Page 17 of No Surrender
“And I talk to dead people, which can definitely help.”
Vic finished off his whiskey. “Have you heard from any of the Slitter’s victims? Or the people on the list Walt gave us?”
“Just two so far. I didn’t have time today to do his list. Or, I should say, I didn’t have the bandwidth,” Simon admitted. “Tomorrow is quieter, so I thought I’d look at the people on Walt’s list first. I’ll try reaching out to their spirits. There are plenty of reasons they might not answer—and more than a few why they should. I think the shy ghost is one of them, and I’d love to get her story,” he added and filled Vic in on the missing sister and the séance.
“I started looking at the list on my end to see what—if anything—had been done about the missing persons reports,” Vic replied. “Shockingly little, as it turns out. I thought Ross and I might visit any close living relatives to see what evidence the police back then didn’t bother to collect. I’m betting we’ll get an earful.”
“No doubt.” Simon wrinkled his nose and polished off the last of his whiskey. “Just watch your back. Even if the cops back then have retired, you of all people know how common ‘cop dynasties’ are. Someone might not like finding out their grandfather was on the take or incompetent—and they might go pretty far to make sure nothing damages the family reputation.”
Vic rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. I’ll be careful. We have to walk a tightrope because, with the trial starting, we don’t dare do anything that the defense could use to ask for a mistrial. And I want to keep the supernatural side of things quiet because—as you know—not everyone in these parts takes kindly to that sort of thing.”
“Believe me, I get it.”
Vic came back and sat next to Simon, then knocked back the last of his drink. “God, Simon—I just want this trial to be over. And I can’t begin to imagine how you must feel.”
“It’s definitely making my PTSD flare up,” Simon admitted. Vic reached over to take his hand, and Simon welcomed the connection. “But I’m more concerned about the new stuff—the cursed objects and Walt’s list. There are some wildcards there we didn’t expect, and I’m afraid they could knock us on our asses if we’re not careful.”
3
VIC
The next morning, Vic ushered Simon into the police headquarters through the back, but even so, they couldn’t evade the gaggle of reporters waiting outside. They followed Simon’s car but couldn’t get past the guarded fence around the parking lot. That was still close enough for zoom lenses to snap photos, but Vic figured blurry images wouldn’t make the front page.
“Hi, Simon!” Ross met them in the corridor. “I put a fresh pot of coffee on. It should be ready.”
Vic gave an exaggerated sigh. “He doesn’t make coffee forme.”
“That’s because you usually get here ahead of me and already have it made.”
Simon chuckled, taking the good-natured banter in stride. “Let’s look at Vic’s Springsteen ticket first.”
They headed to Vic’s desk, where the vintage ticket sat propped up by his business card holder. Simon reached toward it and recoiled when his hand was still inches away.
“God, Vic. How could you not feel the malice?”
Ross waved his hand over the ticket, keeping a careful distance, and shook his head. “I don’t pick up anything, either.”
Simon shook his head. “Wow. It feels horriblywrong.It’s not just dark magic—whoever sent this enjoys hurting people.”
“Guess we need to lock it up,” Vic said, wishing there had been a way to keep the memento—without getting sick.
“Make sure nobody touches it with bare skin,” Simon warned. “If someone with latent ability handles it, they might get hurt. My bet is that the curse is specific to you—but we don’t know that for sure.” He looked to Ross. “I hear there’s a mysterious baseball card in the evidence locker?”
“Yeah, Hargrove cleared it for us. Right this way.” Ross motioned for them to follow.
The duty officer was expecting them when they reached the evidence room. “I’m guessing you’re here for the card? You think it’s hexed or something?” He regarded Simon with curiosity.
“Won’t know until I get a look at it,” Simon replied, and Vic thought his partner looked relieved that the officer wasn’t giving them a hard time.
“Wait!” Simon called out when the man went to retrieve the card. The officer looked back at him, puzzled. “Do you have gloves you can wear? Just in case there is something wrong with the card, we don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Sure. I can do that.” He pulled on a pair of blue vinyl gloves, then returned with the marked evidence box, which he placed on the table. When he removed the lid, Vic angled the beam of a task light inside to give Simon the best view.
“Wow. That’s the player who had a similar accident.” Simon frowned as he examined the bagged card without touching. He held his hand over the box, palm down, and recoiled almost immediately.
“There’s malicious power attached to the card,” he told Vic and Ross. “I’m not a witch, so I can’t give you details about the ‘how,’ but like with your concert ticket, I’m surprised Andrews didn’t sense something was weird.”
Vic and Ross tried holding their hands over the box like Simon had done and shook their heads. “I’m not getting anything,” Vic said.
