Peals sat behind his large wooden desk, the wood had dings and nicks in it, but the matte green blotter in front of him seemed newer, with only a few ink stains. Bethany kept talking.
“I've explained some of my other abilities to Gwen here. Right now I have only two small complaints, then I'll get to work. First, since no one here seemed to know anything about me, why didn't anyone request information from the Westmorland national offices? Second, do you think you could ask Haversham to not paw me when I'm in analytical state? I have to remember everything that happens in that mode perfectly and, well, it's a little off-putting to tell the truth, since the man so clearly despises me, to have him also be fresh, thinking I don't realize what's going on, when the exact opposite is actually true.”
Peals sat still for a while, not moving. His expression didn't even change, but he didn't blink either, so Gwen knew something was up.
He got up and went to the door.
“Haversham, a word,” he pronounced dryly.
A few moments later, Haversham came to the door.
“Yes, chief?” He asked, sounding polite enough to Gwen's ears. He rubbed at his mustache when he saw Bethany sitting there, to hide the look of disgust that crossed his face, most likely. It was an unconscious type of gesture, Gwen recognized. He was disgusted and couldn't keep that off his face, but he knew it was wrong on some level too, so he tried to hide it, at least from his boss.
Peals motioned him to pull another chair over, from closer to the wall.
“It seems that we've... been misinformed as to who and what exactly a Westmorland detective is all this time. Miss Westmorland has requested that you, and I'm quoting here, “stop pawing her” which seems reasonable enough to me.”
When Haversham started to speak, a denial, Bethany shook her head.
“Haversham. Don't bother denying it. I was there, after all. If you could just not do that in the future, especially when I'm in one of my work modes? I mean, if you just wanted a date or something, that would be different, but, well, I'm sure you can understand that in any of my work states it would be highly distracting?” She didn't seem angry about his previous actions, stating all of this in a matter of fact manner. To Gwen's surprise she didn't even sound cold, almost like she'd gladly let him “paw” her in a non-work state or something if he wanted. It was more polite than Gwen would have managed.
The man turned red, Gwen thought he blushed at first, but he kept going past red and into purple, veins popped out near his temples. He looked like he wanted to start yelling at them, but didn't speak, Peals stare seeming to pin him in place.
“I have to agree, Bertie. If you want to pay court to her, you need to do it properly. I don't want to ever hear of you stepping out of bounds with any woman under your charge again, is that understood? Miss Westmorland has been most understanding about this, but don't push your luck. Now get out of here before I change my mind and sack you for violating trust.” His voice came out like gravel, and a bit sad at the same time, as if he had expected better of Haversham and felt very let down and disappointed in him.
Haversham stood stiffly and marched out of the room without looking back. When he shut the door, Peals looked at them both.
“I'm sorry for our failures, Detective Westmorland. Please know that we'll do our best to repair this in the future. I trust that you're fine with this outcome as far as Haversham?” He looked at her.
Waving her fingers slightly, Bethany agreed that this seemed the best way for now.
“After all, he didn't do anything that a normal man wouldn't have been tempted to do in a similar situation. No need to ruin him over it or anything,” she allowed.
Peals nodded.
“Kind of you... As to why we didn't contact the home office about you... We weren't really supposed to have you here, you know, so when you came and started working here six months ago, we didn't want to let anyone know. Your pay came regularly, so we figured we could pretend that you were sent, when the hammer finally came down and you were taken away. I suppose you'll be leaving now?” He sighed.
Shaking her head, Bethany looked at him squarely.
“No, sir. I requested this office. It kept coming up in my intuitive state that I needed to be here, and until my work here is done, I'll remain. Unless you don't want me of course. The only difference now is that, with good management, you'll get to see what I can really do. Which is a good deal more than what you've seen so far.” Her eyes went to Gwen. “I think... I need to check this out in intuitive mode, but my guess is that I'm here because this is where Miss Farris was going to show up. She's unique to our world and may prove to be an asset in the future.”
Gwen didn't understand how she could be an asset here, ignorant as she was, and said so, but promised to help if she could. Peals laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“You've already done things that we hadn't in six months, Miss Farris. This alone,” he gestured toward Bethany, “is worth more than I can express. Of course, as a reward I have only more work for you both, but that's the life of a Constabulary Detective, no? What do you suggest as the best use of your talents, Detective Westmorland?” He asked, his eyes curious.
Beth didn't speak, looking at the other woman instead.
Gwen thought she knew what they should do next and said so.
“Bethany has intuitive abilities that haven't been used at all in this current case. I think we should get her into that state and see what our next move should be.”
Bethany nodded.
“Once I go into state, I won't speak unless asked a question though, so try to ask good ones.” She smiled.
Gwen nodded, since that made sense to her. Intuition being responsive, instead of proactive, most of the time. “Alright then, Bethany, please go into your intuitive mode now,” Gwen said, hoping she phrased it correctly or at least close enough that Bethany wouldn't self-destruct or something awful like that.
The other woman's face suddenly went blank, her eyes not tracking the room anymore.
“Bethany,” Gwen tried to get her attention. “Where do you think the next attack will take place, in regards to the current case.” She phrased this carefully, trying to make sure she didn't start the other woman talking about a mugging down the street.
“In three days. The information we find at the scene of the last attack will be our best lead.” Her voice came out sounding devoid of life.
“Do you mean the attack on me?” Gwen tilted her head, because something didn't feel right.
“No... the last one.” The voice was slow and hesitant, almost as if the detective was drugged or half asleep.
“Where is that, when did it take place.” Gwen had a strong sense of foreboding.
“Last night, in the warehouse district, near the docks. Building twelve. Under the ground.”
Peals wrote this down and ran to the door.
“We may have another one. We need to check it out. In force.”
Then he ordered all available personnel to the crime scene.
Chapter eight
Warehouse twelve by the docks stored and processed meat and meat products, and used an underground storage area – an insulated ice house set up – to keep things cool even during the hot summer months when the meat would go bad before they could can or cure it otherwise. They didn't seem to use refrigeration here, at least not wide scale, preferring ice houses and delivery. This meant that meats were smoked, canned, and cured in salt, or even dried, a lot more often than she was used to. A lot of the meat she'd eaten had been killed within a few days of eating, at facilities in the city, she guessed, maybe even the same day. Otherwise it would just go bad.
Given the other cases, they found the altar, with a body on it, easily enough.
Gwen walked into the room with Bethany, noticing that no one seemed to be following good crime scene procedures. She asked Peals about it, trying to be delicate, but really wondering if tramping all over the evidence was a good idea.
“What are we supposed to do? We take notes and try to preserve the information as best we can,” he answered his face looking a bit disgruntled. Gwen could see that, she didn't know his job better than he did after all. Still, could the fact that she just knew different stuff help at all?
She thought for a bit, her brow furrowing a little in effort, after all, what did they even have here? They couldn't match DNA or anything like that, probably not even fingerprints, though she didn't know that for certain. “You have cameras here, right? I saw an ID photo... Wouldn't it be a good idea to have pictures taken of the scene? That way if something gets missed now, someone might notice it later, in a picture.” Peals stared at her for a while, and she thought he'd yell at her, his face looked so strange and perplexed. Instead he asked everyone to quickly back out of the space, and try to not disturb anything.
He made a call, or rather had someone else run and make a call somehow, and a man showed up with several cameras within half an hour. He took pictures of the crime scene, following instructions called out by Peals who stood on the stairs that led to the surface. It went well until the photographer reached the body and couldn't continue. The man just froze and refused to go on, shaking a bit.
Gwen had been watching how he worked the camera, which seemed pretty basic to her, if a little primitive. It required manual focusing and the film to be advanced by hand by cranking a little lever back and forth four times with each picture taken. The flash seemed to be automatic, oddly enough, an extra bright version of the lights in the glow lamps she'd seen all over the place.
“Here, I can get the pictures of the body. My idea and all,” she said, taking the camera from the man who'd paled at the sight through his lens already.
She took pictures from every angle she could reach including some of the bottom of the stone altar the woman, one with dark hair that looked eerily similar to her new body, lay on naked. It made her wonder if she'd been naked when they stabbed her. She hadn't noticed at the time and no one had mentioned it to her. It seemed odd that she'd noticed the knife but not being without clothes. Then again, maybe not so odd, not having been able to move at the time.
A sheet had been placed over the victim by one of the men, which Gwen pulled back, figuring that lacking DNA and fingerprint evidence gathering ability, the men hadn't really disrupted much with all their tramping around, not even when they covered the body like this. She knew they didn't have those things for a simple reason once she took a minute to think about it. If they had, the crime scene would have been treated far more carefully to begin with. Simply having the tech dictated how things were done.