“It’s just that he is so... odd. I can’t imagine he would be much help during an interview or interrogation when he barely speaks.” Dropping his voice, he leaned in conspiratorially. “Some of us think he doesn’t even have an ability or if he does, it’s so meager, it’s practically useless.”
Felipe ground his teeth, his grip tightening around his utensils. He rarely felt the urge to punch anyone, but Newman was testing his self-control. Oliver Barlow had managed to bring Felipe back to life and keep him alive. How many in the Paranormal Society could say they held the key to life and death in their hands? Oliver was so powerful he was afraid to use his innate abilities for fear of causing harm, but all they saw was weakness.
“He’s probably a normal coroner willing to keep his mouth shut about monsters. Enough money will keep anyone quiet. How you trust him is beyond me. Anyone who enjoys spending their time butchering people isn’t right in the head.”
Resisting the urge to wipe the smug smile off his face, Felipe stabbed a piece of liver and swiped it through a broken egg. “Barlow has given me no reason to distrust him. You, on the other hand, showed up late for an assignment and did a half-assed job at the crime scene.Andyour report is late. Barlow has proved himself more than capable at a crime scene and more than willing to put in some effort, so I would keep my criticism to myself, if I were you.”
A muscle in Newman’s jaw twitched, and for a second, Felipe feared he had gone too far.
“Are you coming with us to interview the priest today or not, Newman?”
“Heavens no, today’s my day off. I am deadweight, after all.” He glanced at his pocket watch and snapped it shut loudly enough to break the clasp. “Well, I’d best be off. Good luck talking to the priest. You’ll need it. He wanted us to wrap up the case quickly, too, remember? And he isn’t known for being forthcoming.”
Leaving his dirty cup on the table, Newman gave Felipe a terse nod and slipped out of the dining room. Felipe watched Newman leave, willing the man to keep walking. How dare he speak of Oliver like that. Felipe tried not to hate his coworkers, but if he didn’t have to work with that one ever again, it would be too soon. Felipe’s chest tightened at the thought. That wouldn’t be a problem now, would it? Perhaps, his parting shot would be to report him to Head Inspector Williams, not that he would live long enough to see the consequences. Sighing, he returned to his half-cold breakfast. The food turned to ash on his tongue as he mechanically ate the rest of it to silence the healing hunger pangs.
He still had time. He had six days left, and he would make the most of them.
Chapter Eleven
Keep Your Wits
Returning to the basementfeeling like he had eaten a lead sinker, Felipe came around the corner to find Gwen Jones waiting for him outside the laboratory door. A thousand thoughts of murderers and a maimed Oliver shot through his mind. Surely, he would have felt it through the tether if something had happened. He slowed his steps, regarding her with a frown as she met him halfway and motioned for him to follow her around the corner.
“Is everything all right with Oliver?” he asked slowly.
Jones was quiet for a long moment before she replied in a low voice, “He’s doing better. Now, I want to have a chat with you. I didn’t think I would have to have this talk so soon, but— Actually, if Oliver wants to tell you about that, he will, it isn’t my place to.” Taking a breath, she began again. “The point is, Oliver still wants to go out to the West Bronx with you, so here are some rules. One, you’re driving. If you ask him to, he’ll do it, but he shouldn’t right now. Two, youwillstop for lunch and make sure he eats. Three, if he goes really still and silent or looks blank, he’s not okay. Four, if he’s pacing or rocking, he’sreallynot okay and telling him to snap out of it won’t help.”
“I would never say that.” Felipe opened his mouth but closed it at the intensity of her gaze. “I would never purposely do or say anything to hurt him.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s on purpose or not.”
He nodded but sighed. “What should I do if he hits three or four?”
“Give him space and air but don’t leave him or touch him without asking. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s easier to fall back into it. I’m only telling you this part because he said I could. Usually he can feel it happening, but he can’t always express it. It’s like the words get stuck or disappear. And he was already at a four today, so take it easy on him.” She was about to walk away, but she stopped and turned to him with an accusatory finger. “But don’t patronize him. He isn’t a child, and no one likes that.”
Raising his hands in submission, Galvan replied, “I promise I’ll take care of him. Truly, I’ll do my best.”
