Page 19 of Dropping Like Flies

Ben lifted his hand. It had barely moved an inch before it stilled, hung in mid-air for a few seconds, and then dropped back to his side. I assumed he’d been going to offer a reassuring touch or squeeze, but had thought better of it. Good. I didn’t need him touching me on top of everything else.

“I’m going to ask again,” Patrick said, his eyes focused on the bag on my shoulder. “What sort of specialist?”

Ben let out a sigh. “I thought someone would have spoken to you, given you pre-warning.”

“They didn’t. They haven’t.” Patrick’s clipped tone said he was running out of patience.

“I’m a necromancer,” I said as quietly as I could and it still be audible. “It’s been decided…” I hoped my words made it crystal clear that it hadn’t been my decision, that I was nothing more than the hired help. “That I’ll bring the corpse back so DCI Weaver can ask it some questions.”

Patrick’s eyes flashed, his words coming out in a hiss. “Corpse? It? Who the fuck is this guy?”

I grimaced. I’d never been known for my sensitivity, but over the last few years, it had only worsened, until all the dead bodies I saw, young, old, women, men, merged into one, becoming nothing more than a means of earning my salary. More money meant more whiskey. More whiskey meant I could numb myself against the world. And on it went in a vicious cycle. Awareness of being trapped in it didn’t mean I had the means to get out of it, or that I even wanted to. This wasn’t just any body, though. This was a murder victim.

“I apologize,” I said and meant it. “I wasn’t thinking.” What was the guy’s name? Something posh. Something that made me think of a bear. “Rupert. Not the corpse. And I should have said he, not it. I won’t make that mistake again.” Ben didn’t look any happier than Patrick. They should have sent Calisto. He oozed sincerity and goodness. He wouldn’t have made that mistake. Except, I knew where Calisto would have been in this scenario: over in the corner throwing up. With John absent, Cade really hadn’t had any choice but to send me. Lucky me.

Patrick shook his head, his jaw set. “What you’re suggesting is unnatural. It’s insane. It’s—”

“It’s a way of getting information,” Ben interjected. “An irregular one, yes. But the authorities have cleared it, so…”

Patrick continued shaking his head as he peeled one of his gloves off and pulled a phone out of his pocket. “I don’t believe you. They’d never authorize a change in policy like this without a hundred meetings first. You obviously think you can turn up here with a necromancer in tow and that I’ll turn a blind eye and let you do whatever you want. Well, I’m not putting my arse on the line like that.”

Ben and I shared a look as Patrick started talking rapidly into his phone. “Yeah, I’ve got some quack here at my crime scene.” I’d been called many things in my life, but that was a new one. “Reckons he’s going to bring the victim back. Do you know how damaging that would be to the evidence? Body position will change for a start. And who knows what else will be affected. It will make a mockery of the post mortem. Or are we just skipping that now in favor of mumbo jumbo? Someone should have told me that my skills are stuck firmly in the dark ages and they’re not required anymore.”

Either he ran out of steam or the person on the other end of the phone cut him off. The rush of color to his cheeks and the sheepishly muttered “yes, sir. Yes, I understand,” that followed, said it was the latter.

The call ended soon after, Patrick heaving out a breath that said someone had given him short shrift. “I stay,” he said, his jaw so tight that a headache would no doubt be on the cards later. “You need a witness, anyway.”

Did we? We’d never discussed the ins and outs of how this would work. Did Ben know? Or were we both just playing it by ear? I suspected we were.

Ben gave a terse nod. “Fine with me.”

He turned to me. Surprised to get a say, I shrugged. “Whatever.”

Patrick let out a snort. The man didn’t like me. That much was obvious. Either he’d taken exception to my face, which wouldn’t have been the first occasion that had happened, or he just didn’t like necromancers, which was also common. You didn’t go into necromancy to be popular. You went into it because you’d been born with the ability to do what only a minute percentage of the population could, and it was either hide it or make the most of it. And yes, the money was good.

Ben took it upon himself to clear the room. Some immediately bowed to his air of authority. Others were less keen, a few more phone calls made before the three of us were alone. Someone had definitely fucked up with spreading the word about my presence here. But then I guess my meeting with Baros had only happened the previous day. It wasn’t like anyone could have predicted victim number five arriving so soon. Memos were probably still languishing in pigeon holes.

“How long has he been dead?” Ben asked, as I bent over and unfastened my bag.

“Three hours tops.” Patrick provided the information without taking his eyes off me. Despite his conversation on the phone, he still emanated a disapproval so sharp that it cut like a razorblade. Or at least it would have if I cared more about what people thought of me, but I’d given that up a long time ago.

“Three hours is good,” I said as I pulled candles from the bag and arranged them around Rupert’s still and lifeless body, the task made more difficult by his twisted and half upright position.

Patrick stepped closer. “You can’t move him.”

I spared him a glance. “We never do.”

His snort said he thought I was bullshitting him. What did he think we did with the people we brought back? Lead them in a waltz like a crazed lunatic? As a forensic pathologist who only saw the worst of what nature had to offer, I should probably cut him some slack.

A pair of gloves appeared under my nose, Patrick shaking them when I didn’t reach for them. I frowned and looked to Ben. “I don’t know if it’s possible wearing gloves.”

“Try,” he said. “And if you can’t, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I took the gloves and put them on before lighting the candles. When I pulled the knife out of the bag, Patrick’s eyes went wide. Sensing the objection on the pathologist’s lips, Ben beat him to it. “Just let him do what he needs to do. Yes, this is a long way from standard procedure. I know that. You know that. Griffin knows that, but we’re here now, so let’s just get this done. If he can tell us the murderer’s name, it’ll save hours of investigation, not to mention preventing any more murders.”

Patrick said nothing, but I took his slight retreat as capitulation. With the gloves covering my hands, I drew the knife blade across my forearm rather than my palm.

“For fuck’s sake,” Patrick muttered in the background, his next words inaudible except for “contamination.”

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