Karen Rose - I Can See You

Noah thought of his own mother who wintered in Arizona because of her health. Between his dead father’s police pension and a sizable percentage of his own salary, he’d settled her pretty comfortably. It was a financial sacrifice, but she was his mom and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He imagined Martha had felt the same.

“Will getting this news about her daughter’s death affect her heart?” Noah asked.

“It might, if she had one,” the nurse said, then sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She opened the door, revealing a woman who nearly disappeared against the white sheets. “Mrs. Brisbane, these men are detectives. They’re here to talk to you.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about?” she demanded sharply.

Noah had lost the toss. “I’m Detective Webster and this is my partner, Detective Phelps,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “We’re here about your daughter, Martha. She’s dead, ma’am. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Brisbane’s mouth pinched as if she’d eaten something sour. “How?”

They’d agreed to keep Martha’s death a suicide until the ME filed his report. That said, they were questioning witnesses assuming Dr. Gilles would confirm a homicide.

“It appears she killed herself,” Noah said.

“Then she got what she deserved. The wages of sin is death, Detective. It’s as simple as that.” And with that Mrs. Brisbane closed her eyes, dismissing them.

“Whoa,” Jack mouthed silently, then cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Mrs. Brisbane snapped, not opening her eyes. “Make them leave. Now.”

“You have to leave.” In the hallway the nurse shrugged. “That was pretty mild.”

“ ‘She got what she deserved,’ was mild?” Jack asked, incredulous. “Hell.”

“Mrs. Brisbane didn’t approve of Martha,” she said, “and I have no idea why.”

“Was this disapproval something new?” Noah asked.

“No. It’s been that way since she got here, about six months ago.”

“When was the last time Martha came in to visit her mother?” Jack asked.

“At least a month ago. Martha would leave looking like a whipped pup. I tried to help but Mrs. Brisbane complained. I got a warning not to ask again. I wish I knew more.”

“ ‘The wages of sin is death,’ ” Jack mused when they were back in the parking lot.

“The Bible, book of Romans,” Noah said. “My uncle was a minister.”

Jack frowned. “Your uncle’s a retired cop.”

“That’s Brock’s father, on my father’s side. My minister uncle was my mother’s older brother.” He’d been dead five years now and Noah missed his guidance. Missed him.

“What ever . Brisbane’s mother knew something. We have to try her again tomorrow. Assuming whoever did this did it once before, it stands to reason they’ll do it again.”

“So let’s see what Martha and Dix’s vic had in common before he has a chance.”

Sunday, February 21, 10:55 p.m.

“Lindsay?” Liza Barkley locked the front door. No one answered. She so hoped Lin would come tonight. It was only a high school play, but she’d worked hard on her role.

But Liza knew her sister was working her ass off to pay the rent. And the gas and the groceries, all the while insisting Liza spend her time studying. Keep your grades up. Get a scholarship . They had no savings left for college, every dime gone to doctors who hadn’t been able to save their mother anyway. After a year, it still hurt. I still miss her .

Now Lindsay had cleaned office building toilets all night, every night so they could survive. One day it’ll be my turn to pay the bills.

She shivered. It was so cold in their apartment she could see her breath. But heat cost money, so she pulled on two more sweaters and snuggled under a pile of blankets, setting the alarm for five-thirty. She still had a little homework to finish and Lindsay would just be getting home by then, tired and hungry. I can do trig and fry eggs at the same time , she thought sleepily and drifted off.

Sunday, February 21, 11:30 p.m.

Eve curled up in her favorite chair, grateful Sal had let her off early. She’d come home, logged into Shadowland, and sent her avatar straight to Ninth Circle, the bar and social center. It was, as usual, dark, smoky, and teeming with avatars.

Desiree, be there. Be in your normal spot, doing whatever it is you do . Or did. It had been a week since Martha Brisbane’s avatar had been seen in Ninth Circle. Maybe Martha was on a real-world vacation, but Eve didn’t think so.

If Martha didn’t show up soon… I’ll have to do something . But what?

Eve could see herself now, filing a missing person report on an imaginary person who dwelt in a Fantasy Island computer game. The cops would think she was nuts.

For now, she could only keep a virtual eye on Martha and the others, and she wasn’t supposed to be doing even that. She wasn’t supposed to know the names of her subjects. Double-blind tests were not to be broken. But she had, and wasn’t sorry.

Just worried. And wincing from the cacophony blasting from Ninth Circle’s stage where a computer-animated band “performed.” Ninth Circle’s “band” was probably one middle-aged man with a synthesizer, but he wasn’t hurting anyone. Some objected to his cover of AC/DC, but those snobby rock purists could turn down the volume.

Eve muted the sound. She was one of those purists. When did I become… old?

Five years, eleven months, and seven days ago . That she’d remembered it twice in one night made her angry. But she’d put it behind her. Mostly. Sometimes.

No, you haven’t, Evie, whispered the voice in the back of her mind, annoyingly logical. Smug bitch. And she wasn’t Evie anymore. She’d left Evie behind in Chicago.

“I’m Eve now,” she said aloud, just to hear the sound of her own voice. It was too quiet in her apartment tonight. With the Ninth Circle band muted, the only sound was the constant dripping of water into the pots she’d placed below the leaks in her roof.

I’ve gotta get that fixed before I lose my mind. But her scum-sucking landlord ignored her repeated requests for roof repair. Myron Daulton had inherited the house from his mother, but none of her responsibility for her tenants, all of whom had finally had enough and left. Eve was the last holdout.

If Myron forced her out, he’d be able to sell. Developers were buying these old houses, refurbing them, then flipping them for big bucks. Myron didn’t deserve a dime. He’d never visited his mother. Never called on her birthday. Sometimes made her cry.

Eve had loved old Mrs. Daulton dearly and she’d be damned before she let Myron make even one penny off his mother. Eve had fixed the plumbing, dealt with the mice problem, and even replaced the garbage disposal. But a roof was a much bigger deal.

I’m not going to move. So she’d have to figure out how to fix the roof herself, too. She turned the volume of the band back up to drown out the constant dripping. Get to work, Eve. Find Desiree and Gwenivere so you can concentrate on your day job .

Sal’s filled her evenings, but her day job was not failing grad school. She had a ten-page Abnormal Psych paper due in ten hours. I shouldn’t be in Shadowland, spying on my test subjects. But she felt a responsibility to Desiree, Gwenivere, and all the others.

Many of them were older than she. Chronologically, anyway. All had signed releases before participating in her study, but Eve felt compelled to keep them safe. She figured she came by the compulsion honestly. It wasn’t possible to grow up with a bevy of meddling social workers without some of their nurturing overprotectiveness rubbing off.