Heroic Measures (continued)

Sen returned shortly thereafter bearing a tray that held a pitcher of water, three plastic cups, and a plate of assorted crackers and small multi-colored squares of wrapped chocolate. He placed it on the table in the center of the room. He then poured a cup of water for the young woman, placed it before her on the table, and then stepped back.

She eyed him warily, but she must have sensed something about him that nearly everyone else did. He was a man to be trusted. Walter could remember feeling it the first time he had met the oriental hero. Raynes had been wise to select Sen to bring and serve the food. Had anyone else done it, she might have rejected it, which would have done none of them any good.

The young woman took the cup, looked into it, and then drained it. She returned it to the table and reached for a handful of the crackers. Although she tried to eat with deliberate care, Walter could tell that she was incredibly hungry. He moved forward, ready to refill her cup, when he felt Raynes’ hand on his arm. He stared down at uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then stepped back.

Sen refilled her cup with graceful efficiency. She flashed him a quick, tentative smile. This one she drank less quickly. Raynes waited until her eating slowed before he addressed her.

“I’d appreciate it if you could answer a few questions for me.”

The young woman studied him for a long moment and then glanced at Sen, Red, and Walter. She seemed to linger on Walter for a few seconds longer than the others. He tried not to fidget under scrutiny, mostly successfully. The young woman looked back at Raynes and then nodded.

“Is your name is Vivian Parrish?”

She nodded slowly.

Raynes entered something into his computer.

“Why were you in the alleyway with that body?”

There was a long, heavy silence before she answered him.

“Because he was dead.”

Her answer did not seem to surprise Raynes, although it sent a chill along Walter’s spine.

“Was it someone you knew?”

“No.”

“I see.”

Raynes worked the computer keyboard again.

“Why were you there then?”

Several emotions played across the young woman’s expression. It was evident that she was exhausted. The water and snacks had renewed her somewhat, but she was in desperate need of sleep.

“Because I needed to know,” she finally said. Her voice sounded as though she were fighting back a sob.

“Know what?”

“Who did it?”

“Why?” Raynes gently persisted.

“Because they think I did it.”

A frown formed small wrinkles across Raynes’ forehead.

“Who does?”

“Everyone,” the young woman answered. Her eyes met Raynes’ gaze, pleading. “But I didn’t.”

Raynes nodded slowly. His lips formed a tight line. He seemed to consider her responses for a moment and then presented her with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Okay, Vivian,” he said. “I think that’s enough for now.” He stared thoughtfully at the blank conference room for a moment and then turned to Sen. “Sen,” he said, “can you please show Vivian to the women’s locker room? Rachel will meet you there.”

He looked at Vivian now. “You can shower and get some clean clothes. We also have some bunk rooms available,” he told her. “I think it might be safer if you stayed with us for a while.”

She looked hesitant and studied the faces around her again. Finally, she nodded. Sen stepped forward and waited for her to rise from the chair. She did so slowly. Sen led her to the door and the two departed.

After the door had closed again, Red turned to Raynes.

“What makes you think she didn’t do it?”

“Because she didn’t,” Raynes replied. “Walter doesn’t think so either.” He cast a quick, conspiratorial glance at Walter.

Red stared at Raynes, clearly not amused. Walter could understand that. Despite her obvious fatigue, the young woman had seemed not quite all here.

Drugs? Walter wondered.

“Want to try again?” Red inquired skeptically.

“Because she didn’t,” Raynes repeated. After a moment, he chuckled softly and held up one of the folders had been carrying. “Her DNA was found at none of the crime scenes,” he explained.

“While not entirely conclusive,” he went on, “our forensics experts have determined that there’s no way her talons could have caused the damage found on this bodies.”

It was Walter’s turn to look surprised. Raynes caught his expression and tapped another one of the folders. “The . . . configuration of the wounds was wrong,” he said. “Also, as sharp as her claws might be, there’s no way she was strong enough to inflict that kind of damage, even if the person was already dead.”

He tapped the edge of the notebook computer. “I have a copy of her medical profile,” he explained.

He did it in so matter-of-fact manner, as if having access to that kind of data was a common occurrence, that it made Walter wonder what other kinds of information he might have access to.

“The same genetic changes that gave her wings, also altered her bone and muscle structure,” he went on. “She doesn’t have the strength.”

Walter nodded slowly, realization dawning as he recalled a lesson from one of his science classes in high school. It had something to do with birds having very light and hollow bones.

“We’ll keep her here for a little while,” Raynes continued, “and see what turns up.” He closed his laptop computer and gathered his notes. “In the meantime,” he said, “we all have other things to do.”

Raynes paused in front of Walter as he headed for the door. “Good job, Walter.” He moved through the doorway and, without turning around, added, “Red, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t I always?”

Raynes’ retort, if there was one, was lost in the sound of the door closing.

Walter stared at the door for a long moment, troubled by one thing.

If she didn’t do it, then who did?