Chapter Fourteen
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Amiran Advertising is headquartered on the 43rd floor of the Kensington Tower on Indiana Avenue, a building too white and too glassy for my taste. The foyer is three stories tall, which I just consider a waste, and it makes me want to look around for even more waste.
All right, I'm pissed. Paul had declared he wasn't done checking my car so Bill, Ken and I had to ride together. Granted we have a truce, but it's still uncomfortable as hell. The dark skies that threaten a whopper of a storm the NWS says will hit tonight don't help my mood.
When we get to the 43rd floor and the Receptionist at the huge desk at the end of the elevator lobby, I'm content to let Bill and Ken take the lead while I stand back and observe.
First, it's 4:30 so we have a fairly short time for effective interviews, but I can establish myself and come back in the morning to continue likely leads. Second, they're the Federal Agents, I'm a P.I. This will also help establish our working relationship and assure them that I'm not stepping on toes. Finally, have you ever had to tell a room full of people a friend has been murdered and you need information from them? Believe me, it's no fun and I'm quite content to let them take the stress.
We get to her boss, a woman in her mid-60's with a power suit that probably works very well with clients. Karen Enbrill takes the news pretty well, meaning she's not the kind to fall down in hysterics. That distinction goes later to one of April's co-workers, a young woman who shares a small office with April. Their desks are side by side and Bill and Ken waste no time in turning her over to me. I let my expression display my gratitude.
Anyhow, that's how I wind up in a small conference room that started its life as a closet and doesn't seem to have grown up yet. Heather Rich sits at the table, crying. I take a seat next to her and hand her my handkerchief.
"I'm sorry," Rich eventually says and tries to regain her composure. I'm half tempted to help with a Calming spell except that, though not actually illegal, it's unethical. Can't use magic on a witness, certainly not without her knowledge. There's Law and then there's Ethics.
Ethics are stricter.
x
"Heather - may I call you Heather?" The question always seems silly to me, since I just did, but it's a time-tested way of establishing a rapport.
"Yes," she sniffs, wipes her eyes. I've never actually had anyone say 'no'. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It's a shock." She nods. "I'm sorry, this is difficult for you, I know, but I really need your help to catch the one who did this."
That's the way to do it. Establish rapport, emphasize the witness' importance in catching the bastard who killed her friend and we can get somewhere.
"You knew April pretty well?" Their desks were side by side, so it's not much of a reach.
"The best." She wipes more tears from her eyes. I'll be able to wring out the cloth. "We spent all our time here together, bounced ideas off each other, had lunch together, we'd go out evenings after work."
"For drinks?"
"I would, she didn't drink but she liked to go to bars with me. I think she liked the guys trying to pick her up."
"Anybody manage it?"
"No. She enjoyed the hunt, but we usually left alone. She was seeing someone and he wouldn't have liked it."
I try to keep my voice casual. "Do you know who she was seeing?"
"Sure, it was ..." She stops, consternation sharp on her face. "It was –." She grows more concerned. "Why can't I remember his name? I know his name! We talk about him all the time." She looks more than confused, she's scared. "Why can't I remember?"
"Have you ever met him?"
"Yes, we used to meet for drinks, he'd pick her up, he's..."
I feel this is a waste of breath. "Can you describe him?"
"Yes, he's –. That is, he has –." She's growing even more distressed. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I remember?"
The answer's damned obvious. She's met Mr. Micromesh and he's obscured her as well as he did his car.
x
"Heather. Heather? It's all right. I'd like to ask you to come with us to the Navy Yard, to NCIS Headquarters. I'd like you to speak to a sketch artist. Maybe if you work with her you'll be able to tell us what he looks like." I figure – to myself – that I'd have better luck on the Irish Sweepstakes, but I have to try something and being proactive will stave off a panic attack.
"But why can't I remember? I can see him, I just can't …"
"You just can't tell me?"
She shakes her head, scared, confused.
It's no more than I expect, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. It's not like it's possible to reach in and grab her memories, nor can I read her mind. That's pure Science Fiction, or since this is Darkcraft would I find it under Fantasy? Without knowing what he did, I can't begin to try to reverse it. It's akin to trying to give an antidote without knowing the poison; at best ineffective, at worst dangerous.
Right now I work just to keep her calm and ready for when Bill and Ken are done with their own interviews. I hope it'll be soon.
xxx
It isn't soon enough for my new companion's nerves, but eventually it's the clock on the wall that decides matters. Without a valid reason to hold anyone past quitting time, they have to depend upon volunteers willing to stay late to help in a murder investigation, and guess how many of those there are.
I found the only one.
We don't always recognize, or even see, the hand of the Goddess when she works, but it's good to know she's always there, working.
xxx
Heather Rich stays apprehensive all the way to NCIS as I ride with her in her car. It can't be easy, going through what she is. I try to emphasize that I applaud her courage for doing it. She tells me she just wants to help nail April's killer, and how pissed she is at being manipulated.
When we escort her to the basement I introduce her to Sonja Kanavitov, whose grandmotherly manner normally puts the most apprehensive witness at ease in minutes. She has the perfect soft-boiled manner and her art has actually won international awards. I've known loads of sketchers, Sonja is an artist.
We set them up in Interrogation One, nothing more than a table, two chairs, a visiscreen and a mirror. Said mirror allows Bill, Ken and I to watch from Observation One next door.
I'm glad neither Bill nor Ken have brought up what I consider the real irony of this: the detectives had chosen to foist the crying woman off on me and the crying woman provides the solid clue. Here's Su Lin's Rule Three: Look for the emotional content.
We stand in the dark and hope for enlightenment. One thing I particularly want enlightenment about with the unnamed boyfriend is if he'd object to her Wiccan lifestyle or her Christian.
We watch in silence, listen to the intermittent clarifications: a bit wider, a little narrower, slightly darker, a bit larger. During this interval mom and Cathy join us and after a quick recap the five of us wait with strained patience. I'm particularly interested that the more satisfied Heather grows, the more dissatisfied Sonja becomes. Finally; "That's it. That's him."
Sonja brings the pad to the portal, holds it for all of us to see. We turn to Ken Smally.
"I'd tell you you have the right to remain silent," Bill says, "but I'm dying to hear your explanation for this."
As Sonja returns to the table, it's mom who has the answer. "I was afraid this would happen. You put her in the room. You're the last one she saw." He nods. "The spell she's under imprinted you onto her memory."
"I don't know," Bill insists, "I still want to know where you were the other day."
"Doing your work."
x
I'm in no mood for this. Its late, I'm tired and just want to get home. Bill will escort Heather back to her car. We don't want her to see Ken, no need to go into why April's supposed boyfriend is working the case.
Me, I just want to cuddle up with Sparkle and drown my sorrows in some hot cocoa.