“So how does it feel to be back at work?”
It was the nineteenth and Flack had been cleared for work, under specific instructions that should he try anything more strenuous than lifting a pen or filing paperwork, than he would be back home faster than it would take for Mac to clean and dismantle an M16 assault rifle. Flack grinned. “Fantastic.”
Taylor sat back and looked around. The room which Flack shared with eight other homicide detectives was surprisingly quiet. “Where is everyone?”
“Out on cases,” Flack shrugged, trying not to sound as bothered about it as he was feeling.
“You’ll be out there sooner than you think,” Taylor told him, trying to be as reassuring as possible.
The room grew cold – Taylor didn’t jump… not until Flack dropped his pen with a yelp and a string of expletives. He pointed behind her. Taylor turned and found Maddy with another ghost.
“You are aware Flack can see you both of you? she asked her dead best friend.
“Both?” squeaked Flack as Maddy shook her head.
“He can only see me,” said Maddy. She looked thoughtful. “Well, he’ll be able to see Aiden as well.”
Taylor frowned, ignoring Flack, whose doing a pretty good impression of a fish. “And how does that fit into the grand scheme of things?”
“Well, really, it doesn’t.”
“Translation?” Taylor demanded.
“Why can’t I hear what she’s saying?” Flack asked.
Taylor looked expectantly at Maddy, who shrugged at her. “Well, he’s technically supposed to be dead. But you brought him back before he had chance to be… um… processed… and now he can see me and Aid, but can’t hear us, or see any other ghosts.”
“Kinda figured that one out, Mads, but that doesn’t explain why.”
Maddy shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Taylor wasn’t surprised.
“Help me.”
Taylor turned her attention to the ghost next to Maddy. He was a middle aged man in blue overalls. Taylor couldn’t tell what colour hair or eyes he had though – it looked like his head had been beaten to a bloody pulp. In his hand was something Taylor suspected very few people actually knew what the item was. It looked somewhat like a rib, only it was flat. Less than a centimetre thick, about three wide, and the length, although curved, was about fifteen centimetres long. Even in his hand, Taylor could see that the grey item was leaving dusty marks over them. A brake lining.
Taylor watched as the two ghosts disappeared, almost in a trance – the head of the male ghost was not a pretty sight – only to be brought out of it by Flack. “What was that about?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Um… you’re now going to be able to see Maddy and Aiden. Apparently,” Taylor offered.
“Why?” he asked suspiciously.
Taylor couldn’t blame him on his suspicion. “Luck. Or lack thereof, perhaps? They were with you when you were dead. And now you’re not, so now you can see them. It doesn’t sound like that was part of the master plan, though. Because you obviously can’t see the dead bodies.”
Flack considered it for a moment, cocking his head, then looked at Taylor. “Do they just appear like that?”
Taylor nodded. “Occasionally at inappropriate times.”
Flack flushed. “Like when we-”
“If those two try it, I will kill them,” Taylor told him. “Again,” she added. She sighed. “But having a normal life? Not going to happen anymore.”
Flack looked upset. “Really?”
“You know,” muttered Taylor, looking down into her lap. “If you want to back out, I won’t blame you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he told her firmly. “Most people have ghosts in their past. Yours just happen to be in the present,” he frowned. “And actual ghosts.” Taylor managed a smile. “Now,” said Flack, sitting up. “Tell me about this ghost.”
“Well, he was dressed I-” she stopped suddenly and rolled her eyes. “Nice try, detective, but it’s not going to work. You’re on desk duty until you’re cleared by the doctor.”
“But-”
Taylor held her hands up. “I’m just your girlfriend. Go take it up with your boss.”
“I think I’d have more chance with you,” he muttered, sulking into his desk.
“I’m going to head next door and see if they have anything, yet,” she told him, pecking him on the cheek.
“Be careful,” Flack frowned.
“You too.”
Flack scoffed. “Careful? Of what? Death by paper cuts?”
“Keep scowling at it like that, and the paper might fight back,” Taylor joked.
Flack managed a smile. “Seriously, be careful – you’re not a cop.”
Taylor smiled back and left.
It was the nineteenth and Flack had been cleared for work, under specific instructions that should he try anything more strenuous than lifting a pen or filing paperwork, than he would be back home faster than it would take for Mac to clean and dismantle an M16 assault rifle. Flack grinned. “Fantastic.”
Taylor sat back and looked around. The room which Flack shared with eight other homicide detectives was surprisingly quiet. “Where is everyone?”
“Out on cases,” Flack shrugged, trying not to sound as bothered about it as he was feeling.
“You’ll be out there sooner than you think,” Taylor told him, trying to be as reassuring as possible.
The room grew cold – Taylor didn’t jump… not until Flack dropped his pen with a yelp and a string of expletives. He pointed behind her. Taylor turned and found Maddy with another ghost.
“You are aware Flack can see you both of you? she asked her dead best friend.
“Both?” squeaked Flack as Maddy shook her head.
“He can only see me,” said Maddy. She looked thoughtful. “Well, he’ll be able to see Aiden as well.”
Taylor frowned, ignoring Flack, whose doing a pretty good impression of a fish. “And how does that fit into the grand scheme of things?”
“Well, really, it doesn’t.”
“Translation?” Taylor demanded.
“Why can’t I hear what she’s saying?” Flack asked.
Taylor looked expectantly at Maddy, who shrugged at her. “Well, he’s technically supposed to be dead. But you brought him back before he had chance to be… um… processed… and now he can see me and Aid, but can’t hear us, or see any other ghosts.”
“Kinda figured that one out, Mads, but that doesn’t explain why.”
Maddy shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Taylor wasn’t surprised.
“Help me.”
Taylor turned her attention to the ghost next to Maddy. He was a middle aged man in blue overalls. Taylor couldn’t tell what colour hair or eyes he had though – it looked like his head had been beaten to a bloody pulp. In his hand was something Taylor suspected very few people actually knew what the item was. It looked somewhat like a rib, only it was flat. Less than a centimetre thick, about three wide, and the length, although curved, was about fifteen centimetres long. Even in his hand, Taylor could see that the grey item was leaving dusty marks over them. A brake lining.
Taylor watched as the two ghosts disappeared, almost in a trance – the head of the male ghost was not a pretty sight – only to be brought out of it by Flack. “What was that about?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Um… you’re now going to be able to see Maddy and Aiden. Apparently,” Taylor offered.
“Why?” he asked suspiciously.
Taylor couldn’t blame him on his suspicion. “Luck. Or lack thereof, perhaps? They were with you when you were dead. And now you’re not, so now you can see them. It doesn’t sound like that was part of the master plan, though. Because you obviously can’t see the dead bodies.”
Flack considered it for a moment, cocking his head, then looked at Taylor. “Do they just appear like that?”
Taylor nodded. “Occasionally at inappropriate times.”
Flack flushed. “Like when we-”
“If those two try it, I will kill them,” Taylor told him. “Again,” she added. She sighed. “But having a normal life? Not going to happen anymore.”
Flack looked upset. “Really?”
“You know,” muttered Taylor, looking down into her lap. “If you want to back out, I won’t blame you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he told her firmly. “Most people have ghosts in their past. Yours just happen to be in the present,” he frowned. “And actual ghosts.” Taylor managed a smile. “Now,” said Flack, sitting up. “Tell me about this ghost.”
“Well, he was dressed I-” she stopped suddenly and rolled her eyes. “Nice try, detective, but it’s not going to work. You’re on desk duty until you’re cleared by the doctor.”
“But-”
Taylor held her hands up. “I’m just your girlfriend. Go take it up with your boss.”
“I think I’d have more chance with you,” he muttered, sulking into his desk.
“I’m going to head next door and see if they have anything, yet,” she told him, pecking him on the cheek.
“Be careful,” Flack frowned.
“You too.”
Flack scoffed. “Careful? Of what? Death by paper cuts?”
“Keep scowling at it like that, and the paper might fight back,” Taylor joked.
Flack managed a smile. “Seriously, be careful – you’re not a cop.”
Taylor smiled back and left.
* * *
“Hey Danny, where you off to?” Taylor asked as she practically walked into him as she left the elevator.
“Case in Queens.”
“A beating? Taylor asked hopefully.
“Should I be worried that you’re hoping the answer is yes?” he asked her warily.
Taylor shrugged. “Ghost,” she explained simply.
“Oh. No, well, there is no actual body,” he told her.
“It’s not a murder?” Taylor blinked in surprise.
Danny frowned. “We don’t actually know. It’s at Brake Pads and Linings Manufacturers PLC and they haven-”
Taylor nodded. “You have a murder. He was beaten to death.”
“I think you’re ghost is giving you duff information, because there is no body. They ran an analysis on one of their linings, or something, and the computer told them there was bone in their mix.”
Taylor shook her head, as she followed him back into the elevator. “He showed me a brake lining.”
Danny leant against the wall. “It could be a lining from a thousand different garages or showrooms across the city.”
“It could, but it’s not,” Taylor responded firmly.
“And what makes you so sure?”
“The lining wasn’t finished.”
Danny looked at her in disbelief. “And you know what a brake lining looks like?”
Taylor nodded. “My brother is obsessed with cars. He spent his high school years restoring a GTO, and he’d explain what he was doing. Anyway, the lining the ghost showed me was only of the friction material. A complete lining has the friction material glued to a metal shoe so it can be attached to the car.”
Danny nodded. “You might be quite useful, then. But there is no body.”
Taylor sighed. “I have a theory on that.”
“Want to share?” Danny pressed.
“Not yet.”
“Case in Queens.”
“A beating? Taylor asked hopefully.
“Should I be worried that you’re hoping the answer is yes?” he asked her warily.
Taylor shrugged. “Ghost,” she explained simply.
“Oh. No, well, there is no actual body,” he told her.
“It’s not a murder?” Taylor blinked in surprise.
Danny frowned. “We don’t actually know. It’s at Brake Pads and Linings Manufacturers PLC and they haven-”
Taylor nodded. “You have a murder. He was beaten to death.”
“I think you’re ghost is giving you duff information, because there is no body. They ran an analysis on one of their linings, or something, and the computer told them there was bone in their mix.”
Taylor shook her head, as she followed him back into the elevator. “He showed me a brake lining.”
Danny leant against the wall. “It could be a lining from a thousand different garages or showrooms across the city.”
“It could, but it’s not,” Taylor responded firmly.
“And what makes you so sure?”
“The lining wasn’t finished.”
Danny looked at her in disbelief. “And you know what a brake lining looks like?”
Taylor nodded. “My brother is obsessed with cars. He spent his high school years restoring a GTO, and he’d explain what he was doing. Anyway, the lining the ghost showed me was only of the friction material. A complete lining has the friction material glued to a metal shoe so it can be attached to the car.”
Danny nodded. “You might be quite useful, then. But there is no body.”
Taylor sighed. “I have a theory on that.”
“Want to share?” Danny pressed.
“Not yet.”
* * *
“Well, if it isn’t Danny Messer,” greeted Detective Maka, a large smile on her face.
“Hi Kaile.”
“Hello,” greeted Taylor, stamping her feet against the cold. They had met Kaile at the security box at the site entrance, where they were waiting for someone to meet them, and it was still bitterly cold.
Kaile looked at Taylor, as though noticing her for the first time. “Is it customary for lab rats to join you in the field, these days?” she asked Danny.
Danny frowned and looked at Taylor. “Taylor? A lab rat? Nah, she’s a journalist.”
“And what is a journalist doing here?”
“Danny’s just joking,” said Taylor, hurriedly. “Mac’s let me out of the lab for once.”
Kaile rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She turned to Danny. “I’m going to see what’s taking so long,” she told him before heading to the security guards.
“Why did you tell her that?” Danny asked.
“Because I figured it would be less trouble than her assuming the worst with me being a journalist. That being said,” Taylor added slyly. “You could just bat those pretty eyelashes at her and she’d probably let me have her notebook and take photographs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny laughed, clearly showing he did.
Kaile came back at that point, a tall African American man in a blue overcoat in tow. “This is John Hardy,” said Katy.
“Detectives,” said John. You’ll need these.” He handed them all safety glasses and white overcoats. “It’s company policy that everyone on site inside the buildings wears the protective gear when on the factory floor.”
In order for them to get the overcoats on, they had to remove their own coats and handed them over. Shivering in the cold, John led the three of them behind the security office and into the adjoining building.
“These are the offices,” John told them, “I think it would be best to explain what we found in here, where it is quiet.” He showed them into a small office and sat down. “Frankly, I don’t know what has happened.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, “On site, we produce brake pads and linings for Ford, Chevy, Chrysler, Toyota, VW, Audi, Land Rover – just to name a few. We have brake pads in block B, and linings in block L. We have two lots of employees on the factory floor. Our own – BPLM, and ones offered to us by a recruitment service, RRS. RRS are only here for inspection and wear green, BPLM production operatives wear blue, BPLM railways wear red, and the tradesmen – the men who repair the machines, they wear turquoise. And section managers wear black, and, any ranking manager, based in an office, wears a blue overcoat. The lab techs wear white.”
“Mr Hardy, I appreciate you taking the time to tell us about the factory, but is what each person wears relevant?” Kaile interrupted.
John sighed. “Actually, yes. In Block L, where we produce linings… we have the linings inspected before we ship them off, by RRS. We have a high standard we work to, and as a brake pad or lining is essentially one of the most important parts of a car, especially in terms of safety, we take these standards very seriously. We check for chips, holes, indents, radius cracks, splits. Anything. Including contamination.”
John got up from behind his desk and walked over to a large plastic blue box, which he carried over to his desk and placed on top of it. “Up until now, we had problems with metal contamination, but we got to the bottom of that. It turns out the company who supplies the newspapers was sending us shredded magazines instead – and the bits of CDs and staples, and everything in between were contaminating the batch mix.”
“You put newspaper into brake linings?” Danny asked incredulously.
“Not much, but it is part of the ingredients,” John confirmed. “However, that was slightly off topic,” he sighed again. “Yesterday, one of the RRS girls on inspection was sat at the end of cell three. She was inspecting the linings we had made for Toyota and… it’s policy that an order, which is usually around 1500 linings, can have no more than ten percent rejects until a quality alert has to be issued. Because of the metal contamination problem, this number has been temporarily by-passed. However, after pulling out a hundred in a row, she stopped the operative on the cell and went to get the section manager.”
John opened the lid to the box and pulled out a lining. From the other side of the room, to Taylor, it looked fine. She walked over and picked it up. On closer inspection, she could see that it actually wasn’t fine. It was full of sharp, white shards. “What’s the white?” she asked suspiciously, certain she knew the answer.
“Our lab confirmed this morning it was bone.” Taylor dropped the lining like it was on fire. “Exactly,” muttered John as he sank back into his chair.
“Mr Hardy,” said Danny. “There’s a very good possibility that the bone isn’t human. It could be a bird – a pigeon.”
John looked at him. “I wish you were right, but some of the bone samples contained viable bone marrow – trace amounts, but enough to confirm it human.”
“And how many samples are we talking about?”
“We took a random selection from every lining made from the same mix batch – about eight orders. All eight orders are contaminated.”
There was a frenzied knock at the door and a guy in black overalls burst in. “One of the guys has found something in the mix bucket. You need to come and see this!”
“Hi Kaile.”
“Hello,” greeted Taylor, stamping her feet against the cold. They had met Kaile at the security box at the site entrance, where they were waiting for someone to meet them, and it was still bitterly cold.
Kaile looked at Taylor, as though noticing her for the first time. “Is it customary for lab rats to join you in the field, these days?” she asked Danny.
Danny frowned and looked at Taylor. “Taylor? A lab rat? Nah, she’s a journalist.”
“And what is a journalist doing here?”
“Danny’s just joking,” said Taylor, hurriedly. “Mac’s let me out of the lab for once.”
Kaile rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She turned to Danny. “I’m going to see what’s taking so long,” she told him before heading to the security guards.
“Why did you tell her that?” Danny asked.
“Because I figured it would be less trouble than her assuming the worst with me being a journalist. That being said,” Taylor added slyly. “You could just bat those pretty eyelashes at her and she’d probably let me have her notebook and take photographs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny laughed, clearly showing he did.
Kaile came back at that point, a tall African American man in a blue overcoat in tow. “This is John Hardy,” said Katy.
“Detectives,” said John. You’ll need these.” He handed them all safety glasses and white overcoats. “It’s company policy that everyone on site inside the buildings wears the protective gear when on the factory floor.”
In order for them to get the overcoats on, they had to remove their own coats and handed them over. Shivering in the cold, John led the three of them behind the security office and into the adjoining building.
“These are the offices,” John told them, “I think it would be best to explain what we found in here, where it is quiet.” He showed them into a small office and sat down. “Frankly, I don’t know what has happened.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, “On site, we produce brake pads and linings for Ford, Chevy, Chrysler, Toyota, VW, Audi, Land Rover – just to name a few. We have brake pads in block B, and linings in block L. We have two lots of employees on the factory floor. Our own – BPLM, and ones offered to us by a recruitment service, RRS. RRS are only here for inspection and wear green, BPLM production operatives wear blue, BPLM railways wear red, and the tradesmen – the men who repair the machines, they wear turquoise. And section managers wear black, and, any ranking manager, based in an office, wears a blue overcoat. The lab techs wear white.”
“Mr Hardy, I appreciate you taking the time to tell us about the factory, but is what each person wears relevant?” Kaile interrupted.
John sighed. “Actually, yes. In Block L, where we produce linings… we have the linings inspected before we ship them off, by RRS. We have a high standard we work to, and as a brake pad or lining is essentially one of the most important parts of a car, especially in terms of safety, we take these standards very seriously. We check for chips, holes, indents, radius cracks, splits. Anything. Including contamination.”
John got up from behind his desk and walked over to a large plastic blue box, which he carried over to his desk and placed on top of it. “Up until now, we had problems with metal contamination, but we got to the bottom of that. It turns out the company who supplies the newspapers was sending us shredded magazines instead – and the bits of CDs and staples, and everything in between were contaminating the batch mix.”
“You put newspaper into brake linings?” Danny asked incredulously.
“Not much, but it is part of the ingredients,” John confirmed. “However, that was slightly off topic,” he sighed again. “Yesterday, one of the RRS girls on inspection was sat at the end of cell three. She was inspecting the linings we had made for Toyota and… it’s policy that an order, which is usually around 1500 linings, can have no more than ten percent rejects until a quality alert has to be issued. Because of the metal contamination problem, this number has been temporarily by-passed. However, after pulling out a hundred in a row, she stopped the operative on the cell and went to get the section manager.”
John opened the lid to the box and pulled out a lining. From the other side of the room, to Taylor, it looked fine. She walked over and picked it up. On closer inspection, she could see that it actually wasn’t fine. It was full of sharp, white shards. “What’s the white?” she asked suspiciously, certain she knew the answer.
“Our lab confirmed this morning it was bone.” Taylor dropped the lining like it was on fire. “Exactly,” muttered John as he sank back into his chair.
“Mr Hardy,” said Danny. “There’s a very good possibility that the bone isn’t human. It could be a bird – a pigeon.”
John looked at him. “I wish you were right, but some of the bone samples contained viable bone marrow – trace amounts, but enough to confirm it human.”
“And how many samples are we talking about?”
“We took a random selection from every lining made from the same mix batch – about eight orders. All eight orders are contaminated.”
There was a frenzied knock at the door and a guy in black overalls burst in. “One of the guys has found something in the mix bucket. You need to come and see this!”
Originally posted 04/08/2006