The gravestone was unremarkable. Finneas Chancey had no remaining relatives, and so had a state funeral. Aster Somme, P.I., stood over the plain marker as the rain fizzled out his cigarette. The smell of stone, grass, and wet tobacco filled his nostrils and joined with his growing sense of unease. The police had contacted him to say that they had a suspect in custody, but had reached a dead end in their interrogation. Somme exhaled as though the cigarette was still lit and left the mausoleum and walked towards the precinct station. He mulled over the facts that were presented to him. Chancey was the last of three brothers, the eldest had died in a fire nearly a decade prior and the second died under uncommon circumstances on the construction job that he and Finneas worked together. Ultimately that, too, was ruled an accident. That was twelve weeks before the third and final Chancey departed.

Somme found cover on the patio of a closed café and relit the cigarette. Finneas had visited a medium the night he was murdered. Police answered the call made by the medium herself, but upon arrival found no signs of entry and all the signs of a struggle between her and the victim. The report stated she was covered nearly head to toe with blood splatters, and the candlesticks that adorned her parlor matched the blunt trauma injuries identified in the autopsy. But somehow this was insufficient, according to the paperwork. The memory subpoena came back blank. Her brain, perhaps through some trauma of its own, had not encoded any information to her memories, and without any other witnesses or evidence the prosecutor was hesitant to bring the medium to trial. And so, Aster Somme, P.I., has been summoned to dredge up hard evidence in the murder of Finneas Chancey.

The lieutenant welcomed Somme grimly.

“Well Aster, she’s a real piece of work, I tell ya.”

“You checked that the Memscanners were functioning properly, I trust,” Somme put out the butt on the doorframe before stepping through the.

“Of course we checked. We used all three we had available and the technicians could find nothing wrong on the diagnostic tests. Surely you don’t think we would call you if we thought the Memscanner was the problem. Her memory’s gone!” the lieutenant waved his arms quickly to emphasize his last phrase.

Somme frowned, “well, let’s get on with it. Take me to her.”

Deliah Moon, as she advertised herself, was seated at the interrogation table with her hands cuffed. Her wide eyes were glassy, and her hands idly thumbed an empty paper cup. She did not stir as Somme walked in and sat across from her. She still wore the bloody shawl and robe.

Somme pressed the intercom button on his side of the table.

“For chrissake Nielson, can we get her some clean clothes? Hospital gowns? Something! She’s not in prison here. At least not yet.”

“We’ll get on that,” the lieutenant’s voice replied on the speaker.

Somme turned to Deliah, “sorry about those animals, I really am. Hopefully we can make this quick, and we can have all this cleared up by the time the change of clothes gets here.”

She turned her gaze to his and blinked slowly. She said nothing.

“They told me you have no memory of the incident.”

She nodded weakly.

“That’s quite unusual, as the memory subpoena process can even collect auditory information during unconscious periods if it is done quickly enough. What can you remember about that night, two nights ago?”

“He came by expectedly,” she spoke in a nearly sweet voice, soured by a smoky rasp, “he had an appointment for 7:30.”

“An appointment for a.. palm reading, or some such?”

She shook her head. “He asked for a séance, which I don’t do often.”

Somme raised an eyebrow, “that seems like a common thing in your line of work, isn’t it?”

“Little performances, certainly,” Deliah leveled a stern demeanor and pressed her hands tightly into the table, “but the real thing is not so easy on the soul.”

“Ah, you mean you truly perform rituals to contact spirits beyond the pale?” Somme sat back and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

“Believe me or not, it is what the man asked me to do. He insisted that he would know if it wasn’t the intended spirit.”

“Very well. Mind if I smoke?”

“If you must.”

Somme paused to procure his lighter and ignited a cigarette.

“So, he wanted to be sure you didn’t fake it. Who did he want to talk to so desperately?”

“Someone named Podrick. He didn’t say exactly what their relationship was, I can only assume a close friend or relative.”

Somme withdrew a notepad from his coat and noted the name of the second brother.

“Did he say why he wanted to talk to Podrick?”

“The usual. They almost always want closure. I try not to pry too much beforehand.”

“You prefer to get straight to the theatrics.”

“I prefer,” she growled, “to get straight to work.”

“So you.. began the ritual.”

“That’s the last thing I remember. I awoke from the séance to find Finneas.. the blood..”

“Please, take your time.”

“I called the police as soon as I collected myself enough to grab the phone!” she cried.

“Because you were in shock from beating a man to death with a candlestick?” Somme pressed.

“No!” Deliah slumped forward onto the table.

“What do you suggest happened to cause such a thing? Your fingerprints were on the candlestick, and you were covered with the blood of the victim. If not you, then who?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

She did not look up.

Somme got up from his chair and put out the cigarette.

“I’m going to go see about that change of clothes.”

He stepped outside of the room. Lt. Nielson stood near the glass window.

“Did you get anything out of that, Aster?”

“I think I have, but your prosecutor is not going to like it.”

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

“It’s only a hunch, but I think the true perpetrator is already dead.”

“Games!” Nielson turned to storm out of the observation room.

“Hold it! Hear me out, Jack! I know it seems a game, but it hinges on two hunches.”

“Go on.”

“First, suppose she really can channel the dead.”

“Okay I’ve had it with-“

“BUT, suppose, Jack. Suppose she really did channel Podrick Chancey, who recently departed under strange circumstances himself. Now suppose, it was no accident.”

“You don’t mean.. the ghost did it?”

“I find it’s the only way it could be that she returns nothing on the memory subpoena. She was more than unconscious. She literally wasn’t herself, but the spirit of the murdered Podrick, who held a deathly grudge.”

“You were right,” Nielson said, “the prosecutor is not going to like this. What does it mean for the case?”

“You didn’t call me to win the case, you called me to figure out what happened. This is my best theory.”

“How could we ever prove it?”

“Well, have her do it again, obviously. If it’s true, she can channel anyone, anyone at all, and we will put her to the Memscanner again and find the same. The ghost is our man, I’m sure of it.”