Interrogate Ingram

I linger in Ingram's office after the list is complete. Not because I need to, but because I desire something more from him. The names sit neatly arranged in my notebook now, family, staff, witnesses, suspects, every person trapped inside Crawford Manor while the storm rages outside. I have the name of every person who had an opportunity to cross paths with Corbett before he died.

And yet I am not looking at the notebook..I am looking at Ingram. The surgeon remains behind his desk reviewing the same page for at least the fourth time without actually reading it. His expression is composed, but the strain around his eyes has become impossible to hide.

Corbett is dead. The storm has isolated the manor, and something is wrong with his family. I can feel it. The question is whether he will tell me. Normally I would simply ask. Unfortunately, human beings almost never tell strangers their secrets. Fortunately, I am not entirely human.

I shift slightly in my chair and allow my control to relax. The change is subtle. Most people would never notice it happening. My voice becomes a little warmer. My smile lingers a fraction longer. Eye contact becomes easier to hold. The hunger stirs softly beneath my skin.

For now, it is nothing predatory, nothing dangerous, just enough to encourage trust. Ingram glances up from his papers. Immediately his eyes settle on me, not entranced, just attentive. "You look tired," I say.

He exhales softly. "I am tired." He studies me for a moment.

I lean back slightly. "You look worried." The silence stretches.

Then Ingram sets the papers down. "There are several things to worry about."

"Such as?" I crawl across his desk, touching his cheek.

His jaw tightens. For a moment I think he will shut down entirely..Instead he surprises me. "My wife."

That answer catches me off guard. "Roseanne?"

"Yes." Eventually he continues. "I believe she may be having an affair." The confession hangs in the room.

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

He stares into the fire.."Small things at first. Increased trips into town. Private phone calls. New habits. Greater distance between us."

"You confronted her?" I query.

"I asked." A humorless smile touches his mouth. "She denied it."

"Do you believe her?"

"No." The answer arrives instantly. That alone tells me a great deal. People who are uncertain hesitate. People who have already convinced themselves do not.

"Do you know with whom?" I ask.

"No." His gaze shifts toward the rain-lashed windows. "But if she is involved with someone, it is likely someone familiar with the estate."

That goes into the notebook, not because I believe it, yet, but because he believes it. Those are not always the same thing.

"What about Brandon?" I ask.

That question changes him immediately. The doctor disappears. The father remains. "What about him?"

"You mentioned concerns." I remind him.

For several seconds he says nothing. Then he sighs. "He has been acting strangely. He disappears for hours. Sometimes he speaks to an imaginary friend."

I raise an eyebrow. "Children do that."

"Not Brandon." The certainty in his voice catches my attention. "He has always preferred structure. Predictability. The last several days he keeps wandering off. Several members of the staff have found him outside after dark."

I frown. "Outside?"

"In the cornfields." The room suddenly feels colder. "He says he hears voices."

"What kind of voices?" I ask.

"He won't explain," confesses Ingram.

I make another note. The scratching of my pen seems unusually loud inside the office. "Has this started recently?"

"Within the past week," he acknowledges.

I glance up. "And Alisha?"

His expression darkens further. "That situation is older."

"How much older?" I stop writing.

"Years." He rises from the desk and walks toward the window. Lightning flashes beyond the glass. For a moment his reflection appears superimposed over the storm. "She has become withdrawn. Depressed." His voice remains uncertain. "She spends increasing amounts of time alone. Avoids family gatherings. Disappears for hours at a time."

I make another note. Then I ask the question that has been bothering me since dinner. "What about the ravens?"

That gets an immediate reaction. His head turns sharply. "What about them?"

"I saw dozens around the estate," I say. "Why are people nervous?"

The silence that follows feels heavier than anything we have discussed so far. Finally Ingram returns to his chair. "Because something has been killing them."

"And nobody thought to mention this earlier?" I demand.

His expression hardens. "I did not consider dead birds relevant to a homicide investigation."

I stop writing as the fire pops softly. Neither of us speaks. Outside, thunder rolls across the Blacklands. Somewhere in the darkness beyond Crawford Manor, something has been killing ravens. Meanwhile Brandon hears voices in the cornfields. Alisha spends hours alone. Roseanne may be having an affair. Corbett is dead.

I close the notebook slowly. Ingram raises an eyebrow. I slip the notebook into my jacket and rise from the chair. "Either your family has terrible luck..." Lightning flashes outside. "...or something very strange is happening at Crawford Manor." For the first time all evening, Ingram Crawford does not immediately disagree.