by AD Starrling
I sighed. It was too much to hope that I would find Miss Kaplinsky’s cat on the first day.
As I turned to retrace my steps, I caught a flash of black and white at the edge of my vision. I stopped and looked up.
Some twenty feet above the ground to my left, perched on a ledge next to a fire escape, was a silver tabby. I reached into my pocket and removed the picture the retired teacher had given me. There was no mistaking the pattern of stripes: it was the missing feline. I stepped carefully towards the metal staircase. Behind me, the strays followed the scent of catnip.
I paused beneath the ladder and gazed at the cat. It stared at me with unblinking, round, golden eyes.
‘Here, kitty,’ I said self-consciously.
There was resolute silence from above. I waved the catnip around and made further encouraging pleas; this failed to produce a reaction from the cat. I sighed and put the bag away. There were no two ways about it: I was going to have to climb. I glanced over my shoulder. The strays had sat down in anticipation of the up and coming show. They looked like they were grinning.
The silver tabby watched me carefully while I made my way towards him. A minute later, I reached the landing next to the ledge. The cat sat several feet from the staircase, at the other end of the brick shelf: the golden gaze remained unwavering.
‘Okay, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way,’ I said firmly. The cat looked unconvinced by my threat. I retrieved the catnip from my pocket and waved it again. The golden eyes widened in mild interest. The cat rose on its legs and watched me warily.
The ring of my cell phone shattered the fragile balance. The silver tabby shot up and disappeared in the shadows above me. The strays scattered further along the alleyway. I pulled the handset from the inside pocket of my jacket and stared at the number on the display: I did not recognise it.
I pressed the ‘answer’ button. ‘Yes?’ I said shortly into the mouthpiece, trying to mask my irritation.
The sound of soft breathing reached me from the other end of the line. Then, a voice from the past said, ‘Hello, Lucas.’
My eyes widened. My grip tightened on the cell. ‘Mikael?’ I murmured hesitantly after several heartbeats.
A faint chuckle followed. ‘As good as always, I see. I didn’t think you’d recognise me after all these years.’
I suddenly became aware of how terribly exposed I was. ‘What do you want?’ I said harshly. I shifted and studied the dim passage beneath me. Apart from the strays that had stopped a respectable distance from the fire escape and were watching me curiously, I could see no one else in the alleyway.
I looked up and stared at the opposite building. Large, industrial-sized windows occupied most of the rear facade: I could not make much of the gloom behind the dirty, cracked glass. The entire structure had a deserted air about it.
‘Come now, is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Olsson drawled in the same playful tone.
I frowned. ‘You might as well get to the point. Haus already told me about you.’ I put the phone on speaker, hooked it on my shirt and started to climb.
‘Did he now?’ said Olsson. His words crackled with static from my movements. His voice was no longer friendly. ‘And what exactly did Haus say?’
‘He just happened to mention your name before he killed me,’ I replied tersely. Several storeys up, I came across the silver tabby again: it perched stiffly on a ledge next to the fire escape and stared fixedly at me. I stepped over the railing and took a cautious step towards it.
‘Ah,’ murmured Olsson. ‘So, he did manage to kill you again before he died.’
I remained silent. Then, movement below drew my gaze. The strays had scattered and were rapidly disappearing down the alleyway. I looked up at a sudden loud hiss in front of me. The silver tabby crouched low on all fours and arched its back in a threatening pose. The golden eyes stared unblinkingly past my left shoulder.
I grabbed the startled cat and jumped back onto the landing. Fragments of metal and brick clouded the air as bullets suddenly scored a line in the wall next to me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw figures appear at the end of the alley. I turned and raced up the stairs.
Glass shattered somewhere above me. A falling shard caught my cheek. Above the splintering and cracking noise, the stutter of a machine gun rose from the rooftop of the opposite building.
Heat bloomed on the back of my hand. For a second I thought I had been shot. I glanced down and saw the cat clinging onto me grimly: its claws had drawn blood. I gripped him tightly and dodged a further spray of bullets.
The sudden judder of the metal steps beneath my feet drew my gaze downward again: two men in black suits were climbing the fire escape. One of them paused, leaned over the handrail and raised a black object. I heard a distant twang and felt the draft of an arrow as it whizzed past my shoulder.
‘Hang on!’ I gasped at the cat. I skidded onto the next landing, leapt, caught the bottom rung of a ladder with my free hand, drew my legs up and arched my body over empty space. There was a fleeting moment of weightlessness before I crashed through a window and landed on my side on rough concrete. I rolled, climbed to my feet and started to run.
The machine gun stuttered again: bullets ricocheted off the floor behind me, raising chips from the concrete. An indignant yowl accompanied the dull thuds; the cat’s claws dug further into my flesh. I winced. If truth be told, I was getting tired of being shot at.
As I negotiated the dingy corridors of the empty building, my phone beeped again. I grabbed the cell and glanced at the display. It was an incoming call from Reid. ‘Where are you?’ I snapped into the mouthpiece.
‘Outside the client’s building,’ he replied. There was a pause. ‘What’s that noise? And why do you sound so breathless?’
I ducked past an open doorway, narrowly avoided another volley of bullets, and looked around frantically. I needed to find an exit. ‘Get to the north entrance of the park. Hurry!’ I said sharply before ending the call.
An emergency door finally materialised at the end of the next passage. Glass tinkled somewhere in the building behind me: distant footsteps followed.
I hit the door at a run and almost went over a metal banister. A narrow, gloomy stairwell opened up beneath me. I turned and started swiftly down the steps.
I was a storey from the ground floor when the door at the bottom of the stairs suddenly opened. A man entered the building in a flood of daylight. He blinked at the shadows and raised his gun at the same time as a crash resounded from above: the suits had found the emergency exit.
I tightened my grip around the cat, grabbed a handrail, stepped up against the wall and vaulted over the banister. A crossbow bolt hissed past my ear, missing my shoulder by a hairbreadth, and thudded into the concrete floor.
The gunman’s eyes widened. My feet landed on his chest. He grunted and flailed backwards, the Beretta clattering out of his hand. I elbowed him in the throat, ignored his strangled gurgle, scrambled to my feet and headed for the exit. Footsteps pounded the stairs behind me.
I emerged in a narrow passage between two buildings. A squeal of tires shattered the relative silence behind me. I looked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of the Chevy as it shot past the mouth of the alley. I turned and raced towards it.
Bullets struck the ground close on my heels when I emerged out of the alleyway. ‘Hey!’ I shouted, waving wildly with my free hand. Reid spotted me in the rear view mirror, slammed on the brakes and put the car into reverse. The Monte Carlo screeched to a halt next to the curb just as I reached it. I grabbed the door handle, yanked it open and dove inside. A dull thud erupted from the rear of the vehicle.
‘Go!’ I yelled, glancing at the side mirror. ‘They’ll aim for the tires!’
Reid pulled away sharply and floored the accelerator. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said harshly after several seconds. He glanced sideways and paused. ‘And what is that?’
I looked down. I had forgotten about
the cat. The silver tabby’s golden eyes were wide and unwavering as it stared at me, its claws still firmly hooked into my forearm. ‘It’s Miss Kaplinsky’s cat.’ I attempted to detach the animal from my arm: it eventually relented and switched its grip to my jeans instead.
As the Chevy swerved in and out of the mid-afternoon traffic, Reid glanced at the rear view mirror and frowned. ‘Is that an arrow?’
I looked over my shoulder: there was a crossbow bolt embedded halfway into the boot of the car. ‘Yes.’
Reid’s frown deepened. ‘Unless our client has some seriously fearful enemies, I presume those were Hunters again?’ he said after another pause.
I nodded and pulled myself up on the seat. A sudden burst of static made the cat jump on my lap: the claws dug in further. I grimaced and looked at the dashboard.
Reid had inherited an old police radio scanner with the car. It had proven useful on many of our previous investigations. As I stared at the black box and listened to the words pouring out of the speakers, I felt my blood grow cold.
‘Control, this is C-16 on Concorde. Have responded to the disturbance at Golden Leaf. Calling in a 10-54 Code 1 at 12B.’
‘Copy, C-16. Go ahead.’
‘Victim is resident at the address, white female, late seventies. Bullet wound to the head, DOA. Witnesses point to suspect being a white male, mid-thirties, six foot two, one seventy, black hair, blue eyes, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. Suspect is on foot and may be armed.’
‘Copy, C-16. Will dispatch EMT and notify Patrol and Operations.’
‘Copy, Control.’
Reid glanced at me. ‘Lucas?’ he said hesitantly.
I gazed blindly ahead while I recalled the scent of vanilla and a room crowded with faded memories.
Chapter Four
Housed in an imposing, neoclassical brick and granite structure on the corner of a busy commercial junction close to the harbor, the East Boston police precinct boasted a stately outer appearance. The inside could have been any other station in the city. The wide corridors and grand ceilings failed to mask the scruffiness of the place and the people that worked within its walls, while the smell of sweat, coffee and cigarettes imbued the air, which had acquired a yellow to smoky brown haze.
The interview room on the first floor offered a rare glimpse of the harbor and Boston’s downtown skyline. The setting sun had turned the waters crimson and bathed the austere walls of the chamber with an orange glow.
The homicide detective assigned to investigate Miss Kaplinsky’s murder was a bear of a man by the name of Meyer. He dwarfed his partner, a much younger sergeant detective called Pratt. Pratt was skinny, virtually devoid of facial hair and had a bobbing Adam’s apple that could have sunk the Titanic; Meyer appeared to be the type who grew a five o’clock shadow ten minutes after a shave. Pratt’s suit was smooth and wrinkle-free, his tie crisp and his shoes shiny with fresh polish; Meyer looked like he shopped at the Salvation Army and sported well-worn, scuffed Doc Martens. Despite these flagrant discrepancies, they made a good team.
It was only Reid’s reputation that had kept them from formally interrogating me as the prime suspect in the case.
‘You said you left the victim’s apartment at around thirteen hundred?’ said Meyer, frowning at the notepad in his hand. Not that he needed to check the facts: he looked like the kind of cop who’d memorise everything about a person in a flash. It was evidently a tactic he used to try and unsettle potential suspects.
‘Yes,’ I said calmly.
‘Where did you go afterwards?’ said Meyer.
‘I spoke to a couple of her neighbours, a Mr Harrison from 8B and Mrs Garcia from 10A.’
‘Why?’ said Pratt suspiciously.
Despite the anger burning in my veins, I allowed a faint smile to cross my lips. ‘I wanted to ask them about the cat.’
Pratt’s gaze shifted to the furry bundle on my lap. ‘Is that the feline in question?’
Evidently bored by the proceedings, the silver tabby had gone to sleep. Its claws, however, were still resolutely ensnared into the denim fabric of my jeans. ‘Yes.’
‘What’d you do after that?’ said Meyer searchingly.
‘I scoured the neighbourhood and the park across the road.’
‘How long did that take?’
‘About an hour twenty minutes.’
Meyer rose from the other side of the table and walked to the window. ‘And you found the cat? Just like that?’ he said, his back to the room as he gazed at the fading light.
I kept my expression carefully neutral. The older detective was a difficult man to read, which made him the better cop: I couldn’t tell whether his rigid stance denoted skepticism, tiredness or both. Pratt, on the other hand, had not quite mastered the art of hiding his emotions: if he had his way, I would be under lock and key before I could breathe the word “lawyer”.
‘The catnip helped,’ I volunteered.
Meyer returned to his seat. He was frowning. ‘You said in your statement,’ he glanced at the paperwork before him, ‘that you didn’t recognise the men who were after you?’
‘That’s correct,’ I answered truthfully.
Silence followed. ‘Does this kind of thing happen to you often?’ Meyer finally said.
I pretended ignorance and gazed at him steadily. ‘What do you mean?’
Meyer sighed and waved a hand. ‘The bullets. The arrows. The random strangers trying to kill you,’ he muttered drily.
I wondered how he would react if I told him the truth. No doubt he’d have me thrown into a padded cell so fast my head would spin. ‘No,’ I said quietly.
The older detective’s eyes narrowed. ‘We haven’t got the official reports from ballistics yet, but the rounds from the alley are a close match to the one found in the victim’s body.’
I remained silent.
‘Do you have a gun, Mr Soul?’ said Pratt.
‘No.’ I could tell the two cops were not buying this barefaced lie.
‘I recall Reid telling me once that you’re an excellent shot,’ said Meyer thoughtfully.
I let a faint smile cross my lips again and silently cursed my absent partner. ‘He exaggerates somewhat.’
‘You mean to tell me you’ve never fired a gun in your work as a private investigator?’ said Pratt incredulously.
‘I don’t like guns,’ I said, neatly sidestepping the question.
‘That’s not an answer,’ said the younger detective harshly.
‘Enough!’ Meyer rose to his feet stiffly and pushed the chair under the table. ‘That’ll be all for today, Mr Soul. We’ll be in touch again in the next few days. Make sure you’re available for questioning.’ He paused. ‘And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave town for the foreseeable future.’
Reid was waiting in the reception on the ground floor. We left the building without exchanging a word and strolled to the Chevy. A cool breeze ruffled the leaves of a nearby sycamore tree; the evening air was refreshing after the stuffiness of the precinct.
‘What did Meyer say?’ Reid finally asked once we were inside the car.
‘The bullet that killed our client matched the shells the Hunters left in the alley.’ I paused and took a deep breath, fighting the ice cold rage that still threatened to overwhelm me.
‘Well, that should help your case, at least,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘He told me not to leave the city.’
Reid switched the engine on, pulled out of the parking bay and headed for the river. The beam from the Chevy’s headlights washed across the asphalt. ‘What are you intending to do with that?’ he muttered after a few minutes’ silence, directing a pointed stare at my lap.
I glanced at the sleeping cat. ‘Miss Kaplinsky had no next of kin. I guess it’s staying put for the time being.’
A resigned look dawned on my partner’s face. He sighed again. ‘Has it got a name?’
‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘It’s Cornelius.�
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Reid’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
I shrugged noncommittally. Further silence ensued.
‘What I don’t get is why the Hunters would murder a defenceless old lady,’ Reid said eventually, his gaze focused on the road ahead.
‘I don’t know the answer to that either.’ This was a half-truth. Deep down, I suspected I knew the reason why. And if I was right, things would only get worse.
‘This is the third time in three days they’ve tried to kill you,’ Reid stated with a frown. He glanced at me. ‘Why now?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t exactly get time to ask them questions.’ A dry smile dawned on my face. ‘Maybe they’re under new management.’
Reid grunted. ‘That’s a helluva lot of don’t knows.’
I sighed, the smile leaving my lips. ‘I know.’
Another minute ticked by. ‘So, what’re you gonna do about it?’ Reid finally said, scowling. Another wry smile crossed my face at his words: he knew me well. I stared out of the window, stalling for time.
We were headed down the Sumner Tunnel. Traffic was unusually light for the time of day. A fire engine came up behind us and overtook the Chevy in a roar of sirens and flashing lights. The cat woke up and yawned. I looked down to find the golden eyes gazing at me unwaveringly.
‘I’m going to New York,’ I murmured.
Reid was quiet for several seconds. ‘What’s in New York?’ he said, glancing at me.
‘Someone who has the answers, or knows where I can get them.’ I stroked the cat’s head. A low rumble of approval erupted from its belly.
The radio scanner let out a blast of static and garbled words when we drove out into the North End seconds later. The fire was on the east side dock yards. A faint orange glow smudged the skyline ahead and to the left.
‘Meyer told you not to leave the city,’ said Reid after a while. His voice sounded strangely detached even to my own ears.
‘Yes, he did,’ I acknowledged with a nod.
