Ms. Binderman wasn’t at the front desk. A rosy-cheeked woman in her early twenties directed them to the main conference room, next door to Shale’s office. Everyone was there: Shale, Sarah Young, Richard Batty, Jerome Fitzhugh, Amelia Binderman, and a forty-something woman Ari assumed was Frieda Stanley. Shale had taken her seriously.
“Guardian,” he said coolly, stepping forward. “Lt. Foster. I hope this will be short. We do have clients to see.”
“Appreciate your cooperation,” Ryan said, “especially on such short notice. We don’t want to interrupt your schedule any more than we have to.”
“Yes, thank you,” Ari echoed. “We’ll get your staff members cleared, and let everyone get on with their work.” As Ryan and Ari had pre-arranged, Ari started the show. “As I’m sure you all know, two clients of this agency were recently murdered. A third death may be related. There are two things we need to do today. First, clear each of you by establishing your alibis for the time periods of those three deaths. And second, even more important, learn anything you might know that would help us to find the killer.” Of course, she didn’t mention they’d be assessing each person for hidden psi ability and their potential to be the demon.
“You may return to your regular schedule, and we’ll conduct the interviews as each of you becomes available. Please don’t leave the building until your interview is complete.” She turned to Ryan with a nod.
He stepped forward, a stack of papers in his hand, and handed one to each of the suspects. “In order to save time, I’d like you to think about where you were on certain dates and times. I’ve given you a sheet with that information. It should make the interviews go more quickly.” He gave them a broad smile. “I appreciate your help.”
None of the suspects commented. No one cracked a smile, not even Sarah Young, as they filed out. Ari wondered what Shale had said to them that elicited such somber faces.
Their first interview was a mid-fifties male with the unfortunate name of Richard Batty, not a handle to inspire confidence in a counselor. He provided a response for every date, even showed his personal calendar entries, which proved nothing, of course. Mr. Batty was unmarried and lived alone. He said he’d attended a public fireworks display on the evening of the Fourth, the first murder date, but he didn’t remember seeing or speaking with anyone he knew. His other alibis were solitary evenings in front of the television. Batty reported he’d been recruited from a dead-end, hospital-based job in Albuquerque. When Ari shook hands with him at the end of the interview, she felt the expected mild psi tingle. Inconclusive. They left him on the list.
Ms. Binderman produced an uneasy smile when her turn came. “I hoped you’d get to me soon. Carol isn’t very experienced on the front desk.”
“Then we’ll try to hurry,” Ari said. “Have you thought about the dates we gave you?”
Binderman pushed the sheet forward. In neat, dainty writing, she had recorded her whereabouts next to each date and time, along with any person who could verify the information. “The first date was easy. We had a staff picnic at Goshen Park on the Fourth,” she said. “We can vouch for each other.”
“Who was there?” Ari asked, taken by surprise.
“Mr. Shale, Frieda, Amy Ferguson, and Terry Lowry, two of our night staffers. Jerome and his family stopped by. Barney, the night janitor. Richard Batty never comes. It was a small affair.”
“Did anyone leave during the evening?” Ryan asked.
“Well, Frieda left early, I believe. 7:00 or 7:30. But the rest of us were there, except for nature calls, of course.”
“Were the restrooms close by?”
“A five minute walk. I think that’s how long it took Amy and I. We walked over and back together. You could check with her, but I’d say five, six minutes at the most. You have to go around or across the baseball diamond. It certainly wasn’t enough time for anyone to leave the park and come back.”
Not unless you’re a demon with supernatural speed and the ability to change your appearance, Ari thought. On average, she figured each person would have been gone fifteen, twenty minutes. Plenty of time to reach the bar, kill Jules and return with no one knowing a thing. The picnic alibi wasn’t worth much.
Ryan spent a little time discussing Binderman’s past working history in Chicago, Illinois. When Ari offered to shake her hand, the receptionist declined, murmuring a concern about viruses. Considering the Saniwash dispenser on her desk, Ari conceded the excuse could be genuine.
Sarah Young’s interview was the least productive. Uncomfortable and distracted from the beginning, she fidgeted in her chair and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her slacks. When asked where she was on the nights of the murders, she burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “This is so hard. The murders, the tension. I’m questioning whether I even want to be a counselor.”
Since she’d already written out her answers, Ryan gathered a brief background sketch about her hometown and her transfer to graduate study in Riverdale, and they ended the interview. As Ari pulled the door closed behind her, Sarah was still sitting at her desk staring into space. Her behavior was troublesome; the outburst was out of character for the composed woman Ari had met on her prior visit.
They came closest to clearing Jerome Fitzhugh. An earnest black male in his thirties, he was cooperative and attentive throughout the interview. Fitzhugh was married with two children and laughingly added that his wife could account for most of his time. Like Sarah Young, he was a recent PhD graduate, and his credentials would be easy to verify. He leaked psi energy throughout the interview. Not an alarming amount, about what Ari would expect from a talented and nervous counselor. Ari figured he’d pass all the necessary checks.
Freida Stanley, on the other hand, sent up immediate red flags. Forty, rough around the edges. She had that well-used air about her, and an evasiveness in her manner. Frieda didn’t like the questioning and showed no interest in cooperating.
“If you expect me to answer questions, then I want my lawyer present.”
“No problem.” Ryan pulled out his cell phone. “His name?”
Fifteen minutes later they were still talking back and forth on the phone: first, Ryan and the lawyer; then Freida and the lawyer. Finally, Ryan’s suggestion to move the interview to the police station tipped the scales toward cooperation. Stanley decided to talk, and she answered every question, but the responses were vague and incomplete or she said she couldn’t remember. Ari observed her closely throughout the phone discussion and Ryan’s questioning. Stanley shifted in her seat, drummed her fingers, one foot constantly moved in a rhythmic tap-tap on the floor. Ari was sure she was covering something, but would a demon be that obvious?
“What do you want me to tell you, officer?” Freida Stanley carped. “I live alone. When I’m not home, I’m working. Can’t help it, if that’s not good enough.”
Ryan flashed a winning smile. Deceiver.
“All right, Ms. Stanley,” he said. “Why don’t we move on? Tell me how you got this job?”
“Shale interviewed and hired me. What’s that got to do with the murders?”
Ari noted Stanley was the only person who had asked. Was that significant? Maybe.
“Routine,” he said easily. “Anything we learn about the agency might help us.”
“Uh-huh.” It was a clear statement of disbelief. “I’m not saying anything else. I know my rights. Don’t have to answer that.”
“That’s true. But keep yourself available in case we need to talk again. Downtown.”
As soon as he said this, Stanley sprang to her feet and hustled out the door. Ryan and Ari exchanged looks. Since they were sitting in Stanley’s office, her abrupt departure revealed how anxious she was to end the questioning.
“Number one suspect,” Ryan said. “She’s guilty of something. Didn’t your witch senses tell you anything? It’s damned inconvenient you can’t recognize this creature.”
Ari hid a grin. For someone uncomfortable with magic, he sure liked it when it worked for him. “Her aura is so lacking in color, I have trouble believing she has an ounce of intuition or magical ability. But that could be part of her demon cover. “
As they headed for their final interview, Ari considered whether the morning had been worth the time. Had they gained anything? So far, they hadn’t eliminated anyone. Freida Stanley had surfaced as a suspect, but her credentials had already been suspicious.
Ari gasped as a stab of hot malignancy hit her in front of Shale’s office. She leaped forward and threw the door open, catching four people in a heated argument. The raging magical energy blinked off. Amelia Binderman, Sarah Young, Harold Shale, and Freida Stanley stared at her intrusion.
Flashing a frown at Ari, Ryan recovered first. “Sorry, if we interrupted. We’re here for your interview, Mr. Shale. If you have the time?”
“Yeah, sorry to intrude,” Ari added lamely.
The agency owner frowned, picked up the sheet of questions from his desk, and handed it to Ryan. The answers were neatly typed. “I have an appointment to keep,” Shale said. “I’ve covered everything on this, but call Ms. Binderman if you need something more. I trust you have gotten what you needed from everyone else?” He made it a question.
“I understand your time crunch,” Ryan said. “I still need a couple minutes. It’ll be short.”
During this conversation, Ari watched the four counselors, reaching out with witch senses. Where had that revealing energy come from? She was sure the creature was in this room, and its blocking defenses had faltered for an instant, a second of lost control during an argument. Ari’s hasty response may have alerted the demon she was aware of its existence. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but it added a new dimension.
Shale gave in to Ryan’s insistence. Glaring at his employees until they hustled out the door, he returned to sit behind his imposing desk. Establishing a barrier this time, Ari thought, wondering if Shale’s attitude was more than normal irritation.
