syllables liquid and lovely. He met my eyes. “But she was not a modern woman. She would have been offended by the photographs.”
“I’m a law enforcement officer. I can adapt,” I said.
He gave a stronger nod. “Yes. You will. But it may never be easy for you to view such things. I will remain in my office until such time as you are ready for me to be present.”
My eyes went wide. I’d have to be in the presence of men when the photos were being viewed and dissected. “Oh dear,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Wait. Did they release Catriona?”
“No. The State Department and the EU embassy are now involved. It’s becoming complicated on multiple levels.” He turned and went to his new glass-walled office at the back of the second floor. He walked like a wild animal, with liquid grace, and closed the door to his office, pulling the blinds. His current office had been converted from unused space, along with the new interrogation room beside it. I felt intense relief at the knowledge that he would be moving upstairs soon.
I dropped my back to the hallway, the wall cool through my clothing. I’d have to see sex pictures in a room full of my coworkers, women and men. In front of my boss. In front of Occam. “Oh dear,” I repeated, this time to myself. When I thought I could stand it, I went back to the conference room and the photos of the naked people doing . . . things . . . to each other.
* * *
* * *
“The commune was composed of small groups of people,” JoJo said, “and if we look at this in light of the commune, then in Stella’s group there were seven, counting Stella. Racine Alcock left the commune after a year and disappeared, leaving six. All six of the remaining commune members, again counting Stella, were in the band in some capacity. Stella, Connelly Darrow, Thomas Langer, Erica Lynn Quinton, Cale Nowell, Donald Murray Hampstead. Two band/commune members are dead under bizarre paranormal circumstances from the death working: Stella and Connelly Darrow. The other dead are Monica Belcher and Verna Upton, not in the band but still part of Stella’s inner circle. In the commune and the band and still alive are Thomas Langer, Erica Lynn Quinton, Cale Nowell, Donald Murray Hampstead. Also, presumably alive, is Racine Alcock. So far, Nell—Ingram—cannot find records of her. If this was a TV show, Alcock would be dead at the hands of the commune members and the killer would be killing off all the witnesses.”
“This is not a television show,” FireWind said, amused. “Ingram, what do you have on her?” He was eating the salad from my garden with apparent relish. I was moderately gratified that he found it so tasty. An empty bowl was on the table. He had wiped the last dregs of stew from it with the last chunk of bread. He had carefully and kindly not looked at me as he ate, the photos of naked people on the screens over his head.
“Sending you my search results,” I said, shifting the file to JoJo. I had begun background checks on all the band and commune members, including the missing Racine Alcock, who did not exist under that exact name, according to current databases: driver’s licenses, marriage licenses, and death certificates in seven states, and current social media, within fairly broad age parameters. I didn’t have access to her date of birth, social security number, or mother’s maiden name. I had no physical characteristics, height, weight, current hair color. That meant that my initial search had been limited. Then I had searched under multiple spellings for Alcock: Racine, Racina, Ragine, Regina, Reagan, Raegan, Regan, Ragan, Roseann, Rosanne, Rosanna, Roxanne, Roxanna, Roxana, and Richelle Alcock. I followed that with a search for first-name-unknown Racine Alcock, first-name-unknown all the others Alcock, and a good ten other variations of Alcock. I found lots of women who might fit under broad parameters, but nothing specific. Not one mention of a female in that correct age group. Not in the military, not in the prison system, not anywhere.
Jo looked up at me. “Nice work, country hick chick. I’ll make a research geek out of you yet.”
I made a face at her, as if her words had a bad smell. She chuckled, knowing I hated computer stuff and wanted to be out in the open air, in nature.
FireWind gathered up the dirty dishes and glided into the doorway. Not