“As much as I hate to admit this Shade,” he said. “It’s your ass on the line here.”
“Excuse me?” I sat up, unfolding my hands.
“Oh don’t act surprised.” He waved me off. “Because this is an election year and thanks to the public relations parade, your ass in on the line.”
“Excuse me?” I stood up this time.
“Come on son,” he frowned with a head-tilt. “Hell, didn’t they invent spin in Chicago to begin with? The politics of corruption? Mayor Breznik’s diaper is dirty. They need a fall guy. You accepted lead on the investigation.”
“So this is how shit works in Kentucky?”
“Shade sit down.”
I didn’t.
“Chief,” Debbie cut in. “How can Shade be held responsible for a simple motorcycle homicide snowballing into this?”
“Debbie, shut up.” Wadsworth narrowed his eyes. “Shade sit down right now,” I’m not asking.”
I sat, unable to breathe, catching flashes of me and the kids getting kicked out of our new home.
“Look guys,” the Chief grunted. “I’m not happy about this shit either. I spent all morning getting my ass whipped raw. I described how the case has evolved over time, with killers and motives changing. But none of that matters now. That sex video put the nail in the coffin. Shade. This is the ultimatum: If by week’s end we haven’t brought in Svidi Malhotra, you’re off the case. And no further employment or contracts will be made available. We have to catch this guy and catch him now.”
After we left the office, I waved Debbie over. “Go back over the case files,” I whispered. “Call anyone and everyone who worked for Svidi. Find out if he had any friends or acquaintances. Anything. Anyone.” Debbie nodded her head eagerly. She bought my bullshit. It was a set up. I needed Debbie out of my hair. Svidi Malhotra was a lone wolf. He had no friends. A vague plan congealed and began to take shape in my head. There was no room for Debbie. Or anyone for that matter. I had to hunt the man alone. Anything more was a liability I couldn’t afford. I knew one thing in this investigation that no one else did. Wild animals on the run? They always came home. Always.
Inside the darkened shadows of Malhotra’s clinic, I sat at Svidi’s desk, the rolling wall leading to his efficiency lay cracked open a few inches. My mind reeled, taking me lap after lap on an emotional rollercoaster. High. Then low. One minute I felt powerful, a spider waiting in the web, fangs drawn. This followed by the impulse to kick myself, convinced the surgeon had already flown back, probably already standing on some crowded street corner in New Delhi, laughing at me. Day one came and went. I turned on my phone and called Debbie.
She answered with a tense voice. “Where the hell are you boss?”
“I’ll explain later,” I whispered. “Did you get anything from interviews with employees, any friends? Acquaintances?”
“No,” she grunted.
“Has surveillance picked up any blips at the house?”
“Nothing,” she grunted again. “Did you set me up?”
“Debbie,” I sighed. “I need you to cover for me. A couple more days and we’re all fucked. Maybe even the FBI takes over while we are all dragged to the gallows.”
I hung up, called Luke, and explained that I was onto something big, to keep the kids for a couple extra days. Luke held Vanessa at bay in the background. He had my back. We hung up. I went through all my supplies, drew water off the tap and ate scraps Svidi left behind in the cabinets. Day two came and went. Late into the third night, I finally admitted defeat. My plastic surgeon Indian physician was gone. I pulled the plastic ID badge from around my neck and tossed it into the trash. I was sitting in a cold little windowless office in Kentucky and Malhotra was gone forever. I’d moved all my chips forward on one bet. What fools do. Elbows on the desk, I planted my eye-sockets into my palms, pushing back against the pressure of my brain, rethinking my move to Kentucky. The stupidity of it all. Me coming up with nothing. I questioned my sanity. While I was cooped up in this office, my murderer got away. Free and clear. Of course wild animals return home. Always. But for Malhotra, wasn’t India home? I slapped my forehead. What in the hell were you thinking? Tomorrow was Friday and no doubt, a post-lunch meeting would be called where Breznik would put the axe to me. I stood, tucked my gun into my belt holster, and made my final exit. Reaching for the door, less than an inch from my fingertips, the doorknob wiggled. I drew my gun, and pointed it down, knowing I was crossing paths with a nighttime janitor, that I would have to answer for all this. The door popped open. Dr. Svidi Malhotra stepped in and stared at me. Owl shaped eyes drawn and hallowed with black circles, jaws sunken in. I could smell him from here, the rank odor of sweat, urine and funk. One look at me and he sank slowly to his feet, letting off a long, low laughter, and then weeping as killers so often do. Tears of joy. The relief of finally getting caught. I cuffed him.
The phone rang to the point of voicemail almost picking up. But the old man answered, the voice muffled behind a veil of exhaustion. “Wadsworth.”
“Chief, I’m on my way in,” I said.
“To the precinct?”
“Yeah.”
“At this hour?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” He muttered.
“I got him.”
36
Again and Again
Vanessa sank in the sofa cushions and brought a crystal glass of red wine to her lips, relaxed and smiling. “Tell us how you caught the bad guy again Uncle Shade.”
“Yeah, yeah!” the kids shouted, collapsing on the floor, wrestling, not paying attention.
“C’mon guys,” Luke pointed, ordering the kids out of the room. “Let’s give Uncle Shade a break.”
Rolling and banging along, the kids stampeded toward the back hall like a pack of depraved animals. It’d been only a short time but the cottage here on Iron Mountain had begun to feel familiar and lived-in…almost like home. And celebrating Svidi Malhotra’s capture meant we wouldn’t be getting our asses kicked out by the end of next month. As the prison door would be clanging shut on Malhotra, a new chapter in my life would be opening. The narrative of a Chicago investigator turned newfangled Kentuckian. With some job security to match. Luke grasped my shoulder.
“Shade,” he said. “You really pulled some shit off.”
“I really thought it was over for me,” I nodded. “I thought it was over for all of us. I thought the guy was gone.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I lifted it, glancing at the screen.
“Hey Debbie,” I said. “When are you heading over?”
Her voice came hallow. “Wadsworth and Mayor Breznik are waiting for you in the mayor’s office by the courthouse.”
“What?”
“Shade,” her voice aching with pain.
“Yeah?” I sat up.
“It’s just impossible,” she grunted.
“What?”
“The Skin the Cat killer.”
“He’s locked behind bars.”
Her voice cracked. “There’s been another.”
“Another what?”
Her voice shifted away, resigned with hopelessness. “There’s been another murder.”
My mouth flopped open with sudden confusion. “Svidi Malhotra escaped?”
“No,” she whispered. “He’s is still locked up. But not for long. Especially after his attorney just arrived with some fresh security footage of the killer in the immediate vicinity just before the most recent murder.”
“What?” I half-shrieked, the room taking on a slow-spin.
“Shade,” she paused, her voice taking on some pain. “We got the wrong guy.”
We flashed our ID’s at the lone guard who nodded as we passed through the metal detector. The clicking echoes of our footsteps were the only signs of life as we crossed the vast marble lobby filled with the bronze bu
sts of dead politicians and a massive blue Commonwealth of Kentucky flag suspended from the ceiling. Somewhere in the space above our heads, the faint clamor of an animated argument took shape. We shuffled up granite steps to the second level and found the source of heated accusations exchanged inside Mayor Marty Breznik’s office. Pitched in the full steam of battle, no one noticed Luke and I slide inside the doorway. With his neck flushed red and armpit sweat dampening his dress shirt, Mayor Breznik jabbed his pudgy finger at a bald guy wearing frameless prescription glasses and a dark, pin-stripe suit buttoned over a blood-red silk tie. Beside him sat Svidi Malhotra.
“You can’t just march in here and tell me what to do,” Breznik shouted with spit flying. “This is my office.”
Wadsworth noticed me but didn’t acknowledge my presence, his face gathering with sorrow. “Release my client now,” the pinstripe suit said, voice cool and collect. He smiled at Dr. Malhotra who sat in an orange jump suit beside him. The handcuffs had already been removed. I had feeling whatever was happening here would not go well for the mayor, his reelection, or my hope to survive in Kentucky pending a complete loss of income.
“Your client’s surgical skills and medical charts are all over the murder scenes,” Breznik shrieked like a child, the expression of a man watching his career spin down a flushed commode before his very eyes.
“That would have worked flawlessly with a jury Marty” the attorney chuckled. “Until they discover my client was shackled to the wall of your dungeon during tonight’s homicide. What would your district attorney say? Dr. Malhotra used telepathy to travel to the murder scene and killed the victim with his thoughts? Or that your jail is so substandard, killers can freely wander in and out between homicides? Not to mention the security footage from the truck stop. Give me a break Marty. Let my client go. Now. It’s over.”
Mayor Breznik snapped a pencil in half, turned purplish-red, and looked at the Chief. “You!” he shouted. “Wadsworth, you can kiss your pension goodbye.”
“You ought to be begging us not to sue your office over this abortion of justice,” the pinstriped suit added with casual confidence.
The mayor appeared to be choking beneath his necktie as he scratched his signature on the release forms. Wadsworth pointed to the hallway. Luke and I met him outside, back near the rotunda at the top of the granite steps. “Who’s the vic?” I asked.
“A local wealthy elite from Chumley’s. Named Sherry Whitten.”
“When did it go down?”
“A couple of hours ago,” he sighed, leaning on the concrete banister looking into the lobby below. “Shade, don’t take it personally. There’s no way any of us could have figured this. It’s not your fault.” He paused like he might spit over the rail. “We’ve be overplayed. Outmatched. And we’re all going to lose our careers for it.”
I dug my knuckles into my hip joint. “What the fuck is going on here?” I said.
“A copycat?” Luke asked.
“Gadford said it’s impossible,” the Chief grunted. “The method is identical right down to microscopic levels. Those medical charts, the evidence, the M.O., everything is identical.”
Careening under the weight of unwieldy disbelief, I had to say it aloud. Just to punctuate it. To get my head around it. To somehow accept it. I leaned over the rail, speaking into empty black space.
“We got the wrong guy.”
37
Steam
“What the hell are you doing here,” Officer White shouted at me as I crossed into the hotel’s front parking lot and took to the steps.
“Chad you look half-spooked,” I grunted. I was spoiling for a fight. The new murder. The investigation torn to shreds. Forget making detective. I’d be lucky to be a meter maid after this all panned out. “Mind your own business.”
“No one gave me a heads up.”
I stopped in my tracks halfway up and looked toward him. “No one has to give you jack-shit.” I paused. “When are you up anyway?”
“About an hour,” he shrugged, looking away, chewing a wad of gum with some anger. “Why do you ask?”
“The Chief sent me over,” I jogged up the rest of the way, and caught my breath at the top. “He’s at a meeting with Mayor Breznik. I have to get Carlina the hell out of here. It will take that long just to get all her shit together. So stay put.”
“Moving her?” White said with his eyes wide. I leaned on the iron banister to face him.
“Don’t take it personally,” I said. “You know she’s not safe here anymore.”
“Debbie, what’s going on?”
Then I realized and shot him a dirty look. “Officer, you better start listening to your radio. You can get written up for that crap. It’s a fucking dereliction of duty.”
I moved toward the door. It should be locked but it was cracked open. I frowned and decided right there that I would write Officer White up myself. For everything. I stepped in. “Carlina, hello?” I called to her. “It’s Officer Debbie Nichols.”
I waited for an answer. Nothing. Steam folded out from the bathroom door, the sound of a shower running. “Hey, Carlina, are you okay in there?”
I put my hand on the butt of my gun and entered. Carlina shrieked and started laughing from the other side of the shower curtain. “Holy crap,” she caught her breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” I stepped back, heart hammering, giving off nervous laughter.
“Umm,” Carlina called. “Are you alone?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in the shower naked,” Carlina laughed. “And my towels are out there by you, stacked by the sink. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
I winced, having asked her why, wondering if I’d come off a bit nasty. Cops always had to be on their toes, but I promised when I took this job that I wouldn’t let it change me. Now was not the time to play cop. Now was the time to be human. To get this woman to safety.
“You’re letting all my steam out.”
“Oh sorry.”
“Please shut the door,” she laughed. “Cold breeze not appreciated.”
I reached through the doorway behind me, grabbed a towel, shut the door and stepped forward with my arm extended.
“Hang on,” Carlina chirped. Then she pushed the shower curtain all the way open. Bare-ass naked. Body wet and glistening. Full rounded breasts. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. She was stunningly beautiful. She snatched the towel, smiling at me. I spun away, closed the commode lid and sat down.
“So why are you here?” she asked. “A welfare check?”
“Nope,” I was trembling, not wanting to admit it took everything not to turn and study her. “The killer has struck again.”
“What?” her voice stammered.
“We really need to get you out of here right away. You could be in mortal danger.” The idea of her naked breasts burned in my mind.
“I told you Svidi must be caught,” Carlina’s voice dropped as she shut the water off. “He won’t stop until he’s caught.”
“Nope,” I said turning toward her, unable to resist, and disappointed to find she’d wrapped the towel around her. “It’s impossible. He’s not our guy after all.”
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“Svidi was in jail when Sherry Whitten was murdered,” I shrugged. “Detective Bardane caught him and hauled him in.”
“Jail?” she shouted. “Why in the hell didn’t anyone inform me?”
I wrinkled my eyebrows at her. “No need to shout Carlina.”
Her voice took on more fright and she went pale. “I can’t believe it.” She stepped out of the tub, and dropped the towel. Fully naked. Gorgeous. Shaved. She stepped into me. There was something in her hand. Before I could get to my feet, I saw a brief glint of light, an illuminated arc instantly flashing around my face and pain exploding in my nec
k. Blood sprayed out to the side. Whose blood is this? My blood. I pressed my palms against gushing wound, and slid off the commode, shrinking down to the floor. So fast. This wasn’t really happening. I tried to call out for Officer White but my throat... I went for my gun, but my arm went limp. Carlina stood over me naked, smiling and grasping a scalpel in her hand. “You should have never come here. This wasn’t about you. You stupid, fucking cops. Detective Bardane, huh?”
Then she lunged forward with the blade and sliced at my arms, my neck, my chest. Then she was gone. I heard a distant rumble outside. Maybe something crossing the sky, roaring louder and louder. I saw the limestone cliffs of the Cumberland’s in my mind. I’d been born in Kentucky. Spent my whole life here. I was grateful for it. I already missed my horses. My brothers would care for them. The sound grew louder, thundering within my head. Until I realized the sound was my own breaths, going deeper and slowing down, louder and grinding to a halt. A searing white light burned across my eyes, like a hot spark chasing the horizon. Cool shadows fell in and I smiled.
Everything was finally okay.
…I’d been a good person after all.
38
Get You First
He disappeared into the bowels of the precinct thirty minutes ago. Hallways cast in the bleak stillness of graveyard shift, the breakroom sat empty and littered with fast-food trash. I wandered back to the office. Bingo. Stone-cold flat laid out on the desk. Sprawled there. So I shook him. And I shook him hard. The old man’s eyelids jumped with over-exaggeration, like a wild nervous tick. Something I’d never seen before. Just like he said. He was getting too old for this shit. Unpeeling his face from the desk, he came up, thin neck like a baby bird, slobber on the chin, scratching his throat beneath the collar, agitated. “What the fuck?” he said. In the moment, I’m wasn’t sure if he knew who I was. Or who he was. Or where the hell we even were. I took a step back, giving him some space.
“Chief,” I repeated with the tension climbing in, me trying to wrestle it back. “Where is she?”
Skin the Cat Page 31
