Waving this away herself, trying to copy the gesture she'd just seen Vernor use as exactly as possible, Gwen smiled.
“That's silly of course. If she needs to read my mind to find out more about what happened to me, she's welcome to, as long as we take these,” she censored her language, knowing that what she'd almost said would bother the men around her, “people that tried to kill me, and have killed those others, down. We need to stop them. Not that I can really get myself to believe in mind-reading yet, but if it's what it takes, then so be it. After all, I really doubt that anything in my head will shock her overly, not if she reads other people's minds too.”
Bethany finished eating then and sat, thinking about the case, or at least that seemed likely to Gwen. The detective still held the spoon in her right hand and the small food container on her lap with her left hand holding it in place.
The men sat and talked about what the job entailed, with Gwen asking what she hoped would be reasonable questions every few minutes. It seemed to her that she just needed to go where the other woman went and make certain she ate enough, got rest, and bathed regularly. The rest, making the food, doing the laundry, and so on could be done by others, they told her. People would want the work as long as they didn't have to be too close to a Westmorland personally.
A soft knock came at the door after about forty minutes of talking.
“Come in,” Peals said loudly.
The door opened and the older detective that Gwen had borrowed the truncheon from poked his head in.
“Wright cracked, sir. He's spilled a half dozen names and locations. It looks like, if this information is solid, we can finally take the ring down for good.” Seeing Peals nod, he pulled his head back out and shut the door.
“Theft ring on the East side. They've ruled the lower class areas of the city for too long. They mainly prey on the poor, using intimidation to keep their activities secret. This may be the information we need. So far no one's been willing to talk, even using... inducements, hasn't been effective, until now,” Chief Peals told them. Gwen had a strange feeling that inducements the way Peals meant it didn't include bribes or payoffs at all. Not squealing on your friends for a new toaster or anything like that. He'd mentioned beatings earlier, so was it that? It could be. The threat of harm was generally more useful than torture was in the end, if television action shows could be trusted.
Mr. Vernor offered to take her anywhere she desired to go, but Gwen didn't have any place in mind and said so, trying to sound as polite and confident as possible. This left everyone at loose ends, not knowing what to do. Gwen finally decided to simply pick a course of action, then play it by ear.
“I'll stay with Bethany, for now at least. This gives me something to do and I can, possibly, be of help in the case, even though I don't know enough about this world to help directly. If we could get the address or location identifier, whatever you use here, maybe solicitor Grimes could arrange for cleaning and meals as he mentioned? At least until I learn what to do.” She said this as if it were an actual plan, not knowing how anyone would react. Everyone simply went with it, as if moving in with a stranger seemed normal here. Then again, out of all these people, the one she'd spent the most time with so far really had been the detective and she pretty much had to move in with someone. That or find a hotel room or something. Plus she was a woman, which seemed to be important here, making her instantly more qualified to take care of a person like Beth than any of the men were. Given the way they'd botched it so far, she could see why they might think that way. How hard would it have been to walk a sandwich over and ask her to eat twice a day?
They left the office, Mr. Vernor and Grimes going off to make arrangements, and Bethany moving back to her desk. Not knowing what else to do, Gwen followed her, looking around for a chair, only to have the blond detective from the hall bring her one without being asked.
“I'm Wilbur. Pleased to meet you,” he said politely, leaving the chair for her. This caused a few of the other men to laugh a little. He didn't seem flirtatious, if Gwen could judge such things at all, which she probably couldn't here. Not knowing what else to do, she tried to smile back and muttered her thanks. At least they all knew who she was, right?
Across the room, the thief, Wright, saw her and blanched a little, so she waved to him, just moving her fingertips. He made a small moaning sound and started talking to the older detective again, glancing at her several times.
At shift change, a little over two hours later, she decided to take the other woman home, simply asking Bethany to lead the way. To her surprise it worked. She followed along with her, the woman walking as if in a dream, leading her to a door that had been left unlocked. Inside the place was still and clean, but slightly musty, as if it hadn't had good airflow for a while.
Gwen opened a window and sat down, trying not to rub at her chest. She noticed how good it felt to sit and relax. Bethany just stood, still working on her case, even at home. It hardly seemed fair, so Gwen waved toward the sofa.
“Bethany, why don't you sit down and relax? Stop working for a while and let go of things? I don't know if I can make tea or anything, but there's no reason for you to keep working for the time being. I don't know how to let you let go of work for a while, but you should do that now, at least for a bit.”
Bethany sat down and sighed.
“Oh, gods!” She said to Gwen, looking at her closely. “You don't know how good it feels to just be for a bit.”
The sudden outburst took Gwen by surprise. Mainly it was the emphatic way she said it. Filled with actual emotion.
“Hey! You speak! I thought it was all work all the time with you, from what I'd seen so far.” Stretching the other woman shook her head. The stretching worked into something more complex, like a series of real exercises, with arms twirling and mid-section twisting. She spoke while moving, a soft smile on her face.
“No, we're only supposed to be kept like that when actively working. It's actually bad for us to hold that kind of state too long. They left me like that for months. My last caretaker took over in the middle of a case, kind of like you did, but didn't ever bother telling me to stop work for a while. Not even a few minutes a day. I don't think anyone at work knows really. I was just kind of dumped on them about six months ago, sent by national, and then forgotten about, since I was where I needed to be. No one wants a Westmorland around until they need one, then we're suddenly worth our weight in gold.” She stopped suddenly, eyes going wide.
“Oh my! I'm so sorry. You were attacked and taken from your whole world and here I am going on about my little difficulties. Thank you, by the way. Those morons at work would have let me starve to death. Plus Haversham, the one that came to get me from the hospital the other day? He keeps taking liberties with me, since he knows I'll do whatever he says. It wouldn't be so bad, except he treats me like dirt the rest of the time... “Westmorland, come. Westmorland, sit. Westmorland, suck my cock.” Alright, he hasn't said the last one yet, but only because he doesn't know that I could follow directions that complex, I'm sure.” She yawned, her eyes going to the clock on the wall, which seemed to say about ten minutes till eight. It didn't have numbers, just little blips of metal that you had to count instead.
“Really, I only need to be in work mode part of the time, even on a case like this. Plus, I have three different work modes, and they've only been using the analytic. I can go into an intuitive mode as well and telepathic for interviews. Intuitive is where the real payoff comes for this kind of thing. I guess no one told them all this. You'd think that detectives would have figured all this out by now, wouldn't you? I mean they seem to know I can read minds, but they hadn't even noticed that I haven't been?”
Gwen found herself amazed as information came rushing out of the woman next to her, her face lighting up as she recounted the last few months, grimacing in remembered pain and hunger at times, and at other instances laughing at things she'd found hilarious when they happened, but couldn't respond to. Gwen sat and listened, trying to take it all in.
Shaking her head, Gwen smiled at her when she finally wound down.
“You hardly need a caretaker at all, do you?” she asked.
“Oh, sure I do,” the other woman said. “I need someone to keep things like the last months from happening and to get me into the right state at the right time. If I were on a more normal assignment other Westmorlands would see to it, of course, we back each other up, but on a solo like this, I desperately need the help. When I'm in intuitive state, the right questions have to be asked, for instance, and the same for telepathic. We can't really count on the Constabulary for all that yet. I also need someone to get me out of work mode regularly. I'm not supposed to be in any given state more than a few hours at most. Obviously I can survive it in analytical, but if I got stuck in one of the other states it would probably drive me mad.”
She got up and walked over to where Gwen sat.
“If it wasn't for you, who knows how long they would have kept me like that. I probably would have starved to death or died of exhaustion within another few weeks. On the good side, I get to give a few of them a piece of my mind in the morning!” She actually seemed happy about that, so Gwen smiled too.
Chapter seven
That night Gwen lay on the small single bed in the tiny room, eight by ten feet she guessed, that apparently made up her new quarters. It suited her for now, the close walls feeling safe and cozy. The single glow lamp on the wall overhead not looking too different from a normal light fixture, especially after she turned it off.
She knew she'd slept, probably for about six hours, before waking up in the dark. The feel of the blankets seemed odd, smoother and crisper than she'd been used to at home, more like what she expected from a hospital than a private bedroom. The bed itself was soft, the mattress had felt hard to the touch at first, but gave under her weight. It didn't have a box spring, just a single thick pad sitting on a hard wood frame.
It took her a while to understand what had been happening to her, why she'd acted so oddly that day at the police station. The Constabulary detectives office, she remembered. She had to use the right names for this place as soon as she could, or someone would figure out that she wasn't from around here, which could hurt Katherine's parents. If they didn't figure it out from all the other things she'd already done.
Stopping the man in the hallway, that was all her. What she'd have done at home too, had the same situation come up. The police hadn't helped her a lot back home, but most of them had at least pretended to care on some level, so she'd help them out if possible. The only reason she hadn't used a weapon at the time had to do with the fact that nothing presented itself. Over the years she'd learned not to hit anything with her fist, if she could help it, saving that for situations where she ended up unarmed. Her right hand ached, reminding her of why she needed to remember that here too, new world or not. At least nothing had broken, but she'd have a deep bruise around the first three joints on that hand she knew, come the next day.