Ghost of the Past Page 5

  “You did well,” says Joyce. “I am very proud of you.” Joyce smiles. “This is a fancy place.” Elliot does not say anything as the elevator ascends towards the top floor. “You're welcome,” says Joyce.

  They reach the top and the door slides open. Elliot walks into the room and goes straight for the table. He pulls a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and puts them on. Joyce finds herself walking around objects, but when she tries to touch them, her hand passes straight through. Elliot is holding a second pair of gloves.

  “I guess you don’t need these,” he says. He puts them back in his pocket. Carefully, he lifts the table upside down and places it on the floor. He works to dust each edge of the underside of the table, covering all the fingerprints he can. He places some tape onto the powder and pulls off one print after another.

  “She was not rich, the woman. She could not have afforded a place like this. Whoever rented the place was obviously rich and powerful. They did not want people to know they were here. Not for this. I am sure they had other reasons,” says Elliot.

  “They gave a fake name?” asks Joyce.

  “Yeah,” says Elliot. “And no CCTV up here. There were too many people coming and going from the elevators to know who it would have been. We also checked the keycards.”

  “The what?” asks Joyce.

  “This thing,” says Elliot holding up the keycard. “It keeps a record of every time it was used. It was wiped for the two days surrounding the murder.”

  “I have no idea what that is,” says Joyce.

  “I’ll try to keep you updated with the advancements of our ideal society,” says Elliot. “Fake name, keycard wiped, expensive suite—it has to be someone in power. No wonder they shut down the case so quickly. They took men off it after a few days, said that it was going nowhere. But when I kept working it, they allowed me to, in an official capacity. Probably so someone could keep an eye on me, and do something if I got too close. What a fucked up world, when I can’t even do my job.”

  “It is messed up alright,” says Joyce.

  “I think that I have about fifteen prints. Who knows how old they are and which is the killer’s,” says Elliot.

  “The problem is,” says Joyce, “you are not working the case anymore. I am not aware of the technology, but I am sure that if you are not working the case, you are not going to be allowed to use those prints or follow the evidence.”

  “I have a couple of friends who will run the prints for me,” says Elliot.

  “Is this legit?” asks Joyce.

  “Of course,” says Elliot. “They are forensic officers. They happen to like me. I am sure that it will be no problem. Do you want to take a look around before we go?”

  “I already did,” says Joyce. She smiles at Elliot again. This time he smiles back.

  “Okay, I’ll admit it. I underestimated you. Not by much and not because you are a woman or anything like that, but because, well, not everyone cares about actually doing the job, catching the criminals. Most of the people on the force are pen pushers who care more about following the rules than actually getting out there and catching someone, even if it means taking a fist to the face or a stray bullet. But you are like me—”

  “I am not,” says Joyce.

  “You know what I mean,” says Elliot. “You are old school. Literally. You are a good detective too. If something comes back, then we might just catch this guy.”

  “Or girl,” says Joyce.

  “Can you not correct me for one minute?” says Elliot. “Okay, lets go.” They make their way back downstairs to the reception desk to hand back the keycard.

  “Be nice to her,” says Joyce. “You never know when you might need her help again.” Elliot hands back the keycard.

  “Thank you,” says Elliot.

  “And smile,” says Joyce. Elliot smiles at the receptionist.

  “Are you okay?” asks Joy.

  “Yeah,” says Elliot. “Goodnight.”

  They get back into the car and Elliot pulls out his phone. “3.43am. We have an hour or so until they are in the lab. You want to go for coffee?” asks Elliot. “I know a nice quiet place. The coffee is horrible, but if we get a booth, then I won’t look crazy talking to myself.”

  “That sounds nice,” says Joyce.

  Chapter Eight

  Moving In The Dark

  Elliot takes them to a small coffee shop on a deserted street corner. There is an old man sitting in one of the corner booths. Elliot walks over to the other side of the cafe and sits in one of the booths, hidden from the old man and the server behind the counter.

  “Be with you in a second, hun,” says the server. Elliot sits down and Joyce sits opposite him.

  “So no one can see me,” says Joyce.

  “Except me,” says Elliot. “So far.”

  “Or hear me,” says Joyce.

  “It looks that way,” says Elliot. The server comes over and pours a cup of coffee for Elliot.

  “Anything else, hun? Slice of pie?” asks the server.

  “The coffee is fine for now,” says Elliot. He waits until the server disappears back behind the counter.

  “How are you doing?” asks Elliot.

  “Fine,” says Joyce.

  “How are you doing?” asks Elliot again.

  “How am I supposed to be doing? I am dead. What am I supposed to do with that information?” asks Joyce.

  “I don’t know,” says Elliot. “I really don’t know what to say. What can I say?”

  “Nothing,” says Joyce. “There is nothing to be said in this situation. I would rather not talk about it, please,” says Joyce.

  “Sure,” says Elliot. “Tell me about your family then.”

  “What?” says Joyce.

  “Your family,” says Elliot. “I want to hear about them.”

  “What are you trying to figure out, Elliot?” asks Joyce.

  “Nothing,” says Elliot. “Well, you, I mean, I want to figure you out, find out about you. I don’t know, I’m just making conversation, but I do want to hear about your family. That’s okay, right?”

  “Fine,” says Joyce. “I have… had, a husband. He works as an accountant. Pretty boring job, I guess, but he is the sweetest man you will ever meet. I remember the first day I met him. I was working a case and he was an accountant for some big banker, who was connected to some criminal organization. Geoff did not know that, of course. He was just doing his job. I had to get the accounts records from Geoff. I came back a second time for more information, and the third time he took me for coffee to give me more details about his client. The fourth time, he took me for pie. I forget if he had any more information for me. We would do that every year, on our anniversary—go for coffee and pie. Our little tradition. Three years after getting married, we had Lindy, the sweetest little girl in the world. You can imagine how hard it was for me to be pregnant and on the force, then taking maternity. They almost forced me out. Anyway, I took care of Lindy for a year and then went back to work. Geoff did not like me working on the force after that, but he always supported my decision. I guess I should have listened to him.”

  “Fuck that,” says Elliot.

  “Excuse me?” says Joyce.

  “Never do something because someone else tells you to, or thinks you should. You wanted to be on the force. You wanted to bring criminals to justice. There is something noble in that. Would you have been happy if you had left the force?” asks Elliot.

  “No,” says Joyce, “but I would have been alive.”

  “You would have been dead inside,” says Elliot.

  “You do not know what you are talking about,” says Joyce.

  “Maybe not,” says Elliot.

  “What about you?” asks Joyce.

  “What about me?” asks Elliot.

  “No family to speak of?”

  “No, no family. It’s better that way. Not that... I mean it’s better for me that way, better f
or the people around me. I can’t imagine forcing someone to live with me—live this life with me.”

  “Oftentimes, you do not need to force them,” says Joyce. “You know, sometimes they will live with you willingly.”

  “You don’t know my life,” says Elliot.

  “And you don't know my death,” says Joyce.

  “I hope you’re not going to use this ‘death’ thing to win sympathy from me all the time,” says Elliot. Joyce goes quiet and Elliot can’t meet her eye. He stares down at his coffee.

  Why the fuck did you say that? Can you leave one person out with your little circle of unhappiness? She’s not even happy. Why do you even need to bring her down like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  Elliot looks back up at Joyce. She is staring intently at him. He is about to apologize when she bursts out laughing. He sits and stares at her as she lets out a great big chuckle, like a North American robin, sitting high in a tree, laughing at the world. Elliot can’t hold it in and laughs with her. A big hearty laugh. He has almost forgotten what it feels like. He looks around the cafe to see the old man walking towards the door, having finished his coffee. Elliot raises his hand and waves at the man, as he wipes a tear from his cheek. The old man waves back and then leaves the building.

  “They are going to think that I am crazy,” says Elliot.

  “You are crazy,” says Joyce.

  “Probably,” says Elliot.

  “Are you going to tell me about it?” asks Joyce.

  “Tell you about what?” asks Elliot.

  “Whatever it is that is bothering you. Something which has made you the way you are. You don't have to tell me, but if you want to share, then I am ready to listen,” says Joyce.

  “There is nothing to tell,” says Elliot.

  “When you are ready,” says Joyce. They both sit in silence again. The server comes back and refills Elliot’s cup. He orders a piece of pie. Cherry. They sit in silence until the pie comes.

  “That looks really good,” says Joyce. She reaches out for the fork, but her hand moves straight through it. “It is weird. I cannot pick up the fork, but I can sit on this seat. It feels solid below me. Why is it that I can touch some things and not others? I could pick up the case file in your apartment, but the bracelet shocked me. Some things I can touch, as if my body is partly in this world, but some things I cannot touch, as if my body is not of this world. The bracelet—well the bracelet is something else entirely. What do you make of it?” asks Joyce.

  “What is there to make of it?” asks Elliot. “You are a ghost, from the past, who has turned up in my apartment. For what? Is there something drawing you here? Not me, that’s for sure. Or is this screwed-up randomness, to match the screwed-up nature of me dining with a ghost?”

  “Cherry pie was Geoff’s favorite. Maybe nothing is random and everything is for a reason,” says Joyce,

  “There is no reason in this,” he says as he waves his fork towards Joyce. “Cherry pie is my favorite too.”

  “You see,” says Joyce.

  “You must have been a great detective. Cherry pie is everyone’s favorite. What does it matter? Are you building a case on this evidence? It’ll get thrown out of court, if it even gets that far.”

  “Every case starts with a single fact. From there you follow where the clues lead you. I have only begun to follow the clues. What is important? What is unimportant? That we do not know. Yet,” says Joyce. She looks at Elliot and then at the pie. The pie holds her attention for longer. “I was a great detective,” she says.

  “You still are,” says Elliot. Joyce smiles at him.

  “See, you can be decent. That is the nicest thing you have said all day,” says Joyce.

  “What can I say?” says Elliot. “I am full of charm.”

  “You are full of something,” says Joyce.

  “Okay, time to go,” says Elliot. He gets up and pays the bill, leaving a generous tip. Outside the cafe, the sun is beginning to rise and is bathing the city in a dark glow. Soon the sun will peek above the horizon, spilling out red, orange and yellow. The magnificent opening will not be matched until the triumphant end to the day. People will marvel at the sunrise and sunset, yet take the warmth of the day for granted. People are funny like that. Elliot drives them to the precinct.

  Nice to be driving with no traffic for once. Maybe I should always make my commute this early. Almost feels calm, this early in the morning. Except for the ghost sitting beside me. Is she a ghost? An apparition across time? She moved my case forward—who cares who she is.

  The precinct is not a hive of bodies yet. It is too early for most of the officers to have arrived yet. There is a skeleton crew about to finish the night shift. Not much happens at night, except for the most grisly crimes—but thankfully, not many of them.

  Elliot makes his way down to the forensic lab, without making himself known to the other officers on duty. Once they know he is here, he will be inundated with inconsequential investigations and unnecessary paperwork. He does not have time for that. Real police work is calling. As he reaches the lab, he can see Valdez making coffee at the far end. Atkinson is working on something. His eyes are on the computer screen, his brow furrowed a little. He always furrows his brow a little when he is about to make a breakthrough.

  Valdez spots Elliot from across the room. She lifts her hand and gives a half-hearted wave before pointing to her cup. Elliot shakes his head. The two cups of coffee are jolting his system enough, and more would throw him into overdrive. Valdez sips at her coffee and brings her finger to her lips. Elliot looks back at Atkinson and keeps quiet. When deep in concentration, any noise can disturb him and ruin his train of thought. Elliot also knows that Atkinson and Elliot are not morning people. He would not usually be down here this early. Give them four hours and they are the duo that he knows and loves. Come down here before 10am and you are likely to be deafened by the silence and curt replies.

  Atkinson raises his fist and punches the air gently. Valdez gives him the thumbs up and points towards Elliot. Atkinson spots him and goes back to the screen to finish up. Elliot is watching Joyce as she wanders around the room. It is obvious that Valdez and Atkinson cannot see her. She is curious as to what all the machinery and objects do. She points to one of them and looks over at Elliot. He shrugs his shoulders—this world is as much a mystery to him as it is to Joyce. Joyce studies the equipment intently. Elliot can tell that even though she does not understand the technology, she is working out what each thing does. She walks over to Atkinson and stands behind him, watching the screen. She turns around and mouths the word ‘wow’ to Elliot. He nods his head in agreement. He knows the quality of their work, even if he does not understand it.

  Valdez walks over to him and pats his shoulder. She sips at the coffee and stands in silence with Elliot. Elliot watches as Atkinson’s shoulders lose their tension. Whatever he is working on is going well. Whatever he is working on will help bring a criminal to justice. I hope. Who knows any more, with all the bureaucracy, red tape, cover-ups, power shifts, and pay-offs? What chance do we have of bringing anyone to justice, even if we have all the evidence in the world?

  “You got laid last night. Well done,” says Valdez.

  “What. I didn't get laid,” says Elliot.

  “Really,” says Valdez. “You look like you did. Did you meet someone?”

  “No,” says Elliot. He looks over at Joyce, who is still walking around the lab.

  “Why are you here so early?” asks Valdez.

  “I have some prints that I need you to run,” says Elliot.

  “Why can’t you do it?” asks Valdez.

  “Why do you think?” says Elliot.

  “Which case is it?” asks Valdez.

  “Bridlewood,” says Elliot.

  “I thought that was dead,” says Valdez. “Excuse the pun.”

  “Well it’s not. New evidence has come to light,” says Elliot.

  “S
o why don’t you go to the Chief?” asks Valdez.

  “Because I am not sure what the evidence is yet, and there may be someone trying to cover this up. I need to get some firm evidence before I go to the Chief. If I go there with a hunch, then he will shut me down.”

  “So what do you have?” asks Valdez.

  “Some prints,” says Elliot.

  “Whose prints are they?” asks Valdez.

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” says Elliot.

  “Okay. Just this one time. But you owe us. Should not take long to run a set of prints,” says Valdez.

  “Fifteen sets,” says Elliot.

  “What!” says Valdez.

  “I have fifteen sets of prints and I need you to tell me who they belong to. Please,” says Elliot.

  “Fifteen! Do you know how long that will take? Well, I mean, not that long really, but do you know how boring it is to run that many prints? I need another cup of coffee, and you owe us big time. Big time!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” says Elliot. Add it to the tab. Just make sure no one finds out about this. Any information comes to me and me only. If something comes back, then I follow up with the Chief. If nothing of interest comes back, then I drop it.”

  “You drop it?” asks Valdez.

  “Yeah, I drop it,” says Elliot.

  “Okay,” says Valdez.

  Atkinson finishes up on the computer and walks over to them. “I thought I smelled despair. Hey, did you get laid?”

  “That’s what I thought,” says Valdez, “but apparently not. He’s obviously hiding something.”

  “When is he not?” asks Atkinson.

  “I don’t know why I come here,” says Elliot.

  “Because you need our expert help,” says Valdez.

  “What is it this time?” asks Atkinson.

  “Fingerprints. Fifteen sets,” says Valdez.

  “What! Did you tell him how boring it is to run that many prints?” asks Atkinson.

  “Of course,” says Valdez.

  “You know, it’s like having the same conversation twice with you two,” says Elliot.

  “Twice the fun,” says Valdez.