Witchcraft and nasty little murders

Chapter Seven The ride

The detective was sitting at his desk, staring at the evidence in a tiny bag, with a worried expression on his face. Ophelia glided over to him with easy naturalness and placed a cup of coffee on his desk.

"Good morning!" she greeted him. Detective Harper grumbled something in reply. "What is the problem?"

"It just doesn't add up. It's commonplace for criminals to change identities, but Miss Swanson's personal data are the same online and in her ID, except for the month and day of birth. Why did she change it in the system and not here?" He threw her ID card on the table.

Ophelia picked it up off the table, it did indeed say September on the ID card, whereas the system said Hannah was born in February.

"I don't know! Maybe she had an evil twin," Ophelia joked, but the detective just shook his head.

"I don't think so. Just because someone has a twin sister doesn't mean they're the same, and the evil twin should have been born on the same day," he glanced at her as if his words had additional meaning. Ophelia's eyes widened as she involuntarily remembered the similarity between Alpha and Chris.

"It was a joke," she added. "But I see it's too early for jokes, so let's go and see the pathologist. I haven't had breakfast today and I'm hungry."

"I'll buy you an omelet on the way," he offered.

"Thanks, but this time I'd rather leave breakfast for after the doctor," she tried to wrap things up. Detective Harper took his suit jacket with a loud sigh and headed for the exit.

As they got into the Chrysler, Ophelia glanced at him and after some thought asked:

"Any news about Dorothy? Is she still under arrest?"

"We have to keep her here, even though several people have confirmed that she was in college when her sister died, but that thing around her neck won't let me rest. I can't put her behind bars, though, because she's got a Wicca symbol on her," he glanced at Ophelia with a cold look.

"So you'd rather put a woman in danger," she met his gaze, "I've decided, whatever you're planning, I'm going with her."

"That's not for you to decide," the detective shook his head.

"Maybe for you?" she raised her eyebrows defiantly. "Don't make me laugh! We'll do it with Dorothy, you just talk to the DEA," she turned to the windshield, waiting for him to drive off, but he refused to start the engine.

"As a matter of fact, I'm not going to let you get yourself killed, and I'm not going to apologize for that," he said angrily, putting his hand on the steering wheel. He nervously started the car and headed for the hospital.

Ophelia was angry, but she didn't express her feelings, because she secretly understood the detective. He had a pretty bad record; he had lost two partners, it made sense that he wouldn't want a third dead, but she still thought she might be able to help Dorothy, just as she might help the police catch the smugglers. After all, she'd taken it all on to help others.

Walking down the corridor in the basement of the hospital, Ophelia found it difficult to remain silent, so she took a single step to the detective and asked him:

"Do you still hate me?"

"I don't hate you, I just don't like the idea of you getting yourself into unnecessary trouble."

"So you fear for me," she grinned, and he paused, his cold stare piercing her soul.

Ophelia was forced to lean against the cold wall as the man's body moved involuntarily towards her. He was very close to her, her mind filled with the hypnotic, spicy scent of sandalwood, causing her to close her eyes for one long moment and let the scent fill herself.