Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

“What about neighbors? Anyone see anything?”

Walsh shook his head. “The cabins are separated by trees and bushes. He had no immediate neighbors.”

“Did you ask around?” she asked impatiently.

“Listen,” he said glibly. “I’m well aware that we’ve been ordered by the CFBI to cooperate with your team, but personally, I think AI is capable of handling this ourselves. And I don’t really buy into the whole psychic thing.”

She detected a trace of bitterness in his voice.

Jasi bit back her reply, frustrated.

She was sick and tired of having to defend herself—and her team. This wasn’t the first time that someone had questioned the PSI’s value.

“Chief Walsh, we’ve got two fires, three murder victims and few leads to go on. We’re here to aid this investigation, not hamper it. You’re not too macho to take help wherever you can get it, are you?”

Walsh laughed. “Macho? Now there’s an outdated term.”

Jasi refitted her oxy-mask.

She desperately wished she could tear it off her face and rip into the man before her. His attitude grated on her and left her feeling uneasy.

Walsh pointed to a Qwazi laptop and touched the screen with a stylus.

“Here’s the data from the X-Disc. Have a seat and read through it. And yes, we asked around. No one saw anything. I’ll go check on the other agent. Where’d he go, anyway?”

“Agent Roberts is busy drafting up a rough profile and arranging for transport to the scene,” Natassia spoke up for the first time.

“Upload the data, Natassia,” Jasi ordered. “ I’ll go check on Ben.”

She cast a warning look in the AI Chief’s direction. “I’m counting on your support. Don’t get in my way, Walsh.”

The man raised a well-shaped eyebrow. “I have no intention of getting in your way. Just stay out of mine.”

She clenched her teeth. “Trust me, I’d be happy to stay away from you.”

“Jesus, thanks. I think. And here I thought I was irresistible.”

Jasi huffed in exasperation.

The man was insufferable. The sooner she finished her job here, the sooner she could put Brandon Walsh out of her mind.

Walsh accompanied her outside, and slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Need anything else?” she asked tightly.

“Yeah. What’s Agent Prushenko’s role?”

“She’s a Victim Empath.”

The man stared blankly, his lip curling in disbelief.

“She picks up vibrations—pictures from the victims,” she explained.

“Usually she sees their final moments.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed.

Jasi gripped Walsh’s arm, her eyes flashing angrily.

“Agent Prushenko has empathic abilities, whether you believe in them or not. She’s been a PSI for eight years, traveled worldwide and is recognized as one of the best VE’s in the CFBI.”

She wanted to slug the man.

Walsh grinned. “What about you?”

“I’ve been with PSI for almost six years. That’s all you need to know.”

“What do you do?”

“She reads fires,” Natassia interjected, poking her head from the tent.

Wordlessly, Jasi glared at her partner.

“He needs to know, Jasi. Otherwise he’s useless.”

Brandon Walsh—useless?

Jasi hid a sly grin. “I can usually tell you where and how a fire started. Sometimes I pick up the perp’s last thoughts or the last thing he saw.”

“She’s a Pyro-Psychic,” Natassia bragged. “Jasi is the best there is.”

“Jasi?” Walsh smirked.

“That’s Agent McLellan to you!” Jasi snapped.

She’d make Natassia pay for that slip-up.

Oops , Natassia mouthed silently, raising her open hands in the air.

“Time for you to leave, Walsh,” Jasi said rudely. “I’m sure there’s something out there for the Chief of AI to do. Just remember we’re running the show here.”

Walsh’s breath blew warm against her ear. “We’ll see about that.”

Then he hurried from the tent. “See ya later… Jasi .”

With her eyes glued to his back, Jasi cursed aloud.

“Not if I can help it!”

Brandon Walsh walked away from the tent, unsure about the PSI’s role. He had heard of the Psychic Skills Investigators in his dealings with various police departments, but his cases rarely required CFBI intervention. Or interference, as he thought of it.

As the AI Chief, he was compelled to assist the CFBI in any investigation involving serial arsonists. And that didn’t sit too well with him—not one bit.

He’d show Agent Jasi McLellan who was boss.

After all, wasn’t he the one responsible for capturing the arsonist involved in the Okanagan Mountain forest fires of 2003? He had led the AI team that had tracked down the arsonist and the accelerant used to set the blaze.

The press had blamed an unattended campfire for the raging fires that consumed a massive portion of the BC forest. Then a week later, it was rumored that a single cigarette had ignited the blaze. That was before the public ban on smoking became official—before people were restricted to smoking in the privacy of their homes, in well-ventilated smoking rooms.

Brandon had never believed the fire had started from a cigarette. He personally sifted through acres of destroyed forest, searching for a clue. He had explored the land until he discovered an abandoned cabin deep in the mountains.

There, he found remnants of liquid methylyte and zymene, highly flammable chemicals used in the underground production of Z-Lyte. Z-Lyte, with its sweet musky scent, had become the hallucinogenic drug of the new generation.

Public homeowner records listed Edwin Bruchmann as the owner of the cabin. An hour later, Bruchmann was in custody. When the old man was escorted into an interview room by his caregiver, Brandon was disappointed to discover that Bruchmann suffered from Alzheimer’s.

Brandon’s leads were slowly disintegrating—until his suspicions turned to the caregiver. Gregory Lawrence, thirty-nine, had been employed by Bruchmann for the past two years and had access to all of the old man’s documents. But Lawrence denied knowing anything about a cabin.

“When was the last time Mr. Bruchmann visited his lakeside cabin?” Brandon had asked the caregiver.

Lawrence’s face had registered confusion.

Then, without thinking, he had blurted, “You idiots! Edwin Bruchmann’s cabin is not by any lake. See? I told you, you have the wrong person. Mr. Bruchmann’s cabin overlooks the valley .”

Brandon had smiled then. “I thought you knew nothing about the cabin?”

“I, uh…” the man stuttered. “Well, I m-might have heard about it once. But that doesn’t prove anything!”

A knock on the door halted the interrogation and a detective passed Brandon a toxicology report.

“Maybe not,” Brandon had agreed. “But this sure does.”

Earlier he had recognized the sweet-smelling body odor common with Z-Lyte users. Suspicious, he offered Lawrence a can of pop. When the man had finished it, Brandon dropped it into a plastic bag and handed it over to the lab for analysis.

It came back positive for Z-Lyte.

The case was immediately closed, Gregory Lawrence locked away, Bruchmann established in a care facility and Brandon promoted to AI Chief.

All accomplished without any outside help.

And Brandon certainly hadn’t needed a PSI!

This new case was no different, he reasoned. What could Agent Jasi McLellan possibly offer?

Psychic mumbo-jumbo?

He laughed suddenly, adjusting his shades.

How could the woman expect him to believe she had the power to see into a killer’s mind?

I’d have to see it to believe it.