Over the Darkened Landscape - By Derryl Murphy Page 0,44

floor to ceiling shelves, and curios and knick-knacks and antiquities covered desk and shelf space everywhere else. The office was larger than his wife’s, but it felt smaller, much more crowded.

“I’ll call forensics to come and do the dirty work,” said Simone. She pulled out her cellphone and rolled her eyes. “Shit. Battery’s dead. If I’d known I was actually going to be working today . . .” She handed Mike a pair of gloves as she walked by. “I’ll call from the other office, in case there are prints on his phone. Be right back.”

Not really knowing what he was looking for, Mike put down the box he had under his arm and carefully lifted papers and books and opened drawers, hoping something might catch his eye.

Not the eye; the nose.

In the small tin garbage can sitting on the floor beside the desk, a familiar smell. Mike squatted down, slowly pulled out pieces of trash, sniffing each one before piling it on the floor beside him. Simone had come back in and was also searching. Now she stopped what she was doing—grabbed the chair and pulled it over, sat and watched.

Halfway through, Mike stood, grimacing as his knees popped and cracked. “What’s with the knees?” he asked, groaning in pain.

“Middle age,” replied Simone. “Usually your body gives you enough time to get used to the fact that you aren’t as supple. This aging overnight business brings all sorts of nasty surprises, I imagine.”

“Ow ow ow.” Mike walked around the office, stretching his legs and rubbing a new sore spot in the small of his back. “I wanna be young again.” He knew he sounded whiny, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

“Don’t we all.” Simone picked up the can and put it on top of the desk. “What were you onto with this?”

“I dunno.” Mike came back to the desk and picked up the can, waving it under his nose. The smell was still there, faint but familiar. “Something . . .” He rummaged around a bit more, came out with two cigarette butts and a rock-hard piece of well-chewed gum, held them up to his nose. “Jesus.”

“What?”

Mike looked at Simone, still holding the butts and the gum. “I have to cross the Line again.”

She made a face and grabbed his arm. “Hell no, you don’t! Once was enough, dammit, and you know it! If you cross again, you’ll be just about ready for retirement when you come back. If you come back; if your heart can handle the stress.”

He fumbled in his pocket, looking for baggies for the evidence, instead found himself pulling out the second little wooden box. He stared at it for a moment, then looked into Simone’s face. “I can do it.” He tossed the full box into a desk drawer and then turned and stepped quickly to the door, gloves still on, box in one hand and cigarette butts and gum in the other.

The lawyer waiting in the hall led the two of them out, assuring them that no-one would enter the office until the forensics officers arrived. When they reached the car Simone turned on him. “You can’t be thinking that; you can’t. Beside being fucking illegal, it’s dangerous. We still don’t know enough about this shit.”

“Just get me to the Line,” said Mike, finally getting the evidence into some baggies and pocketing them. He fumbled through the box, pulled out a vial and syringe, stuck the needle through the lid and drew the green liquid up. “Same location as last time.”

“Then tell me what you know.” She swung hard on the wheel, taking a corner fast enough to throw Mike’s shoulder up against the door. He eyed her for a second, then waved the syringe in the air before recapping it.

“I know who did it. But I don’t know why, and I can only place him and Hayes in the same room. No real proof.”

“Yet.”

“Yet. Someone has to cross the Line to get a handle on the rest of this, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be you, or the captain, or anyone else who’s never been there before.”

Tires screeching, Simone brought the car to a stop by the Line. A couple of well-dressed men were standing across the street; one look at the car and both turned and walked away. The street was otherwise empty.

Mike undid his tie and wrapped it around his arm, pulled it tight until his veins were bulging. “Hope to hell this works.” Twice he