Book 3 Chapter 24 - A Message From God Herself

Yes.
I am certain of it. Beyond the shadow of a doubt.

The evidence is clear and undeniable.
And we have already made an arrest.

I have found the Cruel Ivy Killer.
—John Knight, Public Statement

John Knight leaned back in the worn office chair and scowled at his files. He had a few promising leads, but they were difficult to investigate. And his temporary office on campus was annoyingly small. This case was dragging on for far too long.

He didn’t much like working with Lyle Lupin. Not anymore, at least. It was annoying to have a civilian in the role of lead investigator. Especially when it was John’s friend who’d been killed only a week before. John had actually been the one who’d insisted on calling Lyle. But that had been before the case had started to stretch out across multiple months. John liked the private investigator when he made police work quick and easy. He didn’t like having his job taken over. And Lyle didn’t care about the dead officer. He just leveraged the death to force his way onto the Chromatic campus.

John knew that was good for the investigation, but it still felt cold. Especially since it wasn’t necessary. Officer Foreman, before he’d been killed by so-called ‘friendly fire,’ had been largely responsible for championing Abel Bouvier’s point of view with the chief. With him dead, they’d have been on campus in a matter of days regardless. John couldn’t say he approved of his friend getting in the way of the investigation before, but he understood the logic. Chromatic really was more important than one killer. And whether it was wise or not, John and Foreman had worked together for twenty years. Capitalizing on his murder just to investigate the campus two days earlier was crass.

But John would make the best of it. Lyle was stubborn and refused to accept obvious answers when they were presented. So John would investigate those instead. And when he was the one who actually caught the killer, maybe he’d finally get a promotion. The fact that Lyle Lupin of all people couldn’t solve a case John had figured out would certainly look good. And he thought there was a real chance that would actually be how things played out.

Even if his initial ideas weren’t exactly going well. He’d been excited to finally properly question Kiera Mulberry. The kid had come in and given a statement after her father was murdered, but she hadn’t offered anything particularly useful. Just an alibi, which was quickly verified. But almost nothing else. The girl refused to speak about her father, or answer any questions about anyone else who might’ve wanted him dead.

Or, she’d answered. But they’d all been noncommittal responses without any meat to them. I can’t think of anyone. I don’t know. Emptiness like that and nothing more. Not an outright refusal. But it was effectively the same. That wasn’t suspicious on its own. The Prism City police weren’t particularly popular, truth be told. And Kiera had less reason to speak to them than most. They had arrested her for murder already, after all. And if the witness to that crime was still breathing, they’d still be planning to prosecute her. So it wasn’t a surprise when she didn’t want to cooperate.

Of course, when he’d tried to have her brought in for further questioning, he learned she wasn’t on campus. The girl had apparently been sent on a full and extended mission into the mist the very day the police had arrived at the school. That was suspicious in about fifteen ways. She’d been in training for three months. The lancers could’ve been short-handed, but if they were dipping into students? They wouldn’t start with that particular team without a damn good reason. John didn’t care how special and impressive the spectrum class was. So while it was irritating, he also found it encouraging. If he assumed Lyle was right, and Bouvier was working with the killer for some reason... the sudden mission would be extremely convenient. 

John wasn’t sold on that idea. He was fairly certain the killer was working alone. Lyle thought it was most likely a group of people supporting one killer. Or more recently, that some sort of mental manipulation talent was at play. Which did seem more likely after Foreman’s death, in all fairness. But a talent that worked on a Category Blue, degree ten? That was unlikely.

Bouvier had emotional manipulation of his own, of course. But the Dream Eater calling was extremely limited in what it could accomplish. Only one talent at a time could be used on anyone, and every student was already subject to Void of Sloth. The only other calling John could think of that could do that was “Puppetmaster,” and even Cyan Asher needed to be in the room with his targets. The man almost never left his estate, and he wouldn’t have been able to manipulate this particular set of circumstances with talents alone. He’d probably be able to manage it with talents and money, but why would he?

Cyan was vaguely tied to the case in one other way. Kiera Mulberry’s bail had been paid by the Asher family. But that was barely related to the killings, and was likely a dead end regardless. The ugly truth of that particular family was simple. They wouldn’t need to go through all of this fanfare if they wanted someone dead. Hell, John would admit it, if only inside his own mind. The Ashers would probably hire a cop if they wanted someone in the city dead. Not a serial killer who would draw attention to them. He didn’t know how they were tied to the Kitsune in question, but it wouldn’t be a strong enough connection for such a visible act of violence.

At the end of the day, Cyan and his entire family could reasonably be eliminated as suspects. For the same reason John couldn’t pursue that line of thought if he wanted to. The department had a long-standing operating instruction regarding the family. The only family with not only more than one, but a half dozen members in Category Violet.

The culprit is not an Asher.
It was an order every detective knew as soon as they earned their shield. And one they would follow. 

It wasn’t the strictest of laws. They could arrest a low-category or teenage Asher. They could press charges against an employee of the family. There were probably hundreds of Asher children around the remains of the world. Maybe just running around Prism. The police didn’t have to ignore them all. If the Cruel Ivy Killer was somehow some orange student, the police could act. They couldn’t investigate them first. That would be disrespectful. But John could apprehend them eventually. That wasn’t the problem, however. Because the killer would need to be a prominent Asher. One with the ability to manipulate Abel Bouvier. It would have to be Cyan himself. They couldn’t arrest someone like that. Not with all the proof in the world.

Conversely, Cyan wouldn’t bother to hide it. The bulletin wouldn’t report it if he killed someone in their offices. The police wouldn’t arrest him if they’d been there. They wouldn’t even have the means to try. The best they could hope for was a gentleman’s agreement. The Ashers would hide the behavior of their employees and allow the police to prosecute them, and the police would leave the family leadership alone.

Essentially, this proved Cyan’s innocence. It was ironic, but it was true. It would be like someone trying to hide the fact that they ate their own lunch from the office fridge. 

John was getting a headache, and he put his hand to his temple to massage it away. His mind insisted on returning to that train of thought. Lyle was getting into his head. Every day, he found himself making the same argument for why Cyan Asher wasn’t involved. In his own head. Like he didn’t believe it. He was right. He knew he was right, and Cyan wasn’t the so-called “Cruel Ivy Killer.” 

The problem was simple. It made perfect sense to cross Cyan off as a suspect. But he also fit all the evidence so damn well.

John needed a viable suspect, and he needed one as soon as possible. Student profiles weren’t helping all that much. To absolutely no one’s surprise, the children at the school seemed to just be children. And the travel records were taking forever to turn up, so John couldn’t even eliminate most of the school by alibi. Lyle had pointed out that, if there were multiple people involved or mental manipulation, those records wouldn’t eliminate anyone regardless. But they would identify students or staff who’d been in the area of each death. At least, when combined with public transit records. That could at least identify a group to investigate. Even if Lyle was right, that would eventually lead to some connection.

John was startled by a knock on his door. He nearly jumped out of his skin before noticing a young officer looking guilty in the entrance.

“S–Sorry, Detective. Didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized. 

John sniffed. He knew he shouldn’t be irritated with her. At his degree, it really was his own fault. He had more than enough perception to see her coming. There was just so much foot traffic in this godforsaken school, and he’d been buried in his own thoughts. He was annoyed anyway.

“It’s fine, what is it?” he asked.

“Dropping off a delivery, sir. From today’s mail,” she explained. She held up an orange envelope with a simple address written on it. 

John frowned. A train had come in today, meaning some people with family from smaller settlements would have mail. But John had been born and raised in Prism. He’d never actually gotten a letter before. Prism was large, but not so large that people needed postage to contact each other. “That’s... odd. From whom?” he interrogated.

The officer shrugged. “It doesn’t say. There is only a receiving address. Sorry,” she responded.

John’s frown deepened. There were only two options for that. Someone from outside the city had sent him a letter—or a small package, by the looks of it—and mailed it to Prism on the train at least a month before. Or someone inside the city had dropped it off with the post office that morning. The latter option was extremely unusual, but far more likely. It would work briefly for anonymity, of course. But the post office had cameras. He’d know who’d sent it in a day or two at most. But no one outside of Prism even knew his name. 

He held his hand out to accept it, and the officer carried it to him. “Thank you,” he murmured. He waved her off without even meeting her eyes, focusing entirely on opening the envelope. He had no idea what it was, but it was absolutely interesting. 

It contained no letter. Instead, a slight weight slid around inside like a single stone, making most of the envelope an empty waste. John tilted it over, and a small flash drive dropped onto his desk. He stared at it for a moment, wondering what he should do.

In old-world movies, this sort of thing could be used to take over a person’s computers and steal all of their information. He briefly worried that was the point, but quickly dismissed the idea. That was a fantasy concern, not a real one. Aside from that, there were a dozen tablets he could use to read the flash drive, and few of them had particularly interesting information on them. Most of the classified files on the case were printed on paper and kept in physical folders. It was the easiest way to maintain a chain of custody on evidence and information.

He was also desperate for a decent lead. One Lyle Lupin wasn’t already following, at least. If he wanted to beat the other man and catch the killer, he needed to be willing to take minor risks. So he took a deep breath, held it in, and plugged the drive into his tablet.

Rather than a thousand pop-ups and loading bars like hacking in movies, his screen simply opened the file explorer and displayed the contents of the drive. John took a moment to sigh in relief, suddenly realizing he’d been more worried about fantasy hackers than he realized. Then he saw the folder names. The first was more than helpful. 

Chromatic Rail Logs.

If that meant what he thought it did, John had just earned a massive lead on Lyle. Bouvier had been dragging his feet with these, and John had been wishing for them moments before. He tapped the folder, and he found a list of spreadsheets that made him catch his breath. He selected the first. He found exactly what he was hoping for. A detailed log of every student or staff member who’d used a train to leave Chromatic Academy during a particular time period. It only covered a single hour, but there were thousands of files in the folder. 

John felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead. This couldn’t be real. And it wasn’t even the most important folder on the drive.

He quickly closed the file, then backed out of the first folder. Next to it, another folder displayed three delicious words.

Shepard DAP Notes.

These wouldn’t have meant much to John a week before, of course. But Lyle had been denied access to this exact information since the day they’d arrived. They couldn’t even legally force the issue without breaking a dozen laws. But as John tapped the folder to view its contents, he realized he wouldn’t need to. There were hundreds of folders inside, each with the name of a student attached. And John knew exactly what they were. 

He was looking at the psych notes for every student who’d ever been seen by the school therapist.

If the Cruel Ivy Killer was a student at this school, or even a staff member, his name was in this folder. There was just no way a serial killer hadn’t been sent to meet the school therapist.

John was getting that promotion after all.