Living with the Dead

FINN

IT LOOKED LIKE FINN couldn’t even keep a ghostly partner around. And just when he’d been thinking Trent could be useful . . .

He had enough for a search warrant, so he got that, collected a couple of officers and went to Robyn Peltier’s apartment. And that’s where Trent seemed to decide police work wasn’t for him. On the way to the apartment, he’d been in high spirits, razzing Finn about his poor choice in radio station, making him change it to jazz, then singing along in a pitch-perfect tenor. When they arrived, Trent had driven him nuts, rocking on his heels, eager to get to work while Finn tried to talk to the landlord. He’d told Trent to go on ahead, scope out the apartment.

Ten minutes later, Finn had found him in there, pacing, anxious. He’d said he’d wait outside and disappeared, apparently having forgotten he was supposed to search the places Finn’s warrant wouldn’t cover.

The warrant allowed them plain-sight search only. Usually Finn could find something—an address book, a Rolodex, a laptop, a PDA, business cards on the fridge, numbers written on the wall. But this place was as sterile as a model suite.

He’d asked the landlord about Peltier’s friend from Bane, but the man didn’t recognize the description, and said he’d never seen Peltier bring anyone by.

Finn hoped to find Trent outside. Maybe there was something in the apartment—some smell or aura—that bothered ghosts. But Trent was nowhere to be seen. Finn found excuses to linger, talking to the officers staking out the building, but when he did eventually leave, he was, as usual, alone.