Page 75 of Dropping Like Flies

Griffin blew out a breath and I knew he was searching for the right words. I reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m fine. Honestly, I am. That”—I pointed in the direction we’d just come—“makes me feel like a fraud, that’s all. If anyone, it should have been you they were congratulating.”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s Asher we both have to thank.”

He’d told me what had happened, but as neither of us could make head nor tail of how Asher could have known Flynn’s address, the conversation had proved short-lived. I intended to ask Asher a few questions myself when the opportunity arose. Right now, though, we had bigger fish to fry. Serial killing fish. Levering myself away from the wall and forcing myself out of the mindset of having accepted accolades I didn’t deserve, I kept walking.

The scene when we arrived in the observation room was eerily reminiscent, even down to it being Lou and Emma doing the interviewing. Only instead of Dougie in the hot seat, it was Flynn. For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, adrenaline and fear kicking in to transport me back to the bedroom where he’d rendered me helpless. Griffin looped his fingers around my wrist and squeezed, a non-verbal message to say he felt it, but that I’d be okay, that he was there for me. It wasn’t holding my hand, but it was the next best thing. I dragged in what air there was in the slightly stuffy room and forced myself to focus on Flynn, telling myself that he was just another killer, and that I’d dealt with plenty of them in my career.

The first thing I noticed were the blue eyes—the contacts either confiscated or he’d chosen not to wear them. The next was that he was back to being all boyish charm and good looks as Lou and Emma questioned him, with no sign of the crazed man who’d pinned me to a bed and had every intention of doing to me what he’d done to the rest of the victims. Curiosity had me ignoring us not being alone and turning to Griffin to ask the question I’d so far avoided. “Was there nothing that made you think twice about him?”

Griffin’s gaze dropped to his feet, the tinge of red that appeared on his cheekbones making me want to take the question back. “No,” he finally said. “There wasn’t. I thought he was exactly what he said he was.”

Lou’s body language reeked of frustration as he turned the questions to Flynn’s reason for the murders, only for the man to sit back in his chair, cross his arms over his chest, and go silent. There was no lawyer next to him, but I didn’t know what that meant. Probably that he knew he was going down for this either way and that he felt he was quite capable of not being pushed into saying anything he didn’t want to. He’d demonstrated that perfectly so far.

A knock came on the interview room door, Lou stepping out while Emma continued asking questions. My partner wasn’t gone long, his body language noticeably more chipper when he stepped back into the room. What was that about? I didn’t have to wait long to find out, the observation room door opening to admit a tall man with dark hair. Griffin’s small groan told me that while I might not know who he was, he did, and he wasn’t pleased to see him.

Baros came in behind him. He headed my way, wearing an expression I assumed was meant to be concern. He needed more practice at it, the emotion not quite landing. “You’re signed off on medical leave for another two weeks.”

I shrugged. “Yet, here I am. And unless you’re going to have me escorted off the premises, I’m staying.”

Baros smirked in a rare show of amusement. “I wouldn’t dare. Not after your heroics.” The flick of his eyes to Griffin said he’d included him in that statement. “I’d never hear the end of it.” He jerked his head to the tall man standing silently at his side, something about the way he was looking at me making me uneasy. Or perhaps I was just picking up on Griffin’s tension about the man’s presence. “This is Kendrick,” Baros said. “He’s a psychic at the PPB.” His gaze shifted to Griffin. “I’m assuming you two already know each other?” Griffin inclined his head in agreement, but said nothing.

I held my hand out. Despite Griffin’s prickly attitude, I didn’t want to come across as rude. Not until I knew him better, anyway. “I’m—”

“Ben,” the man said as he took my hand and shook it.

He laughed at my look of surprise. “You thought it before you said it.”

Jesus! Was it really that easy for him to read my mind? No wonder Griff looked about as comfortable as if he was having a root canal done. I snatched my hand back in case touch made it easier for him to read my innermost thoughts. That prompted another laugh. If my actions offended Kendrick, he didn’t show it.

“Why are you here, Kendrick?” Griffin asked, in a tone that said it was bad enough bumping into him at work without having to worry about running into him elsewhere.

Kendrick left it to Baros to explain. “I loaned him from Cade. He owed me a favor.” The way Baros’ gaze lingered on Griffin when he said it answered the question we’d posed less than half an hour ago. That’s what Baros had wanted in exchange for letting Griff off the hook.

Something about being “loaned” didn’t sit comfortably with Kendrick, his brow furrowing. He shook it off, though. “Where is he?”

Where was who? And then as Baros led the psychic over to the one-way mirror so he could see Flynn, I got it, excitement bubbling in my chest.

“Fowler’s been told to keep asking questions,” Baros said.

Which explained why he’d stepped out a couple of minutes ago. “Will this work?” I asked, hope present in my voice.

“It should,” Kendrick said. “But it’s not a guarantee. People have different levels of resistance to it. With some people I get complete sentences, whereas with others, it’s just the odd word. Psychic readings aren’t an exact science.”

Just like necromancy. I doubted anything under the umbrella of the PPB’s services could be called an exact science.

Baros opened his mouth to say something, Kendrick raising a hand to stall him. “I need absolute silence if this is going to work.”

We all nodded our agreement and focused on the other room, Lou standing with his arms braced against the table. I recognized the tactic, having used it myself. It was about making himself look bigger than Flynn. Unfortunately, Flynn seemed immune to the intimidation tactic, lolling back in his chair so comfortably he may as well have been at home on the sofa.

“Tell me about trying to kill DCI Weaver?” Lou asked.

I winced. Great. I already relived it in my dreams. Now, I’d get to hear about it while I was awake. Griffin shot me a sympathetic look, but neither of us broke Kendrick’s request for silence. The sooner this was over, the better as far as I was concerned.

Flynn shifted slightly. “What do you want to know? Do you want to know what it feels like when a baseball bat comes into contact with a person’s skull?” My hand lifted to the bandage at my temple, but I dropped it as soon as I realized what I’d done. “Or do you want to talk about how pissed I am that I didn’t succeed?” His gaze shifted to the mirror, his eyes seeming to burn into me, even though I knew he couldn’t possibly see me. “Is he here? Or is he still in the hospital? He looked to be in a bad way the last time I saw him. Poor Ben.” The words might have sounded sincere if a small smile hadn’t accompanied them.

Lou crossed his arms over his chest and stared the man down. “You told DCI Weaver that the demon required a special prize and that he fitted the profile. Why? Because he was the senior investigating officer, or was there some other reason?”

Flynn cocked his head to one side and frowned. “What demon?”

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