Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  “Exactly,” he said. He brought over two plates to add to the table.

  She stared at mushroom omelets with some bacon on the top, all with a cream sauce drizzled over that. “Is that hollandaise sauce?” she asked in amazement.

  “Absolutely it is,” he said. “I hope you like it.”

  “Interesting that you just went ahead and cooked and didn’t even ask.”

  “See? The thing about asking is,” he said, “that it leaves you open for people to say no or to get fussy. I find it much easier to just make a meal. Then you’ll either eat it or you won’t.” He didn’t appear perturbed either way.

  “Well, that’s a direct way to do it,” she said with a smile. She sat down, took a bite, and smiled even bigger. “My God, it’s wonderful,” she said. “You really do cook, don’t you?”

  “Well, I’ve cooked a couple meals for you now,” he said. “How were they?”

  “Delicious,” she said faintly. “I can’t do anywhere near as good as this.”

  “I think that’s because you’re off in your own world most of the time,” he said.

  She nodded. “Exactly. I live in my own world, but this is divine. I don’t think I could ever make it.”

  “I’m pretty sure you can.” His phone rang just then. He frowned at her.

  “Go ahead and take it,” she said. “We never know when it’ll be one of those important things we need to hear about.”

  “Exactly,” he said. He checked the ID, lifted his phone to his ear, and said, “Andy, what’s up?”

  “That present—it belonged to Elena.”

  The breath left his chest as he whispered, “Jesus Christ.”

  “We also have the autopsy report,” he said. “She was poisoned to death. Likely in her drink.”

  “Of course.”

  “It was a fatal dose of ketamine.”

  “Wow.” He glanced up at Cayce.

  As soon as he hung up, she stared at him. “What was that all about?”

  *

  “What was that?” Cayce asked harshly, her gaze shying back, as if against a coming blow.

  He reached across the table, slid his hand over hers, and said, “Finish eating. We’ll talk about it afterward.”

  She stared down at the last of her omelet and shook her head.

  “Three more bites,” he said with determination.

  She glared at him, quickly shoveled three bites in her mouth, swallowed, got up, and asked, “What is it?”

  “The box that was downstairs, that I came and picked up?” he started with, putting it in her mind. “I didn’t tell you at the time, but it was a piece of skin—and not from Liana, as we’d assumed. It was from Elena.”

  Her face paled, and she felt the world spinning around her, as she took the impact as a visceral blow to her stomach. She whispered, “Dear God! How is that even possible?”

  “It’s obviously from the killer. What I don’t know is the why? To scare you? To hurt you? To show you something?”

  “Was there a message? Was there something, anything to make sense of this?”

  “There was a message,” he said. “It said, ‘A gift for you to keep forever.’ They are working on analyzing the handwriting now. I’m really sorry, Cayce. I know that’s the last thing you needed this morning.”

  She just stared at him and slowly sank to the single chair in the living room. “A gift to keep?”

  “Yes,” he said, “and that brings up all kinds of possibilities.”

  “Like?” she said softly.

  “Like maybe he was preserving her,” he said.

  She winced at that. “That doesn’t sound any better.”

  “No, it’s not meant to,” he said, “but I don’t think he was trying to destroy her. I guess a fine distinction is here. I think he was trying to keep the masterpiece intact.”

  “And giving me a piece was for what?”

  “Maybe giving you a chance to keep a part of her safe forever too.”

  *

  Halo could feel the vibes tightening around them. Mommy was getting mad. They were all in hiding. When Mommy got mad, bad things happened.

  And before she got mad, bad things happened.

  That made Mommy madder.

  He tucked his knees up to his chest, shaking as the evil walked by.

  An evil he knew well.

  Crying in his mind, he shoved his fist into his mouth to keep as silent as possible and rocked back and forth.

  Please leave me alone.

  Good boy. Bad boy.

  Chapter 18

  It was brutal news to impart.

  “Does that message mean anything to you?”

  Cayce gave a broken laugh. “How could it mean anything to me?” she snapped. “None of this makes sense. I mean, obviously I would love to have Elena be with me forever, but I don’t want a piece of her organic body. I already have her soul with me.”

  He slid his head to the side. “Meaning that your friendship will still cross the barriers of life and death?”

  “Something like that,” she said with a nod.

  “What happened when you guys were around eighteen? Could it be pertinent?” His gut said yes. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” she said. “I was stupid. I was young. My ex-fiancé was an older man.”

  “He beat you up?”

  “If you want to put it that way. He beat me up and put me in hospital. Elena came, swooped into the hospital, checked me out against doctor’s orders, kept me at her place until I healed, and set the cops on him. He committed suicide soon afterward. Couldn’t stand the publicity was my take on it …” She found it hard to talk about still—yet, when she got started, she couldn’t stop. “My stepfather was a nasty piece of work. He beat up my mother a couple times before he got caught for his lovely criminal activities. I swore I’d never be with a man like that, but somehow that’s the same place I ended up.”

  “Oh, God,” Richard said. “I hate men like that. Where is your stepfather now?”

  “Back East, rotting, I hope. Last I heard he was still behind bars. His last name is Brogan, Walter Brogan. My mother never changed our names when she married him.”

  “Good. Hopefully he doesn’t get out—ever.”

  “That’s my wish. We all hate men like that,” she said. “The problem is, I have to accept that part of me that went through that experience because it spawned my artistic side. For days, weeks, months even, I just painted red and black and ugliness. Then slowly, over time, I began to paint light and sunshine. I realized that I had a decision to make. I could live in that darkness and fear, or I could live in the lightness and joy. And, with Elena, who had already seen more than her fair share of evil at the hands of her own stepfather, we formed a bond to never get into that situation again. And every time we met thereafter, it was like meeting some part of my soul. We were so much alike. Our relationship was much closer than any others I had had.”

  “Did you ever do any weird incarnation or something like that?”

  She smiled and looked at him with one eyebrow raised in question.

  “You know? Like, go to some tarot card reader and have your futures read or anything like that? I’m not sure what I’m trying to ask.”

  “We didn’t have to,” she said simply. “When you save a person like that, you become a part of them. I have always carried Elena in my heart.” She instinctively placed a hand on her heart. She stared down at it, patted it, and said, “And Elena feels more at rest right now.”

  He nodded, but his throat closed up as he remembered what he’d done during the night. “I’m really happy you have her close,” he said, “because that’s huge.”

  “It is,” she said, managing to smile without the tears. “Do you have to go to the station now?”

  He nodded. “I’m waiting for a buzz to tell me the security guard is back again.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not necessary,” she said.

 
“I’m pretty sure it is,” he said. “So we won’t take a chance.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I just think it’s overdoing it.”

  “Let me overdo it then,” he said, reaching out to gently touch her nose. “You’ve become very special to me, very, very quickly. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  She smiled. “Ditto. So maybe you should keep safe yourself.”

  “Do you think he’ll come after me?”

  “I don’t know, but if you’re an impediment to him getting at me,” she said, “then maybe.”

  He nodded. “I hope he does. I really hope he does.”

  *

  Richard got up and left soon after verifying the security guard was out front and Graham was downstairs. With a smile and a wave, he walked out and headed to the police department.

  Andy was there waiting for him. “How is she?”

  “Traumatized,” he said. “She has no idea what the message means, and, of course, she would never want to keep a piece of Elena’s body like that.”

  “They’re analyzing the note. Apparently, the skin was treated with something to keep it from decaying.”

  “That would make sense,” he said. “Do we know what that was?”

  “Ivory Snow.”

  Richard stopped in his tracks, looked at Andy, and said, “What?”

  “It’s full of Ivory Snow. The soap. It’s used to preserve rawhide.”

  “And did it? Preserve it, I mean.”

  “A little bit, but it’s starting to deteriorate.”

  “I wonder if he’s struggling to preserve the other pieces that he’s collected,” Richard said.

  “Probably. There’s also something else about the latest victim, Liana.”

  “What’s that?” The two of them talked as they walked into the station. “Her body was kept frozen for many months.”

  “Shit,” he said. “What do you want to bet that she’s our ground zero victim?”

  “Exactly. So we’re to follow Liana’s life today.”

  “Good enough for me. Why did it take so long for anyone to know she was missing?”

  “Because Liana was living with other people, and, when she said that she had a new gig and was moving out, nobody even questioned it. And no one knew she was missing.”

  “So, we don’t know where she’s been living.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Great,” he said. “That’s not helpful.”

  “It never is,” he said.

  “Any analysis on the handwriting?” Richard asked.

  “We don’t have anything to compare it to yet,” he said, “but we’re assuming it is that of the killer.”

  “Something was almost feminine about it, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes,” Andy said. “That was what I thought immediately.” He checked his email and pulled up a couple reports. “Let’s go to Liana’s last known residence.” They turned and headed back out.

  Liana had lived in the artist section of town but in the cheaper digs, where multiple artists crowded together and lived the hippie lifestyle for much less money.

  As soon as they knocked, the door opened. A kid fell out, getting on his shoes. “I have to go, man. I don’t know who you’re looking for. They’re all asleep.” And he bolted out the door.

  Richard grabbed him by the arm and asked, “Did you know Liana?”

  He looked at him in confusion, shook his head, and said, “I replaced Liana.” He pulled his arm free. “I have to go. Otherwise I won’t have a job.” After those words, he was gone.

  The two detectives stepped inside and called out, “Hello. Anybody home?”

  A young woman with purple hair, groggy and looking like she just woke from a heavy hangover, popped her head around the corner, and said, “Yeah, who’s asking?”

  They both pulled out their badges and showed them.

  She frowned. “Cops?”

  “Detectives,” Andy said. “We’re asking about Liana.”

  Her face immediately crumpled up. “We just heard,” she said. “My God, who could have ever hurt her?”

  “Did you like her?”

  “I loved to sleep with her,” she said. “She was always up for anything I wanted to do.”

  “How long did you know her?” Richard asked.

  “She lived here for a few months,” she said. “I probably slept with her half the time. Well, maybe not. Maybe a third. The others did too.”

  “I thought she was gay,” said another guy, his sleep interrupted by the conversations.

  She frowned, looked at him, and said, “You know what? I think she slept with the guys half the time.” She shrugged. “We don’t really keep count. We go with whoever we want to go with.”

  “Interesting lifestyle,” Richard said.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “And a healthy natural one. But I can’t help you.”

  “What about her room?”

  “The kid who just left has her room.”

  “Any chance we can see it?”

  “We put her stuff in storage,” another guy said, as he walked into the kitchen, his hair spiked up in some kind of gel, probably done up the previous night, and he was looking much older now that the night had passed. He held a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline.

  “That would be good to see,” Richard said. “And do you know where she went from here?”

  “She said she had a new gig, and it was the best deal ever. She wouldn’t tell us where.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t,” Andy said.

  “We just heard what happened to her,” he said.

  “I need everybody who knew Liana to wake up and to make statements. Otherwise we’ll have to do it downtown at the station. So, can you go get your friends up?”

  It took them hours to get the very groggy, hungover, drugged-out artists to sit down long enough to give their stories. Basically they all said everybody had been friends. With each of them, Richard heard the same thing about Liana. She had told them that she was taking off to live the good life because she got a perfect opportunity, and she was leaving them all. Sorry, suckers, but sayonara.

  “And where are her things?”

  The first guy they talked to hopped up, walked to the front closet, opened it, calling out from there.

  Richard looked at him. “Is this all hers?”

  “No, no,” he said. “This is.” He pulled out a duffel bag and another bag, dropping them at Richard’s feet. “We’d be really grateful if you would take this with you. We’re short on space.”

  “Why would she leave her stuff behind?”

  “Well, the way we figured it, she probably had a sugar daddy who would buy her all new stuff.”

  “Wow,” Richard said. “You guys have so much that you just leave it all behind?”

  “It holds us down, holds us back,” said the woman with the purple hair. “You really have to let all that go.”

  “We need your contact information, all of you, in case we need to get in touch with you.”

  Multiple groans came around the room. “Man, we’ve cooperated. Why do you have to get our cell phone numbers?”

  “Because it’s the law,” Andy said. He stopped and slowly walked around, grabbing everybody’s name and phone number. When they were done, he looked at Richard and said, “Let’s go.”

  He nodded, and they headed out. “Did we ever get any forensics from the dumpster?”

  “No,” he said. “Well, nothing we’ve heard back on anyway.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if it was like TV,” Richard said, “and we could just put it in and get it back within a day or two.”

  “Wouldn’t it,” Andy said with a sneer.

  Back at the police department, they walked into one of the interrogation rooms, opened up the door, placed the bags on the table. They both put on gloves and slowly went through everything here. The bag was filled with clothing; that was about it. Including dirty socks, dirty jeans, and, unfortunately, dirty underwear.
/>   “Does this make any sense to you?” Andy asked Richard.

  “Well, there are two theories,” Richard said. “Either she didn’t bother coming back because her good deal would replace it all, or she couldn’t come back to grab it.”

  Andy nodded. “Sucks either way.”

  They checked all the pockets. And they suspected that the others had already done the exact same thing, so not even a quarter was found in the pockets and certainly no money in the wallet.

  “What do you think? Did the kids strip it?” Richard asked.

  “Absolutely they did,” Andy said with a chuckle. “Did you see that group?”

  “I wonder how much they make on their art.”

  “I doubt very much,” he said. “Probably nothing at all.”

  “Right.”

  “Let’s check the duffel bag.”

  They moved all the clothing off to one side. It would go to forensics anyway, and they brought up the larger bag. It was filled with notebooks. Richard opened one to see sketches.

  “She’s an artist,” Andy said, staring at it. “It always comes back to art, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. They’re either wearing it or producing it.”

  “Or both.”

  “Exactly. Interesting thought.”

  They quickly flipped through all the sketches. “This is nothing like Cayce’s work.”

  “Everybody there is an artist,” Andy said.

  “Right. So, it makes sense that we have sketchbooks.” He frowned at Andy. “But not that she left these behind.”

  They quickly pulled the rest of the stuff from the duffel bag. They went through everything intently, but nothing gave them any answers.

  When Richard picked up another sketchbook, he noticed that the back cover was thicker. He checked it out and found a pocket. Slipping his fingers underneath, he managed to pull out a note that had been stuck in there. He opened it up, took a careful look, and said, “This might be interesting.”

  “What is it?”

  “Declarations of love,” he said quietly.

  “Any date on it?”

  “No,” he said, “but the handwriting looks familiar.” He turned it so Andy could see.

  Andy’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t quote me on this, but it’s likely from the killer.”

  “Thorne’s, Liana’s, or Elena’s?”