Inspector Rames

Chapter 52

"This report has been taken seriously, ma'am," Alex said. "The PRBs have searched your flat, and we've interviewed your neighbours. No one has seen a man of your husband's description in or around the block today, no one has forced entry to your home, and the CCTV in the corridor has captured no one arriving except us."

"Ghosts don't show up on video cameras, boy," Hestia said as if my sergeant was stupid. "And they don't have to force doors to come in. My Joe just passes through the walls."

I pressed a hand against my forehead, trying to crush a budding headache. "You don't have to guarantee it, you just have to do it. I'm on duty now, so don't call me again until after five -- and don't call me until I have roses."

***

We finally escaped from Hestia Smith and trudged back down her road in the direction of the police station. It was almost ten now, but Socrico's lighting was still dim. The towering brownstone buildings cast dark patches over the road, and the metal walkways above us looked like menacing serpents. Much higher above them, looping train tracks gleamed under the artificial lights, although it was hard to hear the whoosh of trains over the screech of nearby trams and clatter of shoes on steel.

"We should charge her with wasting police time." I stuffed my hands in my pockets as we walked, trying to warm my fingers. "We're not the bloody Ghostbusters."

Amusement flickered in Alex's green eyes. "Maybe we should tell her to give them a call. What are peonies, anyway?"

"Besides being a type of flower I don't want in my bouquet, I have no idea."

He smiled and slid his arm around my waist. "Be careful, bridezilla. You might get your roses, or you might just scare the florist away."

"Bridezilla?" I raised an eyebrow. "If she thinks I'm scary, she shouldn't be in business. There must be worse brides than me. I'm not asking for a fairy tale, just the fucking flowers I've paid for!"

"Maybe peonies wouldn't look so bad?"

"I want roses because you bought them for me on Valentine's Day. Maybe peonies would look nice, if I knew what they looked like, but they wouldn't have the same --"

A scream pierced the city.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. We froze in place for a moment, then Alex tore his arm away from me and broke into a sprint. I ripped my pistol from its holster and followed him.  

We ran down to the end of the road and around another bend, following the scream even as the sound rang and faded. Shadows clung to the sides of the street, and dark platforms crossed overhead. A woman was lying on her back in the middle of the concrete.

Alex reached her first, his tabphone already against his ear. I was one step behind, sighting down my pistol into the darkness.

I dropped when I reached her, landing on my knees in a pool of blood and rainwater. I noticed the knife in her chest at the same time as I pushed my jacket against the wound; noticed her bleary eyes at the same time as I reached for her wrist.

"You can't go that quickly." My fingers found her fading pulse. "We've called an ambulance. You're going to be okay."

But I knew that we were too late.

***

The PRBs turned up not long after the rain had stopped and the paramedics had arrived. My older sister, Doctor Cassia Rames, and her robot assistant were among them.

The street had been transformed with electro-tape, journalists, and curious crowds, but she passed it all without breaking a stride. She turned a few heads, even in her forensic suit. While she hadn't hit the headlines, it was public knowledge that she and Crown Prosecution Service barrister Miles Grant had recently divorced, and with a single status attached to her platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and full lips, she was quite a catch.