by Emily Knight
Peter expected cops to still surround the place, but the outside was deserted. Unfortunately, the inside held an unwelcome secret. He entered through the front door and found a man seated on living room couch. The strange wore a large gray trench coat and smoked a cigarette. Peter kept the door open behind him and scrutinized the stranger. The man hadn't shaved in a few days so there was stubble across his narrow chin. His brown hair was slicked back and Peter placed his age to about forty-five. The man wore slacks and a polo shirt under the coat, and on his feet were a pair of thick boots.
The man turned to Peter and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Are you Peter Orbus?"
Peter raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Yes. Who are you?"
The man stood and pulled a small, square leather wallet from his coat. He opened it and held it out to show Peter his badge. "Detective Mordecai, homicide division. I understand you found the first two victims."
Peter frowned. "First two? There's been another one?"
The man gave a nod as he stuffed his badge into his coat. "Yes, and this one's dead, so I've been brought in to deal with all of them." Mordecai extinguished his cigarette on a coaster and focused on Peter's face. "Mind coming down to the station with me and answering a few questions?"
Peter plopped himself in a nearby chair. "Why do I need to go down to the station? Why not stay here?"
"This shouldn't take long," Mordecai promised.
Peter leaned forward and clasped his hands in his lap. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the detective. "You think I did it, don't you?"
Mordecai pursed his lips and raised his chin. "I don't know, but rest assured I will find out."
"What evidence do you have against me?"
The detective shook his head. "I'd rather not say here, but you can rest assured it's solid."
"Did you find my fingerprints anywhere?" Peter asked him.
"No, but-"
"And anybody see me there?" he continued.
"No, but you're under suspicion for all these incidents. It'll look better if you come with me," Mordecai insisted.
Peter detected a hint of warning in the man's voice. This was a come-with-me-or-else warning, not a cake-or-death choice. Peter frowned, but stood. "Fine, I'll go."
Mordecai stuck a freshly-lit cigarette in his mouth and grinned. "Good. This shouldn't take long."
The interrogation robbed Peter of the rest of his morning.
The detective hauled him to the station in the back of a police car, but was kind enough to blare the lights only when they approached thick traffic. Peter slid down in the seat to avoid being seen until they arrived at the tall, marble-covered police station that had housed the cops for going on a hundred and thirty years. There were numerous additions. The wings were expanded, but the imposing style was also imitated to near-perfection.
Two dozen stone steps led up to the double-door entrance. Mordecai pulled him out of the car and held onto his elbow as he led him up the stairs. They pushed past the long line at the reporting desk and meandered their way through the numerous desks to the rear of the station. Peter smiled and waved at everyone as they stared at him and his pushy guide. A long, wide hall led to the back of the building, and along the left wall were doors. One of the doors had the word 'Interrogation' on the name place, and Mordecai directed Peter into that room.
Inside was the usual interrogation fare. A single metal table with a chair on either side. A yellow folder sat in front of the chair closest to the door. On the left-hand wall hung a giant one-way mirror.
Mordecai pushed Peter toward the far chair. "Sit there," he ordered him. Peter scowled at him, but did as he was told. Mordecai closed the door behind them, and lit up a cigarette. He turned his chair around and sat down so his back was to the door and he faced toward Peter. "I hope you don't mind the smoke because you're going to be inhaling it until I get some answers."
"Like I told the other officer, this is just a bunch of bad luck. I don't know who's attacking these people," Peter persisted.
Mordecai took a puff of smoke and blew it into the air over their heads. "Got anybody to verify your alibis?"
Peter pursed his lips. "No, but I don't have any motive, either."
The detective chuckled. "That never stopped psychopaths before." He looked Peter in the eyes and tapped his cigarette-holding fingers against his temple. "It's just something wrong up here. Somebody figures they're smarter than everybody else, a college kid or something like that, and they decide to commit the perfect crime. Only trouble is they get impatient and want somebody to find their masterpiece, so they call the cops. When the cops get smart to what he's doing he commits another attack on a friend but they're still suspicious, so he goes for the big-time. This time it's murder and he doesn't make the call. He thinks that'll throw the cops off, but we're not that dumb."
Peter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Two problems with your theory."
Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "And what are those?"
He raised two fingers and counted them down. "One, I'm not a psychopath, and two, you're not that smart if you're thinking up that dumb of a story."
The detective narrowed his eyes. "You'd better watch what you say. I don't know what they teach you at that university but murder is a serious charge."
"Yeah, but I didn't do it," Peter insisted.
Mordecai opened the folder and tapped his finger on the first page of papers. "Then how do you explain the victim wanting to see you?"
Peter frowned. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't Rich want to see me?"
Mordecai bit down hard on his cigarette. "I'm talking about the first victim, the one you supposedly found in the park. He was in the hospitable until he escaped last night."
Peter furrowed his brow. "Escaped? Why?"
The detective took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke between them. "We were hoping you could tell us. Our officers found him on your block heading for your house."
Peter started back and blinked at him. "Why was he heading that way?"
Mordecai leaned forward and his sharp eyes studied Peter. "We couldn't find that out a few hours later. The man was so violent he had to be restrained. When he did come around he told us he didn't know why he went that way, but the he knew he needed to."
Peter frowned and shook his head. "I don't know anything about this. I don't know that guy I found in the park, and I don't know who killed the other person. I'm telling the truth!"
Mordecai stood and moved to the side of the table. He wrapped a leg over the corner closest to Peter and leaned close to the young man. His voice was low and edged with a sharp tone. "I don't know how you took all their blood, but you're not going to get away with it. I'll get a judge to give me that warrant for your arrest and then you'll be up shit creek without a paddle." He leaned away and smirked. "Or you can just confess and tell me how it was done."
Peter stood and glared at the man. "When you get a warrant you know where to find me." He strode past him and grabbed the knob. It wouldn't budge. He turned to Mordecai. The officer grinned and held up a key in his hand. It swung to and fro in front of his cigarette-puffing face. Peter frowned. "You said so yourself you can't hold me without that warrant."
Mordecai chuckled, but slid off the table and stepped over to him. He unlocked the door and swung open the entrance. The detective stepped aside and smiled at Peter. "Mind your step."
Peter hurried past him and through the station to the fresh, late-morning air. The sun was a few hours on its journey, and that was that much time wasted trying to find the real killer. He had a good idea it was Ana's dad, but he couldn't convince Ana or even himself without more evidence than the scent of blood. He reached into his pocket and felt the clump of fur.
He had one last chore to do before sunset.
CHAPTER 15
