"You stay put."
Finn looked over his shoulder and saw a fancy dressed man move a step closer to her.
"Do you know who I am?" he said.
Whatever Cori answered, the man was both surprised and cowed by it. He fell back, into the safety of the group. Finn got up and strode across the room to the front door. He called to the officers outside, telling them to bring the woman inside. Finn had only just returned to the prisoner when he heard:
"Enver! Enver."
The woman in the smock rushed across the room, flinging herself at her husband. She landed on her knees and threw her arms around his neck. She seemed not to care that he was covered in blood. The face she turned up to Finn was angry and accusatory.
"You have hurt him." Her accent was the same as her husband's, but her English was better.
Finn ignored her. He only had eyes for the big man with the grey hair, the one whose rampage had kept the people in this room hostage, the man whose big head lolled from side-to-side, and whose glassy eyes saw nothing. He could be drugged, drunk, a fine actor, mad, or guilty as hell of a viscious crime, but that would be for others to determine. Finn had only one job. To find this man's victim.
"I won't be asking again. Whose blood?" Finn's patience was gone. "You're a dead man unless you speak now."
"Enver," the wife begged.
Finn swung her way.
"There is trouble on both of you. Best you tell me what you know."
Finn, more than anyone else in this room, understood the desperation of the moment. There was evidence of violence. There seemed to be a clear perpetrator. Once he had been on the wrong side of such a situation, but understanding it did not mean he had sympathy.
"Listen to me." Finn said. "Mistakes can be made right, or they can destroy you. Which will it be?"
The woman let go of her husband. She slumped against the wall. Once again her hands were entwined in the fabric of her smock. This time she hung her head, unable to look at Finn.
"Missus." Finn snapped at her. Her head jerked up. Her lips trembled.
"I... She..." The woman tried to speak but seemed to have lost the ability. Her body started to shake.
"She's dead because of what I've done." The man found his voice and it was hollow.
"Enver." His wife whimpered. His name could have been a warning to say no more, or encouragement to bring this to an end.
"Who? Who is dead?" Finn asked.
The man shook his head. "I don't know."
"Where is she?" he demanded.
Finn swooped down and took the man by the shoulders. The woman fell away from her husband, uttering a small cry.
"Where?"
Finn was prepared to do what he must, but there would be no fight. The woman put one hand over Finn's. It was the soft touch of surrender.
"Upstairs. She is upstairs."
5
Officer Douglas was taking a statement from a lady who now wore a tuxedo jacket wrapped around her nakedness. Her legs were very long, her heels very high. Without her mask she seemed less a temptress than a tired, frightened young woman.
The jacketless man who had been chivalrous enough to cover her caught Finn's eye as the detective went by. The fancy man raised his chin. Finn would have laughed at the mano-a-mano gesture of solidarity had it not been so vile. He understood what that look meant.
We are men of the world. We both know that this is easily swept under the rug. He understood Finn was doing his job, but...
Finn gave him no more than a glance, thinking him a fool. Spreading tail feathers and chucking chins meant nothing to him. He was the most powerful man in the world at that moment. If this fellow needed to be taken down, Finn would be happy to oblige. But if it came to that, it would be done for cause and not ego. Nothing, though, was going to be done any time soon. Upon leaving the grand room where everything could be seen in one look, Finn and Cori found themselves in a Rubik’s Cube of a building, a place that rightly gave Officer Douglas reason for concern.
This house would be a perfect place to stage an ambush with its jagged architecture and unlit passageways. As a working brewery the layout might have some rhyme or reason, but now the outcroppings of concrete, the ledges, the strange hardware embedded in the walls seemed to have no purpose. Most of all, the twists and turns of the corridors and the narrow stairways made Finn wary.
There was little room for one person going up the first flight of stairs much less two-way traffic. Lighting was minimal. Tight spaces were dark and open spaces shadowy. The steps were metal and constructed with a rise and angle that made climbing them difficult. The miserly depth kept Finn's booted feet from getting solid purchase, but at least they were tightly affixed to the wall. They could be climbed quietly if one were careful. Finn counted twenty-three steps to the first landing. That space was deep, but a wall on the left made it impossible to see everything.
Finn glanced at Cori. When she gave him a nod he stepped onto the landing, swung himself around the wall, and found himself in a space no bigger than a large closet. No one lay in wait. There was no blood. There was no body. He was looking at three walls and a door cut out of the one he was facing. Mincing his steps, he put one hand on the knob, aware that Cori was on watch, hugging the wall where it met the stairs.
"Okay?" she whispered.
Finn nodded once, licked his lips, and reached for the closet door. It didn't shame him that his heart skipped a beat when he found it locked. He had no love of surprise, especially in a space this small.
"'Tis clear."
He stepped away. They started up the next flight of stairs. Slivers of window reminiscent of the castles Finn had climbed as a boy in Ireland gave him a glimpse of the compound below. No one on the ground could have seen through the narrow glass.
Finn ducked his head, and Cori did the same. The ceilings lowered for a few feet before rising again over the next landing. There they soared over a square turret-like structure. Above them was a latticework of copper pipes. It was cold here, cold like a tomb.
This landing was twice the size of the one below, but there were no doors only two small spaces tunneled out at the bottom of one wall. They measured three-by-three by Finn's guess. He put his hand to one and felt air, confirming that it connected to the outside. A small man or a slight woman might squeeze through, but not without causing a commotion below. Near the ceiling, metal plates were screwed high into the wall. The screws were rusted, so there was no cause for concern. Finn started off with Cori a half a step behind. When they reached the end of the hall, the detectives pulled up short. Cori let out a low whistle.
"Sure it seems we've found God's workroom," Finn said.
"No God that I know," Cori whispered.
Finn went ahead while Cori looked for signs that there was a living person in the room. When Finn turned his head one way, Cori's eyes went the other. When he looked up, she looked down. When her partner paused to touch one of the things hanging from the ceiling, a chill ran through her. When he stopped to face one of the bodies propped upright, Cori wanted to look away. When Finn motioned her to follow, Cori complied with care.
Human body parts clogged the long, narrow room. Legs and arms hung from the ceiling like Spanish moss, others had been packed in crates on the floor. Full-size dolls were skewered from the small of their backs to their shoulder blades with metal rods that kept them upright. All the dolls were female, naked, and anatomically correct. They leaned forward in stances that were both expressive and unsettling. One held her arms out as if begging for help. Another's legs were bent as if to run. A third had one hand over her chest and the other over her private parts, hiding her nakedness.
There were blondes with pale skin, and Asians with exotic eyes; dark skinned lovelies with corn-row braids, redheads, and brunettes. Their eyes had a depth of expression so that the dolls seemed near tears or lost in the throes of passion. They looked across the room at the faces of their disembodied counterparts.
The unfinish
ed heads were attached to the wall like game trophies. One's expression was hard and tough, another's wholesome and pleasant. Their lips were full, their eyes long lashed, and their cheekbones high. Finn half expected one of them to speak, but the thought was fleeting. There was no life here and no death either. What was in this room was worse than death. Those beautiful faces were attached to skulls that were laid bare, sculpted from metal and plastic. These were empty things. No brains in these heads, no hearts in the beautiful breasts of their assembled sisters.
"Holy Mother," Finn muttered. "They look so real."
"They feel real." Cori ran three fingers down a leg hanging near her head, and then rubbed them together as if trying to rid herself of the feel of the 'skin'.
"I don't know what game those two are playing, but I'm not liking any bit of it," Finn said.
"What kind of game could it be? That man was covered in blood," Cori said.
"Paint?" Finn made a ridiculous stab at an explanation. "Play acting? You saw those people downstairs."
"If it was performance art he would have said so, and sent us on our way," Cori said.
"Except he said that she was dead," Finn reminded his partner.
"And she could have been the doll he sliced and diced."
"It does no good to speculate," Finn said. "Let's go back and sort it out before the sun rises."
"I'm going to have nightmares for weeks. This stuff really creeps m..."
Cori adjusted her holster as she complained only to find that she was talking to herself. When she looked for her partner she saw him disappear through the mass of body parts at the other end of the long room. The doll torsos were still swaying when she got there, so she pushed her way through, fighting off a pair of extraordinarily large boobs. Finn stood in a wide opening in the wall and she took her place beside him.
The room they were looking at was smaller than the one on the first floor, and larger than the workroom. Three towering, arched windows graced the outside wall. Dawn's pale pink and grey light illuminated what seemed to be an apartment.
There was a long gleaming dining room table with eight intricately carved chairs surrounding it. It was set for two with crystal and china. A chandelier hung above it. On the far wall was a free-standing tub, a toilet, and bidet. Outdoor lounges and tables were set in a semi-circle as if around a pool, but there was only the cement floor. There were drapes across the room near the windows, but no breeze to billow them. Finn flipped the switch on a light panel. The track lighting was illuminated, but not the chandelier.
"The table lamps aren't hooked up either," he said.
"There's no plumbing." Cori pointed to the tub and the bidet that were positioned away from the wall. "Maybe this was one of those plays that got out of hand. You know those murder mystery theater deals?"
"And all the world's a stage," Finn said .
Cori leaned into him, knocking his shoulder, and raising a hand to the curtains on the far wall. The light had changed, and now they could see the silhouettes of a high dresser, a chair, and a luxurious bed. They also saw a woman lying atop it. Her legs were together, her bare feet pointed upward, and her arms were at her side. The detectives looked at one another. Finn inclined his head, asking a question Cori couldn't answer. Real or a doll? There was only one way to find out.
"Police," Finn called as they made their way across the room.
Cori got there first and reached for the curtains only to stop cold. She lowered her eyes. Finn did the same. Blood stained the bottom of the white curtains where they touched the floor. Cori pulled aside the curtains. The woman on the bed didn't stir. She couldn't even if she wanted to. She was real, dead, and where her face had been there was only a bloody pulp.
"Call the ME," Finn said. "Get a forensics team out here. And tell officers Hunter and Douglas that everyone in the God forsaken place is to be taken in. No exceptions."
Cori had her phone out to start the process, but she never dialed. A woman was headed their way and she was mad.
"Where are you, you bitch? Where are you?"
The sound of her heels on the stairs was deafening. The sound of her shrieking was grating. Finn and Cori stood shoulder to shoulder, at the ready, but neither was prepared for the tall woman who burst into the room. Her white blonde hair was short in the back, and fell long over one eye in the front. She wore a leather corset and stiletto heels. A studded leather collar circled her throat. When she saw Finn and Cori her surprise was as great as theirs. It took no more than a second for her eyes to deepen with disgust.
"Well, well. Look who's here," she said.
Finn didn't respond. That didn't surprise Cori. Seeing your ex-wife half naked in a room with a dead body was definitely a shockeroo.
6
"Cover up, woman. People are seeing you half dressed."
Finn tried once more to put his jacket over Beverly's shoulders. Again, she threw it off.
"Have you looked around this zoo, Finn?" Bev laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "I'm the classiest thing they're ever going to see, so let them look."
"I don't understand this. Hard as nails. No shame. What has happened to you?"
Finn grabbed up his jacket from the ground, and shook it out all the while keeping his eyes on his ex. On a movie screen she would have been a goddess. But they were in an artist's compound in a rough part of Los Angeles. In the clear morning light his ex-wife looked like a stripper or worse.
"Nothing has happened to me." Bev grabbed the top of her corset and pulled up, re-adjusting her fine breasts. "We're divorced, Finn, so don't go pulling your righteous Irish act on me. I'm not your mother, and I never was. That was the trouble, you know. Who could compete with your saintly, long suffering mother?"
"Beverly," Finn said, and she understood the warning.
Finn's family was off limits. That was fine, because there really wasn't anything to complain about. The O'Brien clan was as close to saintly as they come—all nine of them —but especially the long-dead, forever-child Alexander. It had been a predator, a murderer, that picked Finn's brother up from school when Finn had forgotten to fetch the little boy. Finn would never stop doing penance for that sin, and God help the person who suggested the mystery of Alexander's death should be put to rest.
Bev crossed her arms and threw herself against the wall like a petulant child. Moments ago Finn had taken her by the wrist and pulled her behind a latticework of rotting wood. It was overgrown with a vine that thrived in spite of neglect. The shelter was minimal, but it was the best he could do. He wanted to keep their meeting private. When he took Bev from the building she had stumbled after him, those ridiculous heels of hers clacking on the metal stairs and concrete floors. She took two steps to every one of his. Now through the wooden lattice, he could see the team going about their business. The EMTs were gone; the Medical Examiner's people and a forensic team were there. Two more black and whites had come to help Officer Hunter and Officer Douglas. Cori would be seeing to the artist and his wife. He attended to his ex.
"Sure, Beverly, I'm not judging because I've got no idea what it is I've been looking at in that place."
Finn ran his hand over his head as he turned away from her only to turn back again. This time he had both hands out, and he used them to rake the air.
"And this. What is this you're wearing among strangers?"
"These people aren't strangers," she snapped.
"You're telling me those are your friends?" Finn asked, his Irish spiking as it did when emotions ran high. "I'm thinking you can do better, Beverly, my girl."
"Yeah, like all those cops you thought were your friends?" she said. "Those good guys who turned their backs on you when you needed them most. God, is it any wonder I left you?"
'Tis a wonder now that you mention it." Finn tried to lighten the mood, but Bev shot him a withering look.
"Oh, please. How could I stay when your trials would never end, Finn?" Bev threw up her hands. "Alexander was one thing. We were kids when he got
killed. I knew I could help you through that, but the thing with the cop? I wasn't going to live my whole life under that cloud. You could have come with me, quit the force, and had a better life. I needed you to say screw 'em all."
Beverly shook her head. She put her palms flat against the wall. Her stance made her look as if she were resigned to a firing squad and the truth would make no difference to the bullet.
"You're such a boy scout. I admire that, but not on my time. We got married too young, and I never had a chance to see what else was out there."
"I knew what was out there, and it wasn't pretty," Finn said. "I would have kept you safe."
"I am safe." Beverly pushed away, chastened a bit when she saw that she could still hurt him. "Nobody can live with a saint. People don't even like saints."
"I've never said that I was one," Finn said.
"You didn't have to." Bev tossed her head. "Saints love being tortured, and if you live with one you can't be more tortured than they are. I needed to have some fun and—"
"And that's fun?" Finn pointed to the building. "Men dressed up like animals in fancy dress, women on their knees before them without their clothes on?"
"I don't have to explain myself, Finn," she said. "And you don't need to save me from anything. So thank you very much, I'm out of here."
She did a ridiculous two-step in shoes that weren't meant for walking much less dancing. Finn took her arm and pulled her back until they were chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye. He felt none of the love he once had, but he still felt for her. What he felt was pity.
This woman was beautiful, but not pretty like his Beverly. This woman spoke her mind, but she didn't seem to have a rational thought in it. This one was desirable, but not to him. In that moment Finn realized it was finally done between them. He let her go. Feeling he still owed her something, he would try to save her from herself.
"Sit. It hurts me to look at you in those shoes." Bev raised her chin, but he'd have none of it. "There is a murdered woman inside, and you rampaged through that place looking for her. Everyone took note, and if there is suspicion on you it's well deserved. Now sit."
Intimate Relations: A Finn O'Brien Crime Thriller Page 4
