Chapter 1 - Cocoanut Grove

August 28th, 1939

“Lieutenant O’Brien?”

Liam looked up from the reports he was reading to see Officer Grant, who ran messages around the department, looking at him from the door to his office.

“What?” Liam asked.

“Dispatch radioed us about a development,” he said, and Liam nodded. “There’s a big fire, down at the Cocoanut Grove. Reports are saying that there’s hundreds of people trapped inside, and it’s not looking good.”

That many people trapped inside a building was going to have deaths, as a near certainty. And, more importantly for his department, it might be arson. Liam glanced at his watch. It was just after nine at night.

“It should take Field Services a while to get it under control,” he said, looking down at his desk to try to remember where he was last reading. “Get Walsh on it, as soon as Field Services gives the all clear. Keep me up to date.”

“Yes sir,” Grant said, and disappeared from the door.

Ten minutes later, he was back.

“O’Brien, sir?” he said.

“What?” Liam asked.

“The Cocoanut Grove is under control,” he said.

“That fast?” Liam asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Grant said. “The first responders radioed back that there’s some weird stuff going on at the scene.”

“Any dead?” Liam asked.

“At least one,” Grant said. “They didn’t give a count, but there’s lots of injured, too.”

Liam nodded.

“Is Walsh back yet?” he asked.

Grant peeked his head around the door.

“Yes sir,” Grant said.

“Tell him to do a standard arson check, and get more details on whatever ‘weird stuff’ they were on about,” Liam said.

“Yes sir,” Grant said, and darted away again.

Liam sighed and rubbed at his forehead. It was getting late and he needed to get to sleep soon. But he’d just finish up going over this last problem…

“Lieutenant, sir?” Grant said, twenty minutes later.

“What is it?” Liam asked.

“Sergeant Walsh says you should come down and look at the Cocoanut Grove yourself,” Grant said, with an apologetic expression.

“What’d he find?” Liam asked, downing the last of his cold coffee and getting to his feet.

“He didn’t tell the radio,” Grant said. “He’s just insisting that you come look at it.”

Liam frowned. “The radio” was whoever was taking messages on the new radio equipment at any given time, and so Grant had nothing to do with the message he’d gotten.

“Sergeant Morris is in charge while I’m out,” Liam said as he strapped on his belt.

“Yes sir,” Grant said, and darted off again.

Liam dragged his tired self down to the Grove. He’d seen it enough times to remember where it was, even though he’d never actually been inside it before.

When he arrived, the scene was both under control and a complete mess. Water was everywhere, and it wasn’t coming from the hydrants. In fact, as far as Liam could tell, the fire department hadn’t actually done anything, other than lend manpower. Before he even parked, he realized that the massive amount of water was actually coming from inside the building.

He could recognize Walsh’s mustache from ten blocks away, and immediately headed over to greet him.

“What’s going on?” Liam asked, as soon as he was close.

He tended to skip formalities as the night progressed.

“Weird shit,” Walsh said, and turned around without another word.

Liam followed him into the alley behind the building.

“Look,” he said simply.

Liam’s eyes widened in shock as he stepped close and took a look at the “hole” in the wall, and what appeared to be a slab of concrete on the ground right in front of it. He carefully traced his finger along the bizarrely smooth, almost perfectly straight line just below the height of his head.

“What could have done this?” Liam muttered out loud.

“Hell if I know,” Walsh said.

“Did you talk to the owner?” Liam asked.

“Yeah,” Walsh said. “Old guy named Mr. Bianchi. Cooperative, though he couldn’t give me much, since he was dazed. Said it was a ‘secret door’ rigged with an explosive.”

Liam gave Walsh an incredulous look.

“Explosive,” he repeated.

“Yep,” Walsh said. “That’s what he told me.”

“This,” Liam said, gesturing at the smooth, intact, one foot thick concrete wall that was now laying on the alley floor.

“Yes, sir,” Walsh said.

“What the hell kind of explosive could do this?” Liam asked, as he knelt to look at the slab.

Far as he could tell, it looked like a section of the concrete wall was somehow separated from the rest of the wall, and then pushed outside, to the ground. He tried to shove it. It wouldn’t budge.

“How much would this slab of concrete weigh?” Liam asked.

“I measured it, sir,” Walsh said. “It’s about five feet tall, six feet wide, and a foot thick. The sides aren’t perfectly even, so it varies by a few inches. We figure it’s a few thousand pounds, but we don’t got no experts on concrete here. I can tell you that we tried to get the firefighters to move it, see if anything was underneath, but they couldn’t budge it, either.”

“I take it that it’s the same size as the hole in the wall,” Liam muttered.

“Actually, no, sir,” Walsh said, earning him a funny look from his superior. “It’s a full inch shorter vertically than it ought to be, and two to three inches shorter horizontally than it ought to be.”

“You’re telling me that this slab does not fit the hole it came from,” Liam said.

“Yes, sir,” Walsh said. “This ain’t even the weirdest part.”

“We’re not moving on, yet,” Liam said. “Where is the extra material?”

“Best guess, it’s that weird smooth stuff,” Walsh said, pointing his flashlight.

Liam bent down and picked up the little rock. It was as smooth as a river stone, the color of concrete, looked like slime, and was rock hard.

“What is this?” Liam asked.

“Hell if I know,” Walsh said. “Want to see inside?”

“Fine,” Liam said with a sigh.

Walsh brought him inside. The smell of smoke was still thick in the air, but nothing looked dangerous. The building was fairly intact, all things considered.

“They turned off the water finally,” Walsh said, sounding relieved. “It was shooting up from a hole behind the bar.”

“Another unusual hole?” Liam asked.

“Yeah,” Walsh said, sounding a little excited. “Let’s go take a look. I have to see what’s inside.”

Liam uneasily followed the younger Sergeant over to the bar. Surrounding it was a startling amount of dirt and rock, mixed in with more of those strange, smooth stones. These stones were a different color, and were softer than the ones by the outer wall, like they were made of a different material.

Confused cursing made its way to Liam’s ears as he puzzled over the stones.

“What’d you find?” Liam called down to Walsh.

“It’s a hole, sir!” he said.

Liam rolled his eyes.

“I mean, inside the hole,” he clarified.

“Another hole,” Walsh said. “In the water main.”

“A break?” Liam asked, walking over to where his Sergeant was laying on his belly, sticking his head inside the erratic shaped opening with his flashlight.

“It’s smooth, like the concrete hole,” he said. “It’s like it was just stretched open. It’s… weirdly kind of pretty.”

“Pretty?” Liam repeated, blinking at the strange descriptor.

“Yeah,” Walsh said. “It’s almost a perfect circle, and it kind of looks like it was pulled open. The break pattern’s not as smooth, though. It reminds me of a rose, weirdly enough.”

“A rose,” Liam repeated. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t going to stick my head in there, but this I have to see.”

“Yes, sir,” Walsh said, getting up and trying to brush off the muddy debris from his uniform.

Liam temporarily reconsidered, not wanting to get filthy, but curiosity compelled him. He bent down carefully and stuck his head and arm inside the awkwardly shaped hole.

“By all that is holy,” Liam muttered as he looked at the twisted metal of the water main.

It did look kind of like a rose. Vaguely. The curve of the metal looked gentle and soft, as though it had moved by the caress of an angel. Everything around the main was that strangely smooth stone material, and looked like concrete again. He carefully touched the edge of the metal, and it wasn’t sharp, like he’d expected from a tear. It was exactly as smooth as the strange stones.

“You were right, Walsh,” Liam said as he stood back up.

He knocked the grime off his uniform as his Sergeant smiled at the comment.

“You hadn’t seen this before,” Liam said. “So what’s the other weird part you wanted to show me?”

“Look at the pattern of the fire,” Walsh said, bringing Liam over to the stage. “It started here - between the burn marks and the witnesses, that’s clear as day. But look at this.”

Walsh held up a half burned cushion.

“This was on fire,” he said. “And then it wasn’t. These things burn fast, and they burn hot.”

“It went out before the fire department got here?” Liam asked quietly.

“Yes, sir,” Walsh said. “They report that the fire was completely out before they arrived. The whole building was evacuated, front and back, and water was pouring out the front door.”

“Could the spray from the water main have put out the fire?” Liam asked.

“Not a chance,” Walsh said. “People say that the water was going everywhere, but even I saw the water still going. It was spraying out in just one direction, pointing towards the front door. None of this area should even be wet.”

Liam frowned at the soaking wet seats, cushions, curtains, decorations, and roof. He glanced back at the water main hole, which was absolutely not pointing in this direction.

“Any signs of arson?” Liam asked.

“The fire came from some device used during the Boston Band’s performance,” Walsh said. “If it was on purpose, it was them. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

“Actually, Walsh, I think I’d like to handle that,” Liam said.

“Sure thing, boss,” Walsh said with a laugh. “Got you curious, don’t it?”

“Immensely so,” Liam said, and then sighed. “But we can’t waste resources on this. If it’s not homicide, it’s not our problem.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Walsh said. “One last thing. C’mon.”

Liam smiled as he followed the Sergeant over to the front door.

“I didn’t notice it, till I saw the back wall,” Walsh said. “But check out the ‘melt’ pattern on the hinges.”

Liam knelt and examined the destroyed door.

“Exactly the same,” he muttered as he touched the twisted hinges. “What is this stuff?”

“It looks like it’s metal,” Walsh said. “This time, anyway. Feels exactly the same as the metal hinges of the door, ‘cept it’s like it melted and then turned to metal silk.”

“I wish we could spare the resources to figure this out,” Liam said with a wistful sigh.

“Someone will,” Walsh said. “I’ll be reading the papers on this, for sure.”

“Same,” Liam said. “And don’t worry, Walsh, I’ll tell you what I get from the band tomorrow.”

“Thanks, boss,” Walsh said. “Want us to do anything else here?”

“Cause of the fire’s clear,” Liam said with a shrug. “I think we can go home.”

“Yes, sir,” Walsh said. “Looking forward to our chat tomorrow.”

Liam smiled and wished him well before heading back to the station.

The next morning found him checking up on the Cocoanut Grove case, and he was glad to see that Walsh had gotten some addresses from the club owner. Liam jotted down the one for “Oscar ‘Slick’ Williams,” the lead singer of the band that had been performing. Liam knew the band - that Swing Boogie song from a few years prior had been very catchy.

Before he left, he read all the witness statements that Walsh had gathered. His Sergeant had done a good job - he’d also gotten the statements that Field Services had collected, making for a nice file for Liam to look over.

After reading the insane sounding accounts, which almost made sense with the context of the bizarre details of the scene itself, Liam finished off his cup of coffee and headed out.

He found himself in a beautiful neighborhood full of rich residents. The Boston Band must have done quite well for itself for the lead singer to end up here. Liam pulled up to one of the nicest and best maintained houses he’d ever laid eyes on and put his car in park. He wondered how much they had to pay for gardeners to keep their lawn like that.

Wealth was one of the mysteries he never cared much about, though.

He went up to the house and knocked on the ornate wooden door. A moment later, it opened and what he saw took his breath away.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were the only part of her face that could truly be called human. Only children had skin so smooth and hair so fine as hers, and his sharp eyes immediately noticed that she didn’t have on an ounce of makeup. Her hair was long, loose, and unruly, but it cascaded down her slender neck in delicate waves of ebony.

Though, for some reason, both her skin and hair looked like they were stained with dirt. It gave an impression of being almost normal, but it was as though she were using grime as a form of makeup, to make herself look human.

Her hand, too, marked her as strangely angelic, as it rested against the doorframe. Every adult hand he’d ever seen in his life had some markings, some lines of age. Hers had to be the hand of a young child, with its unblemished skin and perfectly smooth nails - though both bore the stains of grime. Yet, her figure was very much that of a mouthwateringly healthy adult woman. She only wore a night dress, and his peripheral vision suggested her legs would be worth a look, too, but he naturally couldn’t spare a glance without being rude.

It was to the credit of his time on the force that his expression didn’t so much as twitch. He’d read in the statements that Slick was frequently seen at the club with a “remarkably beautiful woman,” but the degree of understatement was unexpected.

It was also unexpected that Slick apparently lived with this woman. Didn’t one of the statements say he was dating a waitress named Alice?

She looked up at his face with a sleepy expression and said, “Greetings, sir. How may I help you?”

He half expected her voice to sound like the singing of angels, but it was entirely ordinary for a young woman. At least, in tone. Her accent was unusual, though - he’d spoken to probably thousands of people in his career, and he’d never heard one quite like it.

Fascinating.

“Good morning, miss,” he said, staying focused. “I am Lieutenant Detective O’Brien, and I’m here to ask some questions about what happened at the club last night. May I come in?”

She looked pleased at his statement, which was a good sign.

“Of course,” she said, as she stepped back from the door with an inviting gesture. “Would you like some coffee?”

He could never say no to coffee.

“Yes, miss, if you would,” he said. “That sounds lovely.”

He took off his hat as he came in and looked at the people gathered there.

The first person to catch his attention had to be Slick Williams. He looked the right age, and he had a haggard look on his face like he hadn’t slept well. He also looked nervous, which was not a good sign.

The second person to catch his attention was a woman who looked a great deal like Slick - his sister, possibly. Her sharp eyes immediately put him on edge. She was watching him as intently as he was watching her.

Another woman was there, who was clearly not related to anyone else he’d seen in the house. She looked uncomfortable to the point of being ill, and did not like the fact that Liam was there. It wasn’t clear why, though, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign.

“Lou, Slick, Alice, this is Lieutenant Detective O’Brien,” said the angel woman. “I’ll be right back with some coffee. Detective? How do you take yours?”

“Sugar, please,” he said, inclining his head politely. “And thank you.”

She smiled at him, showing teeth that were unnaturally white - again with the childlike perfection - and darted off to another room, presumably the kitchen.

“So you’ve got questions,” the sharp eyed woman said.

“That I do,” he said. “Should we start with you?”

“Fine,” she said.

“Could I get your full name?” he asked.

“Louise Williams,” she said without hesitation.

That’d make the other woman Alice.

“Any relation to Oscar Williams?” he asked, suppressing a smirk. Obvious or not, best to confirm.

“Yeah, I’m his sister,” she said, throwing Slick an amused look.

“According to the statements we have, you were on the stage for the performance, is that correct?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And you left prior to police gathering statements?” he said.

“I didn’t realize we were supposed to stick around,” she said.

He caught a little tightness in her tone. He got the impression that it was more true that she wanted to leave as soon as possible. Which would be reasonable.

“It’s fine,” he said. “After all, I’m here now. So, moving on - can you tell me what happened once the fire started?”

“I saw lots of things, and scarcely remember any of it,” she said.

The haunted look on her face told him it was a lie. She saw things that she wanted to forget. His own heart twinged in sympathy.

“It was hell,” she went on. “People screaming, running… it was nuts.”

That part was definitely the truth. He glanced up to see the angel woman bringing coffee. He suppressed a smile at the thought that perfect angels should always have coffee.

“Why didn’t you run?” he asked Lou.

Before Lou answered, the angel woman handed him his cup, and he thanked her. He took a sip. It was a surprisingly excellent cup of joe.

“Alice was there, and she got trampled,” Lou said.

Liam’s eyes flicked over to Alice. Strange. She didn’t have any bruising, and she hadn’t moved like she was injured.

“I had to help her,” Lou went on. “That’s all that mattered to me right then.”

Her eyes were on fire with intensity. His heart twinged again. Every inch of Lou’s body was screaming that she spoke something that wasn’t just truth, but was critical to her. Lou cared.

Liam was immediately convinced that Lou did not try to burn the building down on purpose. This girl had the heart of a lion.

“I can understand that,” he said, a weight of meaning in his voice. Any officer in the force would understand that. “What about the start of the fire? Do you know what happened?”

Pain hit Lou’s face and she looked away with a sigh.

“Fact is, sir, it was my fault,” she said.

“We talked about this, sis!” Slick protested before Liam could digest her expression. “I told you to make the damned thing in the first place! It’s my fault!”

Usually guilty criminals didn’t argue with each other in front of officers about claiming guilt as their own.

“Hold on,” Liam said. One thing at a time. “Let’s just hear what Ms. Williams has to say, first.”

Lou looked ill as she answered.

“I made a box to make a spark of electricity. I tested it a hundred times in the garage. It worked without a hitch,” she said with an empty tone.

An accident.

“But not at the club?” Liam asked, for confirmation.

“It worked,” she said, with a tone of glum resentment. “And as far as we can tell, it caught the dust on fire. That exploded.”

That sounded reasonable.

“People report two explosions - that would be the first, then,” Liam said.

“The second one was the air conditioner, when the flames reached it,” she said, and then looked distant. “It happened so fast.”

“Fire does that,” Liam said. That look of guilt on her face, combined with his impression of her as the protecting sort, tugged at him. “This sounds to me like a terrible accident. You didn’t mean any harm. Don’t blame yourself too much. This is the sort of thing that’ll weigh on you forever, if you let it.”

“And it should,” Lou said glumly.

Liam suppressed a sigh. He saw this sort of reaction in younger officers too often.

“Lou, it’s on me,” Slick said again, guilty heat in his eyes. “You didn’t even want to build it in the first place.”

“Oscar Williams, correct?” Liam asked, again asking the obvious for sake of certainty.

“Yes, sir,” Slick said.

“I believe I got everything I need from your sister. Might I ask you a few questions, as well?” Liam asked.

“Of course, sir,” Slick said.

“During the fire, we have reports that you were getting people out the front door. Is that correct?” Liam asked.

“Yes, sir,” Slick said.

Liam’s curiosity had his hopes up.

“How were you able to get the door open?” he asked.

“I didn’t, sir. The door fell apart right next to me, and then I did everything I could to get the people out,” he said.

Damn.

That was disappointing. Liam had a feeling that there was more to it than that, based on Slick’s uneasiness. A number of the statements made bizarre claims, and it seemed likely that Slick didn’t want to admit to seeing something that could mark him as insane. Walsh had noted that such seemed to be the case with a number of other reluctant witnesses.

Might as well address the concern about Slick bodily throwing people - it’d be useful for the regular report, in any case. This was clearly not for homicide.

“How were you getting them out?” Liam asked.

Slick shrugged as he said, “With everything I could do. I couldn’t even think. Just had to get them out as fast as I could, you know?”

Liam nodded.

“You and your sister seem to have a drive to help people,” he observed.

They both reacted positively to this statement. Liam was glad to note that it seemed to relieve some of Lou’s stress.

“That’s a good thing,” he went on. “Though I feel it’s my duty to let you know how dangerous that decision was. You should let trained professionals take care of emergencies.”

“I understand, sir,” Slick said.

He looked slightly cooperative, but didn’t really agree. Lou’s reaction was more pointed, though she tried to hide it. She had absolutely no intention of going along with what Liam had said, and he half got the impression that she’d dare him, or anyone, to do anything about it.

She had moxy, that one. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Well, then, would there be anything else that you noticed from the fire last night?” Liam asked.

“What Lou said,” Slick answered, looking down at his feet. “Honestly, I don’t really want to remember it.”

His expression was pained.

“Traumatic experiences can do that,” Liam said.

Nothing else to get here. He looked at Alice and the angel woman.

“Were you ladies also at the fire?”

“Yes, sir,” the angel said promptly, and Alice nodded, uneasily.

“May I have your names and your statements?” he asked.

“Alice Reed,” Alice said, while the angel girl hesitated at his question. “And I don’t remember anything after the fire started. Slick tells me that he found me bruised up and out cold.”

What bruises…? Where could bruises possibly be on her, that she’d have absolutely no sign of any physical strain?

“You might want to get checked out at the hospital, then, miss,” Liam said, as a way of drawing out the moment, buying him more time to chew on this. “If it’s bad enough to knock you out, it could be serious.”

“Hopefully not. But thank you for the advice,” she said.

She had absolutely no interest in following this advice.

Liam nodded. This was strange, but… it didn’t relate to anything he actually had to investigate. If there was no crime, then it wasn’t his duty to find out about it, and bothering citizens over pure curiosity was an abuse of power.

Tempting as it was.

Liam looked over at the angel woman.

“Aera Koryn,” she said with an intense expression. “I have nothing to share beyond what the others have said.”

Partially true… she wanted to tell him something, but had chosen not to, perhaps.

“However,” she went on, “There is something I must ask.”

“What might that be?” Liam asked.

“Please, sir, I have to know,” she said, leaning in closer with a pleading expression. “How many people died in the fire?”

Desperation? Interesting.

“That’s not really something I can share, as of yet,” Liam said cautiously.

“It was our fault, though,” she said.

She said “our,” but meant “my.” She blamed herself, and needed relief. Was everyone in this household committed to doing good? It was a refreshing thing to see.

“Please,” she continued. “I have to know how many lives are on our hands.”

“You had something to do with the spark box, as well?” Liam asked.

“Not a damned thing,” Lou interjected, with an intensely protective body language.

She was protecting Aera from something?

“She’s quick to blame herself when there’s absolutely no reason at all to do so,” Lou said pointedly, glaring at Aera.

She was reminding Aera of something? To not blame herself? And she was… what, angry at Aera for not cooperating with Lou’s protectiveness?

This wasn’t adding up.

Liam looked over at Aera, hoping she’d clarify this.

Unease. Tension. Frustration. He couldn’t seem to get more than that.

“Why do you blame yourself?” he asked.

“Because I couldn’t save them all,” she said, looking down at her feet with a forlorn expression.

Ahhh. A self sacrificing sort, maybe. If she was prone to hurting herself to save others, and blaming herself for surviving when others didn’t, then Lou’s protective frustration made sense.

“I think Ms. Williams may have a point,” Liam said, hoping she could hear the truth in his words. “Ms. Koryn. You shouldn’t blame yourself for that. No one could have saved everyone in that fire.”

A shame. She didn’t believe him. At least he tried.

He frowned as he realized she was definitely taking her defiance too far. She looked increasingly like he’d punched her in the stomach.

“Everything’s all right, now,” he said, trying to use a commanding tone to put her at ease.

“It isn’t,” she said, and her eyes were brimming with tears. “Please. I saw five black bags there. Please, sir. I have to know…”

Between her tears, her begging, and her obvious ache to do the right thing, he found himself twinging again.

“One of the reasons I can’t tell you is that we don’t know yet,” he said, giving in. “There were five dead at the scene, as you saw. There’s also a lot of people injured, some critically, at the hospital.”

Strange reaction - she didn’t like hospitals, he guessed. Maybe someone she’d loved had died there. It’d be a possible reason why someone as beautiful as she was didn’t have a ring on her finger.

“The doctors are skilled folk, miss. They’re taking good care of them, I promise you,” he said.

Again, she didn’t believe him. She definitely had an issue with hospitals.

“Which hospital?” she asked.

Odd question. There weren’t many to choose from.

“Mass Main, of course,” he said. “Biggest one in the city. It’s the only one that could handle that many people.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, looking like she’d reached some resolution. “I can only hope they’ll be okay.”

“Regardless of the outcome, there’s no need to blame yourself,” he said.

By this point, it was expected that she wouldn’t believe him, but at least he’d tried. He glanced around at everyone else. They seemed more relaxed, like the conversation had been a relief. Probably it was that they’d needed to get the details off their chests.

“Well, I think I’ve gotten all I need to, here,” he said. “I want to thank you for your time.”

They all responded at once, with varying levels of enthusiasm. Aera escorted him to the door, and he smiled at her with a tip of his hat, taking the opportunity to marvel at the strangeness of her skin one last time.

Sergeant Walsh was disappointed that Liam hadn’t found out the cause of the weirdness of the Grove. Liam shared the sentiment. They were further disappointed that the news didn’t seem to figure it out, either. Some papers of less repute gave more accurate details on the unusual features of the scene and reports, but no one had any explanations that seemed remotely viable.

His hopes were raised again when he saw the news report on “The Impossible in Boston” just over a month later. It seemed like strange things were going on. From the description of the ring in the paper, and the commentary by the professor, it definitely seemed beyond what Liam’s unit could investigate.

He passingly wondered if Slick was “the impossible” - the professor said he’d determined that they were looking for a male under the age of about forty five. It didn’t quite seem to jibe with his own take. That angel girl, Aera, seemed more likely, but Liam didn’t know what information the professor had that he didn’t.

Curiosity about a possible avenue to pursue plagued him until he finally caved and called Professor Rhine.

“Hello, this is Professor Joseph Rhine,” the voice answered.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Liam said, keeping his tone crisp and formal. “This is Lieutenant Detective O’Brien with the Boston Police Department. Are you available to speak for a moment?”

“Of course, of course,” the professor said, sounding excited. “Do you have a suspect?”

“There’s something else I’d like to discuss first,” Liam said. “This ‘impossible person’ you made reference to: in your professional opinion, is this person a threat to the people of this city?”

“Yes and no,” the professor said, sounding a little haughty, “Based on the events of the fire at the Cocoanut Grove, it would appear his intentions are benevolent. And further, these people have been a part of humanity for thousands of years. However, he did threaten me harm if I pursued the matter.”

“Most people get snappy when backed in a corner,” Liam said.

“I suppose,” he said. “But he has no need to be aggressive, as powerful as he is. I do believe that Boston - and all of America - would be far safer if he could be apprehended.”

“Hmm,” Liam said, frowning. That wasn’t especially convincing. “A second question is on your profiling, from the article. How certain are you that the target is a white male under the age of forty five?”

“The age may be incorrect,” Professor Rhine said. “All I know is that I got the impression of youth from his voice in my mind - I would estimate an age of twenty, to be honest, but I thought the age of forty five would be a reasonable upper limit. As far as being white and male - that much is absolutely for certain.”

“Occasionally, profiling can be incorrect,” Liam said. “For the sake of clarity, if I were to find a lead that pointed me at a woman, for instance -”

The professor cut him off.

“It would be a waste of resources to pursue such a lead,” the professor said. “No matter how compelling - at most, it would be an attempt by ‘the impossible’ to divert attention from his true trail. It’s scientifically impossible for him to be a woman.”

“Very well,” Liam said, disappointed.

He wasn’t convinced that the professor had to be correct, but it was undeniable that Rhine was more knowledgeable on the subject than Liam was.

Liam continued, “I don’t believe we can dedicate resources to pursuit of someone who has not appeared to have committed a crime, and does not appear to be a threat to the city. However, if the situation changes, I’m sure we will speak again.”

The professor sighed in a disappointed way.

“You know what’s best for the police,” he said. “Will that be all, Detective?”

“Yes,” Liam said. “Good day, Professor.”