house.
Her partner Bill Garvin, followed her inside. Physically, they were an odd pair. Melanie Blaise, who had barely made the Bureau's minimum height requirement, wore her raven-black hair as long as the Bureau regs would permit and still had the wiry build of the gymnast she had been during her four years at Ohio State. Garvin was six-two and a weight-lifter in his spare time. His blond hair was cut well within the official limits.
Their walk through the house was slow and thoughtful. Eventually, they climbed the stairs leading to the bathroom where Brooks had died. The hallway was well-lit by sunshine streaming through a skylight overhead.
Garvin looked toward the darkened bathroom at the end of the hall. "Power off, you reckon, Princess?"
Once, during a long stakeout, Melanie had mentioned that her parents had paid for a genealogy search when she was small, and found that the family was very distantly related to some minor European royalty. Garvin had been calling her 'Princess' ever since - in private. She had threatened to eviscerate him if he ever did it around anyone else.
She looked around, found a light switch, and flicked it. Nothing. "Power's turned off."
"Good," Garvin said. "One guy's been electrocuted around here already, which is one too many. Don't want to add to the total."
The floor of the Brooks' bathroom was still wet. Although light came in through a small window, they got out the flashlights they always carried and scanned the room carefully, noting the still dripping pipe joint under the sink. Then they looked at the light switch, now a small mass of melted, blackened plastic.
"My Mom used to warn me about turning on a light with wet hands," Garvin said. "But then, my Mom believed the Weekly World News ." He shook his head. "I didn't think it was possible to fry yourself with a light switch, even standing in water, like Brooks was."
"It isn't," Melanie said. "At least, it isn't supposed to be. I did a quick Internet search before we left the office. The stuff they make light switches out of these days doesn't conduct electricity."
"Except that it does. Or it did."
"Must have been a manufacturer's defect. That, or the electrician installing it screwed up. Either way, Mrs. Brooks has the basis for a nice, fat lawsuit, whatever consolation that holds."
"I reckon so." Garvin was from the Tidewater area of Virginia, and Southernisms sometimes crept into his speech.
They checked to be sure the house's security system was functioning, although the likelihood of an intruder having something to do with Brooks' death seemed slight, under the circumstances.
Back at the office, they did a quick 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' to decide who would stay late and write up the brief report about Representative Ron Brooks's death. Blaise's scissored fingers beat Garvin's flat-handed paper. "The victory's yours, Princess," he said, and pulled up a chair.
"Good," she said. "I'm meeting someone for a drink, and now I won't have to call and say I'm running late."
Garvin turned on his PC and waited for it to boot up. "New boyfriend?"
"I wish. It's Colleen O'Donnell, from Quantico." Melanie Blaise pulled on her black overcoat. "We were in the same class at the Academy. She's in town giving a deposition at Justice. We're gonna have a few drinks, and" - she flashed him a wicked grin - "badmouth our partners behind their backs."
"Quantico, huh? She's teaching at the Academy now?"
"No, she's in Behavioral Science."
Garvin blinked. "Oh. One of them ."
"Yup, one of them . And if your ears start burning half an hour from now, at least you'll know why. Ciao ."
Chapter 10
The Early Part of the week was busy for Libby Chastain. Monday brought her a client whose daughter had run away two years ago. The parents had already tried the police, the FBI, and a series of private investigators. Finally, they called Libby.
She used several personal objects the girl had left behind as the basis for a complicated scrying spell.
Her partner Bill Garvin, followed her inside. Physically, they were an odd pair. Melanie Blaise, who had barely made the Bureau's minimum height requirement, wore her raven-black hair as long as the Bureau regs would permit and still had the wiry build of the gymnast she had been during her four years at Ohio State. Garvin was six-two and a weight-lifter in his spare time. His blond hair was cut well within the official limits.
Their walk through the house was slow and thoughtful. Eventually, they climbed the stairs leading to the bathroom where Brooks had died. The hallway was well-lit by sunshine streaming through a skylight overhead.
Garvin looked toward the darkened bathroom at the end of the hall. "Power off, you reckon, Princess?"
Once, during a long stakeout, Melanie had mentioned that her parents had paid for a genealogy search when she was small, and found that the family was very distantly related to some minor European royalty. Garvin had been calling her 'Princess' ever since - in private. She had threatened to eviscerate him if he ever did it around anyone else.
She looked around, found a light switch, and flicked it. Nothing. "Power's turned off."
"Good," Garvin said. "One guy's been electrocuted around here already, which is one too many. Don't want to add to the total."
The floor of the Brooks' bathroom was still wet. Although light came in through a small window, they got out the flashlights they always carried and scanned the room carefully, noting the still dripping pipe joint under the sink. Then they looked at the light switch, now a small mass of melted, blackened plastic.
"My Mom used to warn me about turning on a light with wet hands," Garvin said. "But then, my Mom believed the Weekly World News ." He shook his head. "I didn't think it was possible to fry yourself with a light switch, even standing in water, like Brooks was."
"It isn't," Melanie said. "At least, it isn't supposed to be. I did a quick Internet search before we left the office. The stuff they make light switches out of these days doesn't conduct electricity."
"Except that it does. Or it did."
"Must have been a manufacturer's defect. That, or the electrician installing it screwed up. Either way, Mrs. Brooks has the basis for a nice, fat lawsuit, whatever consolation that holds."
"I reckon so." Garvin was from the Tidewater area of Virginia, and Southernisms sometimes crept into his speech.
They checked to be sure the house's security system was functioning, although the likelihood of an intruder having something to do with Brooks' death seemed slight, under the circumstances.
Back at the office, they did a quick 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' to decide who would stay late and write up the brief report about Representative Ron Brooks's death. Blaise's scissored fingers beat Garvin's flat-handed paper. "The victory's yours, Princess," he said, and pulled up a chair.
"Good," she said. "I'm meeting someone for a drink, and now I won't have to call and say I'm running late."
Garvin turned on his PC and waited for it to boot up. "New boyfriend?"
"I wish. It's Colleen O'Donnell, from Quantico." Melanie Blaise pulled on her black overcoat. "We were in the same class at the Academy. She's in town giving a deposition at Justice. We're gonna have a few drinks, and" - she flashed him a wicked grin - "badmouth our partners behind their backs."
"Quantico, huh? She's teaching at the Academy now?"
"No, she's in Behavioral Science."
Garvin blinked. "Oh. One of them ."
"Yup, one of them . And if your ears start burning half an hour from now, at least you'll know why. Ciao ."
Chapter 10
The Early Part of the week was busy for Libby Chastain. Monday brought her a client whose daughter had run away two years ago. The parents had already tried the police, the FBI, and a series of private investigators. Finally, they called Libby.
She used several personal objects the girl had left behind as the basis for a complicated scrying spell.
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