Chapter 45
[Marcus's POV]
The call came in at 2:50 PM on a Tuesday afternoon, just as I was reviewing Emma's statement for the third time. Sarah picked up the phone at her desk, and I could hear the tension in her voice as she took down the details.
"Marcus," she called across the bullpen, hanging up the receiver. "We've got a situation at the Riverside Farmers Market. Residents are reporting a foul smell and what looks like blood seepage under an apartment door."
I grabbed my jacket, already feeling the familiar knot in my stomach that came with potential crime scenes. "How long ago did the call come in?"
"About twenty minutes. First responders are already en route, and CSI is mobilizing." Sarah was already gathering her gear. "The caller said the smell has been getting worse over the past two days."
Derek looked up from his computer screen. "Riverside Farmers Market? That's the same area Emma mentioned seeing Hannah."
"Let's go," I said, motioning for the team to follow. "Tony, you're with me. Derek, bring the camera kit."
The drive to the Riverside Farmers Market took us through one of Silverwood's older neighborhoods, where residential buildings sat above commercial spaces. The market itself occupied the ground floor of a three-story brick building constructed sometime in the 1960s. As we pulled up, I could see patrol cars already blocking the street and yellow tape sectioning off the building's entrance.
Officer Mike O'Connor met us at the perimeter. "Marcus, the CSI team just finished their initial sweep. Dr. Wells and Jessica Rivera are upstairs conducting the preliminary examination."
"What do we know so far?"
"Third floor, apartment 3C. The building's mostly rental units, low-income housing. No property management company on site—just individual landlords. The door has a basic deadbolt and security chain, nothing fancy."
I nodded, studying the building's exterior. The brick facade was weathered, and several windows had mismatched curtains or makeshift coverings. "Any witnesses?"
"That's the thing," Mike continued. "The whole floor where the incident occurred is pretty much empty except for this one unit. Building's in rough shape—most tenants have been moving out over the past year."
We climbed the narrow stairwell to the third floor. The hallway was dimly lit, with stained carpeting and peeling wallpaper that looked like it hadn't been updated since the building was constructed. Dust motes floated in the weak light filtering through a grimy window at the end of the corridor.
The smell hit us before we reached apartment 3C. It was unmistakable—the sweet, cloying odor of decomposition mixed with something else. Something metallic and sharp.
Aaron appeared in the doorway, pulling off latex gloves. "Marcus, we've got three victims inside. Based on preliminary examination, I'd estimate they've been deceased for approximately two to three days."
"Cause of death?"
"I'll need to conduct full autopsies to be certain, but initial assessment suggests blunt force trauma and multiple stab wounds. There are some unusual elements to the scene that I want to document thoroughly before moving the bodies."
I stepped toward the doorway and immediately stopped. The apartment's interior was like stepping back in time—and into one of Claire's nightmares.
Green venetian blinds hung over the windows, filtering the afternoon light into sickly yellow-green streaks. A worn plaid sofa sat against the far wall, its fabric faded and torn in places. On a small kitchen table, I could see a red plastic container and a stainless steel coffee pot, exactly as Claire had described in her fourth dream.
My hands trembled slightly as I pulled out my notebook. Every detail she had mentioned was here, down to the outdated wood paneling and the refrigerator visible through the kitchen doorway.
"Jesus," I whispered under my breath.
Sarah approached from the end of the hallway. "Marcus, I've canvassed the other units. The apartment directly below this one has been vacant since January—tenant moved in with her son. The second floor unit has a renter, but she was at work during normal business hours yesterday and today. No one heard anything unusual."
Tony emerged from the apartment, looking grim. "I've been working on the rental history. The apartment was leased month-to-month to a family—mother, father, and teenage son. Landlord lives in Europe, hasn't been back to the States in two years. The rent was paid by automatic bank transfer, so there was minimal contact."
"What about the scene itself?"
"Someone tried to clean up, but they didn't do a thorough job. Most obvious evidence has been wiped away, but we found three distinct body outlines on the living room floor. Looks like the victims fell close together, possibly suggesting they knew their attacker."
Derek came up behind me, camera equipment slung over his shoulder. "Marcus, I think we need to seriously consider asking Claire about her whereabouts during the time of death."
I turned to face him. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything definitive, but the accuracy of her descriptions is... statistically improbable. Either she's legitimately psychic, which frankly strains credibility, or she has information about these crimes that she's not sharing."
"Derek—"
"Hear me out. She claims to see these murders in dreams, but what if she's actually present during the crimes? What if she's involved somehow and using these 'visions' as a way to insert herself into the investigations?"
I felt anger rising in my chest, but Derek continued before I could respond.
"All I'm saying is that we should verify her alibi for Sunday night and Monday. It's basic police work, Marcus. We verify everyone's story, no matter how helpful they seem."
Tony nodded reluctantly. "He's not wrong about due diligence. The accuracy of her details is remarkable."
I looked back into the apartment, where Jessica was photographing the scene.
"Fine," I said finally. "But we do this carefully. Claire has been cooperative throughout this entire process. If we're going to question her alibi, we do it respectfully."
Derek shrugged. "I'm not asking you to arrest her. I'm just saying we should account for her whereabouts during the relevant time period."
I checked my watch: 4:15 PM. I pulled out my phone and scrolled to her number.
She answered on the second ring. "Marcus? Please tell me you have good news about Hannah's case."
"Claire, it's about your fourth dream," I said, stepping away from the noise of the crime scene. "We just got a call about the scene you described. We're here now."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "You found it? The apartment with the green blinds and the plaid sofa?"
"Every detail matches what you told us. How soon can you get here?"
"I can be there in an hour. I just finished at the university gym—some fitness assessment thing my mom insisted on." Her voice carried a mixture of excitement and dread. "Marcus, can I come to the scene? I know it sounds morbid, but I need to see it with my own eyes."
I glanced back at Derek, who was watching me intently. "After we finish processing everything, yes. Give us about an hour to complete the initial investigation, then we can let you observe."
"Thank you. I'll be there."
As I hung up, Derek approached me again. "So she was at the university gym during the day. What about Sunday night and Monday?"
"We'll ask," I said, pocketing my phone. "But Derek, I want you to understand something. Claire didn't choose to have these visions. From what I've observed, they're traumatic experiences that she'd rather not have."
"I'm sure they are," Derek replied evenly. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to verify her story."