, though."

"Double meaning--?"

"Not following in his dad's footsteps. And throw in what you said about July while you're at it. Taking too long to do what she was supposed to. Kinnie said this Melissa lady tried to go after him first, then gave up and went after Mark. In the Jenner case, yes, Kinnie wasn't the intended target." He started fiddling with his umbrella. "He sure was the target back then, though."

Kristeva's face screwed up. "Shit...he really didn't follow in his dad's footsteps." He sighed and stepped aside as a couple of people entered the apartment building, then they passed through the foyer. "Unethical or not," he added, "I sure wish we could have a talk with Kinnie's shrink."

"Why not just ask him all this weird shit yourself? Didn't stop you from going into lovely detail about Mark's death the last time."

"I've heard stories that Kinnie has his snapping point. I'd really rather not see it for myself. I know I already mentioned the letter opener..."

"If a letter opener has you this scared, you have bigger problems than this case." Fwoomp--the umbrella popped open as they stepped outside. Kristeva held up a hand to shield his eyes from the rain. "And so what was your next idea, if not that? We seem to be running low on leads to follow up on..."

"I get the feeling we're just going to be spinning our wheels for a while. Comes with working cold cases. Think you might get too bored...?"

"I didn't get in this line of work to keep myself from being bored. If you have nothing else in mind, I have some papers I need to fill out."

Kristeva snorted and lowered his hand, giving up on keeping dry. "I have plenty in mind...just that it might be even more dull than filling out papers. Up to you, though. I can go solo if you want."

The silence this time was especially awkward, and he could tell Devetko had somehow seen through the comment, if the way he paused before opening the car door and looked at him was any indication. Kristeva returned the stare, ignoring how drenched he was getting. It must have only been a few seconds but this felt like it went on forever.

Fwoomp. "Somebody has to bail you out the next time you inevitably piss off somebody in charge," Devetko said, and disappeared inside the car.

Kristeva opened his own door. "I'm driving, then."

"I'm in the passenger seat already."

"Just saying."

"Shut up and get in the damn car."

Kristeva did so, sitting down abruptly enough that raindrops spattered against the other detective and he made a face; they both gave each other the finger at the same time. "Soon we'll be finishing each other's sentences," he said, and the look he got in response made him decide not to push his luck any further as he started the car.

Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 28

An odd musical note trilled, and then a distant pounding sound came.

Kristeva opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He furrowed his brow a little, then turned his head to the side. He was lying on his back on the bed; off to the side he saw that the closet was open, and when he looked down at himself, he noticed that he was wearing clothes different from the ones he'd had on...earlier? How much earlier?

He lifted his left wrist to look at his watch, and blinked when he saw that it was gone. Then thought to lift his right wrist instead, and there it was. Perhaps an hour had passed since he'd been down in the bathroom. Confused, he unlatched it and placed it back on his left wrist, then carefully pushed himself up and put his feet on the floor. He was almost afraid to stand, in case he'd hit his head on something on the way upstairs.

He stepped into the master bathroom long enough to notice his still-wet clothing in the hamper, along with a wet towel, which he could only assume he'd retrieved from downstairs...not that he recalled how any of these had ended up in here. Like the watch, he decided not to wonder about it too much, and headed downstairs. On the way down the musical trill sounded again--his doorbell, which he was so unused to hearing that it seemed foreign to him--and a second round of pounding, louder and more insistent than the first. He picked up his pace and made his way through the living room and to the entry vestibule. It was getting dark by now, so when he peered out the sidelight, he couldn't be positive who he was looking at, even though he had a good idea; it was just that he had no clue why he'd be there. Growing more perplexed by the minute, he unlocked and opened the door.

He had to step aside quickly to avoid being pushed as Devetko stepped in, shaking water off his umbrella as he shut it. "Don't you ever answer your phone?" he demanded, wiping his shoes and heading straight into the house without awaiting an answer.

Kristeva furrowed his brow again. "Must've shut it off." He shut the door and followed Devetko into the living room. "What are you doing here?" he asked, more mystified than offended.

Devetko set his umbrella on the coffeetable and looked left and right. "Judging by how you are at work, I assume you have some sort of station set up here, too?"

Kristeva gestured to the right. "Dining room."

Devetko turned to head that way, but paused and glanced around the room once again, at the hallways and landing and doors up above. "You live here by yourself?" he asked, frowning.

Kristeva almost grimaced now. "Why do people always ask me that--?"

Again he got no answer, and fumed to himself as he went in the direction Devetko had. The dining room could only be directly accessed through the kitchen, which one entered from a short hall at the back corner of the living room, and the few times he had visitors, they always got confused by this. He wasn't certain what made it so confusing, but apparently it was. He entered the kitchen, found it empty, and then went into the dining room, and found Devetko standing near the table, staring at the wall beside the computer. He stepped beside him and saw the odd look on his face.

"No wonder you have a reputation," Devetko said.

Kristeva shrugged. "Somebody had to look into all of it."

"Did they really?"

"You're really going to ask that now...?"

Devetko's own expression turned a bit sour when he must have found no retort for that, and he turned to the table instead and set a folder down. Kristeva recognized the case folder they'd been carrying around for what felt like forever by now but wasn't actually that long at all, and frowned. His frown grew when Devetko pulled out an unfamiliar photo and pushed it toward him. He bent down over it, but couldn't even tell what it was; it looked mostly like a dark background of lines.

"Maybe if you put it in a nice frame it could pass for a decent Modernist piece," he said.

Devetko rolled his eyes. "It's blown up," he said; then, when Kristeva just looked at him blankly, he sighed and pulled out something else. He set the childhood photo beside it, and Kristeva immediately noticed that the first image was merely a blown-up section of the second, what looked to be wooden slats. His frown started to turn into a scowl.

"Any reason you're still messing around with this photo when I told you it has nothing to do with anything--?"

"You say you don't remember when or where this photo was taken. You're sure this isn't your house?"

"Our house was considerably nicer than what looks like the inside of a barn, thank you very much."

"So it isn't a barn, either?"

"I can't imagine what I would've been doing inside a barn."

"I spent half the evening searching the Web for different types of wooden buildings and got nowhere. Which I pretty much expected. But I did notice something when I enhanced the photo and blew it up..."

"You took this thing to a fucking lab--?"

"I took this thing to some photo-editing software. It's really not rocket science to increase brightness and contrast and blow something up." He looked at Kristeva for a moment, then back down at the photos. "All right, so maybe for you it's rocket science, but nowadays anybody with a computer, a scanner, and a photo program can do it."

"You have a scanner?"

"It's hooked up to the printer." Devetko put the original photo back in the folder so abruptly that it looked like he wished to hurl the entire thing across the room. "If anyone is ever patient enough to get that dinosaur to work."

Kristeva's mouth twitched. "Careful, I might start liking you." He ignored the frown he got in return and nudged the photo back toward the folder. "That doesn't explain why you're still messing with this thing, after I told you not to."

"I spotted something in the background and decided to try enhancing it and blowing it up. It looks like some sort of tag or label, but I can read only part of it, and I'm not sure what it's for." He pulled something out of his coat pocket and set it atop the photo. Kristeva made a clucking noise.

"Is that a bar magnifier, or are you just happy..."

"Finish that sentence, and I'll shove it down your throat. You look at it and see what it says."

Kristeva bent down again and squinted through the acrylic. "You know your eyes are better than mine, right--?"

"It looks like the letters T-H-U."

"I'll take your word for it, I guess."

Devetko sighed through his nose. "What I'm getting at is, do those letters hold any significance?"

"How would I know? 'Thu' is really supposed to mean anything--?"

"Not Thu, idiot. Obviously part of the word is cut off."

"So you're asking me to brainstorm words that start with 'Thu.' Seriously?"

"Thursday," Devetko said. Kristeva just stared at him. "Thud," he said; then, "Thump, thumb, thug, thunk, thus, thunder--"

"Thunderhead," Kristeva said, then blinked.

Devetko stared at him now. "Thunderhead...? That holds some kind of significance--?"

"This is your experiment, not mine."

"So what's 'Thunderhead'--?"

"I want to say it's a horse name." Kristeva made a face. "I don't know why I want to say that, though."

"Horse name." He expected Devetko to give him a very strange look, but instead the other detective peered at the letters through the magnifier, then scrolled it over the rest of the image. "I guess that could make sense...if this building is a horse stable. You'd have some reason to be standing in a horse stable...?"

Kristeva put his hands down on the edge of the table, as the room seemed to shift just slightly and he thought he might fall over. He blinked the fogginess away from the edges of his vision. "We had horse stables on our property when I was growing up," he said.

Devetko looked up at him, brow furrowing. "Horse stables--? You had horses, then--?"

"They got rid of them when I was little. The stables were empty after that."

"Was one of them named Thunderhead?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't remember being a kid that well, so it must've been pretty uneventful."

"Do you at least remember why they got rid of them?"

"There were coyotes in the area, and they killed one of them off. Probably didn't want to deal with the hassle of taking care of the rest."

Devetko turned away and looked toward the newspaper clippings beside the computer again, and Kristeva knew exactly what he was thinking. When he turned back, Kristeva was ready to snap at him to let it drop, but all that he said was, "Interesting," and put the blown-up photo back in the folder and shut it.

"And what's that supposed to mean...?"

"Just that it seems like there's a reason you're the guy who investigates dead animals, is all."

"So you think a coyote killing is big news around here, then...?"

Devetko picked up the folder and tamped its contents into place. "I think even you don't believe it was a coyote killing. Oh, and to answer your earlier question..." He gestured at the ceiling and walls--"The fact that this is a family house"--then at Kristeva's left side--"and that you're wearing that...that's why people keep asking if you live here by yourself."

He exited the dining room. Kristeva stared after him as he disappeared into the kitchen, then thought to look at his left arm again. The watch hadn't mysteriously switched sides a second time, but he noticed something else he hadn't seen before. He lifted his left hand and stared mutely at the gold band on his left ring finger.

Untitled Kristeva/DID Story: Part 27

For obvious security reasons, Kristeva's home computer didn't have access to the police databases, but there were civilian databases of missing persons online which he could--and frequently did--browse, plus it was faster. He didn't have to sit and wait ten minutes for the thing to boot up and finish loading everything, and didn't have to put up with its incessant groaning and creaking grinding on his nerves. He supposed that this was worth the sacrifice of limited database and software availability.

Most of his home browsing efforts were done on occasions when he found himself unable to sleep, but now it was only early evening. Both he and Devetko had been forced to start looking into other, fresher cases lest they be found to be negligent in their new positions; Devetko had seemed to handle the distraction well enough, browsing through the database and making calls, though Kristeva chafed at spreading his attention around--no matter how good he might be at doing so--and so heading home that afternoon had been a merciful break.

Most missing person cases were relatively trivial affairs. Runaway teenagers, mad at their parents. Runaway spouses, mad at their significant others. Runaways from life, mad at the world in general. Most missing people weren't truly missing, just temporarily misplaced. Most turned up okay. While on the one hand it was always good for a case to have a happy ending, still, he found that those cases irked him the most. It wasn't that he wanted a case to have an unhappy ending...just that the more ominous cases seemed to be a better use of his time and energy.

He felt on some level it was futile, but, after memorizing the sketch Kincaid had provided them, started keeping his eyes open for something similar in the local databases. He had no reason to believe "Melissa" was a missing person, but at least it gave him something to do to fill in an evening that would otherwise be silent and tedious.

After an hour or so of browsing through unfamiliar faces, he knew it was time to take a break when all of them started to blend into each other and look the same. He sat back, turned on the screensaver (fish swimming around in a tank), rubbed his eyes, and got up to head to the bathroom in the hallway.

He had to pass through the living room as he went, and without thinking glanced up at the landing to the upstairs level. The doorway to the master bedroom was visible to the left, another doorway to an unused bedroom to the right, and a painting hung on the wall between the two--a watercolor of a high bridge over a river. He slowed his step as he remembered how a painting of the Souris Narrows Bridge* had ended up on his wall, how he'd asked its creator to marry him mere moments after she'd shown him her work, how his space had been the corner of the dining room with its computer and wall of clippings and her space had been the unused loft area to the side of the master bedroom where she'd worked on her paintings, how three months later she'd taken all of her things and had gone and they hadn't talked to or seen each other since. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed this painting had been left behind. But every time he saw it hanging there it was like he'd forgotten.

He made a face, pushed the memory away, and continued to the bathroom.

At the sink he splashed water on his face, avoiding looking in the mirror at first, as the odd dream he'd had at the station remained in the back of his mind. When he finally lifted his head and peered at his reflection, all he saw was himself, though he didn't seem quite as recognizable as he used to be; he hadn't been aware just how dark the rings under his eyes were, before now, as if somebody had punched him in the nose. His stare shifted to the side, looking at the wall behind him just in case, but nobody stood in the empty shower stall/bathtub. He heard a splashing sound and looked down to realize that the water was still running; he shut it off, wiped his hands and face on a towel, and turned to the door to head back for the dining room, only his step faltered and he stopped without knowing what it was he was stopping for. He frowned and looked back into the bathroom, from the bathtub to the toilet and medicine cabinet to the sink and mirror to the towel rack and back again, growing more confused. When he found his stare settling on the shower stall again, it struck him, and he looked down into the empty bathtub.

"You said you were told it happened in a bathtub...that's a start."

The house had two full bathrooms, but he never used the bathtub, only the shower. It wasn't something he'd thought about before now, but when he mulled it over, it had always been that way. He tried to think of the last time he'd taken a bath and came up blank. He sometimes swam at a local pool--another good distraction when all the faces started merging together in his mind--and so had no problems with water itself...but when he tried to imagine why he'd never made use of the bathtub, it just seemed like something that would be unpleasant to do.

He briefly wished he'd never brought up the subject, since now he wouldn't be able to get it out of his head until he'd done what the psychologist had asked. Otherwise she would probably guilt-trip* him for ages. He made another face. Psychologists were a type of doctor, and he'd never cared for doctors.

He made to exit the bathroom again, and again halted. The look on his face turned into a grimace as he turned back to the bathtub and yanked the sliding glass door open. He almost expected to find the floor damp and droplets on the showerhead like he had in the upstairs bathroom, but he almost never used the shower in this one, and so they were bone dry. He held onto the door and stared into the bathtub for a little while, biting the inside of his mouth. He really didn't want to get in, but couldn't be sure whether it was because of actual distaste, or just a perverse desire to rebel against his mandatory therapy. Sitting in a bathtub hardly seemed like a legitimate therapeutical practice, anyway.

Once he thought this, as if to spite himself, he pushed the door open all the way and stepped over the tub's edge, turned, and abruptly sat down. He raised his hands in a Ta-da motion, as if demonstrating a magic trick to an audience. "There you go," he said aloud, and then looked up toward the ceiling, voice bouncing off the walls. "And so what should I be expecting, an epiphany--?"

He waited a moment--of course nothing happened--and reached up to grasp the metal bar along the wall. "Thought so," he said, pulling himself up onto one knee, and then he looked at the drain and paused in mid-crouch. The drain plug was sitting on a little shelf built into the wall, where it had been left for who knew how long, so that the bathtub couldn't function as a bathtub even if he did want to use it.

He sighed, picked up the plug, and climbed out. Turned on the water and let it get warm before putting the plug in the drain and then watching the tub as it slowly filled. He actually looked at his watch once or twice out of annoyance, even though it wasn't like he had anything better to do. When the tub was full he stopped the water, stood, and reached for the hem of his shirt, but then stopped. For some reason...climbing in the bathtub fully clothed was weird, but taking his clothes off seemed even weirder.

He rolled his eyes--as if anything should be making sense, by now--and stepped into the tub a second time, grasping the bar and sitting down carefully so he wouldn't slip and crack his head. He immediately felt foolish, sitting in tepid water in his clothes, and felt his ears growing warm as if somebody were watching; yet he stayed still and waited anyway. When nothing had happened after a moment or two, he felt even stupider, and was ready to climb back out, but made himself let go of the bar and lie back instead. The water came up around his ears and he lay staring up at the ceiling tiles for a few more moments, hearing his breathing and his heartbeat amplified in his head. He even heard a car pass by on the road out front of his house. He held his breath and the dull boom-boom-boom was all he heard.

Without giving it a second thought, he shut his eyes and sank until his head rested on the bottom, the water creeping up over his face and submerging him.

He kept holding his breath. The dull boom-boom-boom continued unabated. Colors swirled dimly behind his eyelids. Then, just as his lungs were starting to burn, a tiny glint flickered in the colored swirls, disappeared, then glinted again. The swirls darkened and disappeared, or merged into each other, or something; now he stared at a field of black, as if the lights in the bathroom had gone out, and the glint glinted again, only now it wasn't a glint but a circle, shining dimly but not illuminating anything. He stared at this, vaguely curious, but it didn't do anything else, just hung there.

Somewhere far off--in the back of his mind?--elsewhere?--a faint voice exclaimed, "What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to him--?"

Immediately it felt like clamps had shut over his arms. He opened his mouth in surprise and water flooded down his throat and into his burning lungs, now making them feel like they were on fire, and he tried to push himself up but his hands were useless. He thrashed his legs intead, kicking up gouts of water--meanwhile that little dim disk continued hanging over him and the disembodied voice kept saying, "What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to him--?"--and then suddenly his arms were working again, and he lunged upward, gasping and coughing up water and blinking his eyes open, seeing tile wall before him, his own wild-eyed and distorted reflection staring back from the hot and cold water knobs.

Just as immediately, the agonizing burning in his lungs vanished--he blinked again and opened his mouth to take a breath. His throat was dry and he actually coughed, though no water came up; after a few confused seconds of gasping in air and looking around himself, he realized he must not have breathed in any water at all, that it was just part of the--dream--or whatever that had been. He stretched and flexed his arms a few times, expecting numbness, but they felt fine. Further examination showed him the water all over the tub's edge and on the floor--he hadn't shut the glass door behind him--so the thrashing part had been real, at least. The rest of it had apparently been nothing more than his imagination.

Not quite sure what to think of this, he grasped the bar and carefully pulled himself to his feet. The water sloshed around him, cooler now than it had been when he climbed in. He stooped to pull the plug, then stepped out onto the wet floor, grabbing a towel from the rack and draping it over the tiles to soak up the worst of the mess and avoid a slip and fall. He then made his way up the hall and through the living room to the stairs and up to the master bedroom to change, because the feeling of the wet clothes clinging to him was almost more than he could bear right now.