“Hateful in my eyes as the gates of Hades is that man, who, yielding to stress of poverty, tells a deceitful tale.”
– Homer, Odyssey
Click. Click. Scroll. Scroll. As a digital forensics examiner for the Illinois State Police, my life was an endless series of mouse clicks and down arrows on the keyboard. Though a relatively large portion of my job required in-depth analysis, an even larger part revolved around merely sifting through a suspect’s collection of files. Files pulled from devices such as computers, cell phones, and tablets. All files. Including some I’d rather not see, but could never seem to avoid. You can tell a lot about a person from their search history alone.
I peeled the glasses from my nose, rubbing my hands over my face, and giving my eyes a break from the constant blaring white light of the computer screen. One of the troopers ducked in his head. The digital forensics unit had its suite away from the other investigators. It made it easier to maintain evidence and to avoid seeing potential mind-bending images that came up on our screens. I preferred it that way. It was my own little hole in the universe where I could seclude myself and do my job.
“You have a visitor downstairs, Costas,” he said, leaning on the doorknob.
After saving my case file, I grabbed a pen and brushed my bangs away from my forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bruce? Call me, Steph. You trooper. Me civilian.” Chuckling, I pointed between the two of us.
“Just want to make you feel like a part of the team. There are no first names here. Number one rule.”
I smiled and moved into the hallway. “Who is it? Please tell me it’s not Mr. Sanders. My brain is far too fried to deal with his level of crazy right now.”
“Mrs. Conroy. Sound familiar?”
I pinched my eyes shut. Please tell me it wasn’t the Mrs. Conroy. “What does she look like?”
“I’d guess early forties? Auburn hair. Sunken eyes. Looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.”
Definitely sounded like her. Oh, boy.
After pushing the down button for the elevator, I removed the pen from my dress pocket. “You mind sticking around until I give the clear?” The elevator doors opened, and I clicked the pen several times as I walked in.
“Of course,” he said.
When we stepped out of the elevator, the woman waiting sprinted toward me. I could picture her plain as day in the courtroom when I was on the stand, answering questions about my findings in her husband’s murder case. A case that closed four years ago.
I waved at Bruce over my shoulder. “We’re good.”
He studied the woman’s face and then looked at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He paused another beat before turning away.
“Mrs. Conroy, can I help you with something?” I placed a hand on her shoulder.
She wrung her hands together, her hair in disarray, dark bags under her eyes. Her clothes were stained with brown splotches; nails caked with something dark. She gave off a body odor that smelled like she hadn’t showered in days, possibly weeks.
My great-grandma used to say I could see a person’s aura. Throughout my life and in my profession, I stood firm that seeing was believing. Magic. Mysticism. Gut instinct was my superpower. Still, it never stopped me from seeing colors. Colors which made it possible for me to read a person without an explanation of how. Black mixed with bright yellow floated over Mrs. Conroy like vapor.
“Henry came to me from the Underworld. He came to me in a dream. There had to be more evidence, Miss Costas. There had to be.” Her words came out frantic, rushed, and loud.
The Underworld? She was worse off than I thought. Her anxiety was rubbing off on me. It reminded me why I hated the main floor. There were always too many people. Even in their cubicles, it suffocated me. “Let’s go talk over here.” We moved to a quieter corner, as far away from everyone else as I could manage without leaving the building.
“Henry told me there was financial evidence. That it would prove, Earnest Fueller bought the hammer. I’m sure the dates, the times, location…. all of it would match!” She grabbed onto my shoulders with wild eyes.
I tensed, beads of sweat dripping down my neck. The pen. I rolled it in my palm to distract myself. It was unlikely any of what Mrs. Conroy was saying was true. Four years ago, her husband was one of a string of murders. The suspected murderer was Earnest Fueller, who’d conveniently committed suicide after the seventh murder, her husband. Without his testimony and little evidence found, he was never officially ruled as guilty. Over the years, it drove Mrs. Conroy to the brink of insanity.
“Mrs. Conroy, I understand you need closure, but there’s nothing else we can do. The case was combed over and over for almost a year. There wasn’t enough evidence. I personally searched devices for months on end. You know that.”
“Couldn’t you open it again? Take another look?” Her grip tightened, tears welling in her eyes. “Please.”
With her situation and the pained look in her eyes, I’d have a hard time saying no. Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I turned down anyone’s request. She needed closure. To know, with the utmost certainty, who killed her husband. Who could fault her?
“I’ll take another look.” Nausea boiled in my stomach, knowing it was unlikely I’d find anything. Despite it, I felt obligated to try it because I didn’t like letting people down if I could help it.
She let out a breath and wrapped her arms around me. Given my short stature, my face shoved against her bosom. I held my glasses to keep them from falling off.
“Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me.” A newfound hope flickered in her eyes. A hope I put there knowing the chances were slim.
Me and my big mouth.
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try a few things between my other cases.”
“Absolutely understand! I’ll—I’ll leave you to it. Please call me as soon as you find anything.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, tears streaking her cheeks.
If I find anything. “Of course.” I offered a half-smile.
She headed for the door, sniffling and bumping into desk corners.
I slipped off my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose as I walked back to the elevator. My throat burned from the acid reflux making an unwanted visit. I fished through my pocket, pulling out a roll of Tums.
“Looks like you need to release a bit of tension there, Steph,” Leo said from behind me.
After pressing the elevator button, I turned around to see his snarky grin. Every station had one. The cocky, creepy cop who loved to hit on the civilians. Was it because they didn’t think we’d have as much balls as a female officer? I hadn’t fallen for it yet…and wouldn’t.
“Nothing a bottle of wine and a bubble bath can’t cure, Leo,” I said, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“You in nothing but suds and water…I can get behind that. Do you wear your glasses too?” His slimy grin continued as he leaned against the wall.
“Goodnight, Leo,” I answered, stepping into the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught him waving at me through the crack.