Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1)

by Peter Hartog

  “None taken,” Besim laughed. “No more dangerous than it is for you. Suffice it to say that I am curious about the investigative process and want to experience it for myself. I am in good hands with both Detective Holliday, and my very own protector, Deacon Kole.”

  Leyla glanced toward the back of the pod.

  “I mean, Doc is one of the best. He’s been on the force for years, and I know he’s gotten himself out of a lot of bad situations. But your guy doesn’t look like much.”

  “Do not be fooled by appearances, Leyla,” Besim said with pride. “Deacon is a formidable opponent, both in body and mind. He is an exceptional individual.”

  “If you say so.” Leyla wasn’t convinced.

  “Tell me more about yourself, Leyla. Do you have any family?”

  “Besides Doc and Abner? Nah, not anymore. My parents died when I was very young. I have a sister but haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  “I am sorry to hear this,” Besim replied softly, a raw bleakness shading her voice. “Family is so very important, as it is in my culture. I can appreciate what it is like not to have your family surrounding you. The loneliness you experience every day must be unbearable. I did not mean to upset you.”

  “Oh no, I’m fine,” Leyla laughed, and shifted her weight in the passenger seat. “It’s been so long, sometimes I forget about it. My parents were engineers, involved with radiation land reclamation projects sponsored by a joint commission of enclaves including Empire City. They would take my sister and me on a lot of their trips to the other enclaves. I’ve been to Gateway City, New London, Roma Indomita, Les Habitens, you name it. They died in an explosion when we were visiting a site outside of Reykjavik. I remember it was really loud and bright, and I hugged my sister. Then the cold came, and everything went dark.”

  I’d heard the story many times before, but the sharpness of it never faded. I was surprised at Leyla’s calm demeanor, as if she were talking about going to the store.

  “We were rescued and shuttled back to a hospital in Reykjavik. My parents owned a place in Empire City, but they didn’t have a will or anything. My uncle took their stuff, pissed it all away, then wound up dead. After that, we got placed with EC Social Services, and bounced around a bunch of foster homes for a few years. Eventually, I left and lived on the streets until the day Doc rescued me from the Carmichael syndicate. My sister stayed behind. The end.”

  Besim regarded Leyla with such sorrow, I thought she was going to cry. My eyes stung, and I rubbed at them.

  “A tragedy for one so young,” Besim said. “To have experienced this pain and heartache. I am so sorry, Leyla.”

  “Don’t be,” Leyla replied firmly. “It is what it is. Life sucks, and shit happens.”

  “Damn right,” Deacon chimed in from the back of the pod. “You get knocked down, pick yourself up and get back on that horse. Ain’t no point in crying about it.”

  “But it’s all good now.” Leyla nodded once at the Confederate. “I have Abner and Doc and the cats. I have the bookstore. What more is there?”

  Besim sat in quiet contemplation, saying nothing. Deacon wandered up front, sliding into the chair next to me.

  “What did Mahoney have to say?” I asked.

  “Well, for starters, he ain’t none-too-happy she’s tagging along,” Deacon lit a cigarette, and filled the front with gray smoke. “But I told him not to worry, you got it under control.”

  “Thanks,” I replied in surprise.

  “Also told me nothing worthwhile came from the neighborhood canvas,” Deacon exhaled smoke from his nose. “Then he said your DA’s been dealing with the media. Saying shit like the investigation is underway, not mentioning our names, and dazzling them with the usual run of bullshit.”

  “That’s awfully nice of him,” I said dryly. “That plausible deniability thing again.”

  “I reckon so,” Deacon chuckled. “Mahoney said the mayor’s expecting miracles, so we got to deliver. He’ll keep everyone off our ass for as long as he can.”

  I tried not to let it bother me. Investigations took time and breaks in cases were the proverbial needles in haystacks. Pressure from the top brass wasn’t anything new either and a gruesome murder case like this would put the spotlight on the mayor’s office as much as ECPD. Mahoney said a lot was riding on this one, and I got the impression it wasn’t only my career at stake.

  While Deacon smoked, I pulled up all the data we had accumulated thus far, including the upload from the p-scanner. I entered notes from my interviews with the eyewitnesses, the bank security, Armin and Moonbeam, then added Deacon’s findings at Hughes.

  “At least that still works,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Incoming translation from Proctologist Staystrim, Detection,” EVI’s garbled voice announced over the speakers.

  The pod filled with crunchy static, then cleared.

  “Detective Holliday?” came Doctor Stentstrom’s reedy voice. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, Doctor, we hear you,” I replied.

  “I’m not quite sure where to begin,” he hesitated.

  There wasn’t any music playing in the background.

  “What is it, Doctor?” I asked, now concerned. “What’s happened?”

  “As I mentioned in our previous conversation, I had two further examinations to perform,” he said. “I left to attend to them at a separate location and was away for several hours.”

  I didn’t like where this was headed. My shoulders felt a crushing weight descend on them.

  “When I returned, the lights were out,” the medical examiner continued. “The room’s power had been disabled for an indeterminate amount of time. Once EVI restored the power, I checked on the corpses in storage.”

  My throat went dry. I gripped the control console with both hands. The knuckles turned white.

  “They were all accounted for,” Stentstrom stated with finality. “All, except one.”

  I waited, holding my breath.

  “I’m sorry, Detective Holliday,” he said mournfully. “But Vanessa Mallery’s body is gone.”

  Chapter 14

  “What do you mean the body is gone?” I demanded, then glanced at Deacon uncertainly. “Dead bodies don’t walk themselves out of morgues. Right?”

  “There’s gotta be a record of it,” Deacon stated in a steady voice, ignoring me. “Don’t y’all have cameras in there?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Kole,” the medical examiner confirmed. “When I reviewed the feed, there were no images. However, the diagnostic report I received detailed continuous outages over a span of three hours. These are in conjunction with the systemic breakdowns EVI has been experiencing since the explosion. It appears the body was taken between nine and ten-thirty this morning,” Stentstrom paused. “Which also coincided with the building’s fire alarm sounding a few minutes before nine. The entire building was placed on lockdown and evacuated.”

  A cold hand rested on my shoulder. Leyla stood behind me, concern mirrored in her eyes.

  “Someone signed out the damn body,” I said, scrambling to make sense of everything. “You can’t just waltz in there, even if the building wasn’t already on lockdown. Whose eSig is on the official registry?”

  “Well, Detective, that is the most peculiar aspect of all,” Stentstrom answered. “It was authorized by you.”

  “That’s impossible,” I scoffed, although my voice betrayed my anxiety. “I was following a lead. Our onboard log timestamps will show that, in addition to my own updates to the case file.”

  “I’ll send you the registry,” he offered. “But the signature page included your badge.”

  “While you’re at it, forward the feed for the time between nine and ten-thirty,” I said.

  “As I already mentioned, the feed was blank,” Stentstrom replied.

  “Send it anyway,” I grated between gritted teeth.

  “Of course,” he replied. “Detective Holliday, I take full responsibility for this, and will outline that i
n my report. When word of this gets out—"

  “Stop right there,” I ordered in a firm tone. “No one is hearing about this.”

  Deacon gave me an appraising look. Leyla’s hand tightened on my shoulder.

  “That is highly irregular,” Stentstrom stammered in confusion. “An official report must be filed.”

  I rubbed at my temples, thinking furiously.

  “Someone has gone through a great deal of trouble to steal the body,” I said. “I’m willing to bet that same someone is involved with the explosion. With everything that’s happened so far, there’s too much coincidence here for my liking.”

  I moved from the chair and began pacing the floor.

  “We’re Special Crimes, right? Sanctioned by the mayor’s office and authorized to apprehend criminals by any means necessary. Special dispensation needs to be given in trying to solve a case that has gone from a dead girl killed by a vampire, to a seemingly unrelated explosion at a power plant that just so happens to knock out most of EVI’s functions and her redundant recovery systems right around the time when we need her most.”

  “I don’t understand,” Stentstrom said.

  “He’s saying we need to keep this on the down-low ‘cause there’s a lot more going on here,” Deacon drawled, lighting a cigarette. “He’s saying we’ve been fucked, and not in the Biblical sense, neither. We don’t know shit right now, and someone’s out there making sure things stay that way.”

  “And I thought I had conspiracy theory issues,” Leyla quipped under her breath.

  “What’s going on here?” the medical examiner demanded. “And what is Special Crimes?”

  I looked from Leyla, Deacon and Besim in turn, then made my decision and filled Stentstrom in on everything.

  “I’m asking you to keep this under wraps,” I urged, folding my arms. “We’ve got to figure out what’s going on before every lead goes cold.”

  The silence on the line was broken by the occasional crackle of static.

  “Doctor,” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Are you there?”

  “Mm?” he replied absently from a distance. “Oh, I’m sorry! Yes, I’m still here.”

  “What’s going on? You all right?”

  “Oh, quite fine,” Stentstrom said, his voice fading in and out. It sounded as if he was strolling around the examination room. “However, while you were speaking,” his voice strengthened as he returned to the communication outlet, “I have discovered something quite peculiar. There is the faintest hint of a strange odor in the air. It’s quite distracting.”

  “Lemon freshener?” I asked.

  “Yes!” the medical examiner exclaimed, as if he’d just discovered gravity. “That’s it! I prefer more of a pine scent when cleaning the examination room. Lemon clears the palate just as easily but is a bit too bitter for my taste.”

  Deacon and I exchanged a knowing look. My mouth turned into a thin, grim line.

  “Given our findings at Tony’s apartment earlier today, I posit the scent is the same,” Besim said from behind me. “Detective Holliday, someone is attempting to ‘cover their tracks,’ so to speak.”

  “And tie up loose ends while they’re at it,” Deacon chuckled mirthlessly, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. “This case just got a helluva lot more fun. We got ourselves professional cleaners, Holliday.”

  “As if today couldn’t get any worse,” I muttered. “Doctor Stentstrom, send what you have as soon as you can.”

  “Of course,” Stentstrom replied. “You will have it shortly. I also stored several of Miss Mallery’s tissue samples. Whoever stole the body failed to account for my refrigerated storage unit. They may yet yield some more information about our victim.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and cut off the call. Moments later, the registry appeared on the HUD along with the room feed. I frowned at the display. “This is bad.”

  “But it sure ain’t boring,” Deacon chuckled.

  “No, I’m serious.” I sat up to face the others and jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at the registry entry. “That’s my old badge.”

  “Holy fuck,” Deacon swore. “You left that on her desk.”

  “I did,” I nodded grimly. “We need to pay Lieutenant Flanagan a visit.”

  “Detective?” Besim asked. “Given the speed with which these cleaners are operating, perhaps the lieutenant should wait.”

  I was about to disagree, but my mind raced with the implications.

  “I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” I said. “If Flanagan is involved, she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Who knows what else they’re using her for? Which means the cleaners will hit the victim’s home, if they haven’t been there already.”

  “Whoever they are, they must be on a strict timetable, unless there is more than one team, of course,” the consultant added.

  “And don’t forget about Julie and Tony,” Deacon said. “It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  I felt like I was trying to hold sand from an hourglass in my hand. I had to decide what to do, and fast.

  “The security detail was assigned prior to Special Crimes taking the case, which means Downtown is responsible for providing those officers, not the 98th,” I said. “Flanagan wouldn’t have any jurisdiction.”

  “Given what’s happened already, that ain’t gonna matter,” Deacon replied.

  “Maybe,” I said. “EVI, please contact the two uniforms on duty at Julie DeGrassi’s apartment.”

  Moments later, a gruff man’s voice spoke over the com system, “Afternoon, Detective Holliday. What can I do you for?”

  “Just checking in,” I responded. “Everything okay over there?”

  “Yessir. Just me and Bolden. Nobody’s been by.”

  “Copy that. Let me know if they get any visitors. Thanks.” I closed the call.

  “Do you trust them?” Deacon asked.

  “We have to,” I sighed. “I knew Bolden when he was just starting out Downtown. He wasn’t caught up in the corruption probe. I don’t know Humboldt, though.”

  “What do we do?” Leyla asked anxiously.

  I realized during the call EVI had announced our arrival in Bay Ridge.

  “We investigate Vanessa’s home.” I stood up, then moved to the evidence table. I handed everyone a pair of rubber gloves and put on a pair of my own. “Even if the cleaners have been through there, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  I retrieved the passkey from the evidence bag, then led the way out of the pod.

  Midafternoon was cold and wet and filled with an intermittent drizzle, the kind that made you wish you were wrapped in three blankets, surrounded by heaters, and stocked with gallons of hot coffee.

  Alas, it was not meant to be.

  “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,” I muttered to myself.

  Quoting the Bard always made me feel a little better, and I sure as hell needed some better right then.

  We were in a quiet residential neighborhood. A series of brick townhomes ran along both sides of the street, each one the classic brownstone, two-story variety with stone steps, metal railing and a small square of greenery. They were all enclosed by a swinging gate and four-foot metal fencing, the decorative utilitarian type with little fleur-de-lis caps at the tops. A couple of homes had been done up for Halloween, with pumpkins on doorsteps and even a scarecrow in one yard.

  Several umbrella-wielding pedestrians moved aside as we approached Vanessa’s place. A young woman wearing a dark raincoat and holding a small carry-on bag and umbrella closed the door behind her. The exterior light revealed her face to be red and puffy. She shot me a suspicious look as I opened the gate.

  “Can I help you?” her voice was rough.

  I recognized her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bonner,” I introduced myself, withdrawing my badge and ID slowly so as not to frighten her. “I was going to call you. These are my…err…team. We’re investigating the murder of your friend, Vanessa. May we come
in?”

  Her eyes widened, but to her credit, she turned back to the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. I held the gate open for the others, then made my way into Vanessa’s brownstone.

  As I neared the doorway, I inhaled.

  The scent of lemon freshener was strong.

  “Fuck me,” I swore, swallowing the urge to slam my hand against the wall.

  “Excuse me?” Natalie asked from inside the brownstone.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bonner,” I recovered lamely. “I tripped on the welcome mat. It’s nothing.”

  Deacon, Besim and Leyla were already poking around the interior as I closed the door. The short entryway led to a living room with a single siderailed staircase running up to the second floor on the right, and a small open fireplace opposite. The limited kitchen spilled out of the end of the living room across from the entryway. A water closet hid within the nook of the staircase. I spied a door with closed blinds within the kitchen.

  A colorful rug sprawled across the hardwood floor, taking up most of the living room space, atop which rested an old couch, loveseat and coffee table. Floor lamps with sea-colored shades flanked the couch to either side. A fan, currently at rest with a long pull-cord, clung to the ceiling. Upon the walls hung framed paintings depicting seascapes, the same type and style as those found on Vanessa’s website. There was no entertainment center or holo-vision.

  I crossed the room to the kitchen, taking stock of the furniture and accessories. The kitchen boasted cabinet and counter space, a stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, and single-bowl sink. A small, round table holding an empty vase nestled in a corner surrounded by three armless chairs. One wall held a large picture window with closed blinds. I poked my finger through one of the slats, noting the tiny concrete patio hosting a long-necked ceramic fire pit on a metal tripod.

  Everything was spotless.

  Natalie stood nearby, arms folded across her chest. I gestured for her to join me at the kitchen table.

  “I came here to feed Oliver and get a few of my things,” Natalie sat down and gave me a tired smile.