Ellie found the name of the apartment during a quick web search, Trident Apartments and Condominiums, and input it into her GPS. It was only a 20-minute drive from here. She checked the time. Troy wouldn’t be home for another few hours. Dare I… Ellie traveled into the kitchen and pulled open the drawer of meticulous items. She grabbed a flashlight, toggled the switch a few times to make sure it worked, and put it into her purse. She grabbed some plastic gloves she had left over from some pantry giveaway at a gallery and added them to her purse as well. The next item that called to her was her husband’s spare DSLR camera. It had a mostly full battery. Ellie swapped out the SD cards until she found one that was empty, and then she slung the camera over her shoulder. She put on aviator sunglasses, a heavy beige coat, and a ball cap. Before she headed out of the door, she grabbed one last thing: her sharpest steak knife. She wrapped it in paper towels and buried it deep within her purse.
Ellie couldn’t afford any more mistakes. She had the cab drop her off a few blocks away from her destination, then Ellie walked casually down the sidewalk and passed into the bad part of town. The shadow of the apartment building fell on her. By its architecture and design, it was probably seventy-five years old.
Ellie walked past the tattooed man seated on the stairs and smoking a joint under the late afternoon sun. He gave Ellie a violating look. She ignored him and stepped inside. The walls were painted brown to match the scuffed tile floor. The place was dirty and smelled like wet dog. Ellie kept herself from scrunching her nose. She approached the front desk and found a piggish woman wearing Cheetos that she was eating and watching a slasher film on a small TV.
“Excuse me,” Ellie leaned into the counter.
The nasty woman turned to her an smiled ear-to-ear. “Looking to rent?” Her voice was about as smooth as tires on gravel.
“I’m looking for apartment 42A,” Ellie said politely.
The woman frowned. “Top floor. Last room on the right.”
Taking a breath, Ellie headed that way. She turned back. “Who lives there?”
The woman cackled. “No one, but the rent is always on time.”
5
CROW’S NEST
The elevator screeched and wobbled. Ellie clenched the railing tightly, finding it to be quite sticky at some parts and dry at others. She didn’t want to imagine looking at this place under a black light. With a worrisome Cu-chunk, the elevator stopped at the apartment’s top floor. Its door dinged open, though only enough for Ellie to squeeze through sideways. The upper hall had faded carpeted floor as brown as dirty wood. The lights lining the wall were covered with fogged glass that had a collection of dead bugs piling at their bottom. Two of the bulbs were burnt out and the one above apartment 42A flickered like a strobe light.
Ellie smelled old cheese as she trekked to the end of the hall. The place had the class of a “no-tell” motel, and Ellie felt that she could be mugged any second. She kept her hand firmly in her purse, ready to draw the kitchen knife at a moment’s notice. She stopped in front of the apartment’s door. In copper, the numbers 42A were italicized and chipped away at the corner. Ellie thought about her approach. Should she knock? Should she try the knob? Perhaps she should run. That seemed like the smartest thing to do, but the painting wouldn’t have pointed her here without a reason. If she wanted answers, it would be through this door. Steadying her breathing, Ellie slid on her plastic gloves and glanced behind her. The hallway was empty apart from a few moths dancing around the lights. She tried the knob. Unlocked.
Ellie took a step back. This wasn’t the type of place you forgot to lock your door. Was the owner home or was he expecting someone? Ellie peeked inside.
The apartment was something out of a hoarder’s nightmare. Mannequins, naked and clothed, packed the walls. Some of their body parts jutted out from shaping carts or littered the floor. Christmas lights, construction paper rings, and cheap beaded necklaces hung in a tangled mess all across the ceiling. The kitchen to the right of the entrance had a female mannequin wearing an apron and hovered a spatula over the empty fry pan on the gas stove. Sculptures with no definite shape or pattern sat on shelves nailed into the walls at odd places and different heights
Ellie’s pulse quickened. “Hello?” she called out sheepishly.
No reply.
She stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her. Using her husband’s DSLR camera, she started snapping pictures of the room and various baubles that caught her eye. By the way the trash and hoarded items ran along the walls, it appears that the homeowner had created a direct path into the den. Ellie followed it with caution, but not before toggling the light switch. With a hum, the Christmas lights came alive and gave the place a sort of mystical appearance. As the multi-colored lights reached the den, they fanned out like tree branches and illuminated the that dusty couch, weathered recliner, cracked TV, and naked female mannequins with various animal furs draped over her milk-white shoulders. She had a pill-bug hat with a small veil to cover her lifeless, unpainted eyes and held a baseball bat. There were five other mannequins around her with red paint spattering their bare bodies like blood. One held a rusty kitchen knife.
Ellie snapped more photos, unsure what was significant and what was just part of the leaser’s insane imagination. She looked for any sort of artwork that would resemble her own or anything to link back to Kimberly. All of the objects seemed random and only added to her sensory overload. Something moved behind the closed bedroom door.
Ellie let the camera strap take its weight as she put her hand in her purse. She grabbed the knife handle and approached the door. With a gentle twist, she opened the door, revealing dozens of birdcages. Some hung from the ceiling from chains and hooks, other were the shapes of bells and rested on pedestals or on the floor. They were all connected together by chicken wire tunnels welded between them. Within these connecting tunnels were Lincoln Logs and other wooden cylinders that were suspended by fishing wire. Crows, at least thirty, perhaps more, perched inside of these cages that all eventually linked to a massive cage that stood where the bed should be. Bird droppings piled in mounds on the floor. There were no other furnishings in the room. The black birds turned their heads to-and-fro, watching Ellie with their black beady eyes. They cawed and squawked, kicking up feathers and slamming into the side of the cages. Some were dead silent. They were the bigger ones that didn’t seem to fear Ellie’s presence, only acknowledging her. With quiet steps, Ellie approached the cages. At the bottom of one, it appeared that a crow had died. Its wings were in full spread and its beak was slightly open. Using the zoom on the camera, Ellie enhanced it on the bone of its wings, seeing the small number 42A branded into it. He must mark all of his birds. But why? Surely he couldn’t keep track of them after they escaped unless these were to be left at every crime scene. If that was the case, Ellie was in a lot more danger than she thought.
Over the infrequent squawking, Ellie heard the front door open and close. Her stomach dropped. She glanced frantically about the room, looking for a place to hide. She dashed behind one of the grounded cages and made herself small. Her heart pounded and sweat glistened on her forehead. She glanced up at the Christmas lights in the other room and regretted leaving the bedroom door open. She needed to think of an escape plan. Perhaps going out the window would be a viable option. Currently, the closed curtains concealed the sunlight and the possibility of a window lock. She had trouble dealing with those in her own home so in a frustrated situation, she hoped she’d fare better.
The birds were quiet now, so Ellie could hear the footsteps moving through the flat. It was a steady pitter-patter. Ellie took the paper towels off her knife. She held it close to her chest, squeezing it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She kept her phone close, ready to call for help at a moment’s notice. It might be foolish to tell the police on herself after breaking into the house, but it beat what alternative the homeowner may have for her. The murderer stabbed Kimberly sixteen times. No one heard Kimberly’s
screams. Ellie was certain no one would hear hers either.
The figure entered the living room. Through the crow’s mesh-like cage, Ellie couldn’t get a good look at the invader, but he was tall and carried himself like a man on a mission. He clenched a pistol and scanned the room. When the weapon’s black barrel started turning Ellie’s way, she slowly moved deeper into the room’s corner and held her breath. The visual of the den was lost to her now. The figure stepped into the bedroom.
Ellie trembled. Her whole body was covered with goose pimples and it felt like her heart would burst. One of the crows cawed at the stranger. Soon after, a dozen more joined the black bird’s horrid song.
The figure cautiously approached the main cage, and the crows inside took flight. He would see Ellie soon if she didn’t react. As much as she wanted to move, her bones were stiff as death. Through sheer force of will, she overcame the paralysis and started to crawl to the door. Before she got too far, she pinched the little latch handle on the ground birdcage’s door, opened it, and gave it a little shake. The crow screamed and fluttered out into the room, raining down black feather. The figure staggered back, distracted. Her plan was a success; she moved on her hands and knees, pressing them into bird crap as she silently hurried for the door.
The freed crow circled the room and screamed, stirring up the rest. The door was only a few feet away now. A yard. Two feet. Dare she get up and run. No. Too risky. Stealth was her only option.
The freed crow swooped overhead and into the den. Ellie reached the threshold of the door.
“Stop.”
The voice struck fear and dread into Ellie’s core. She didn’t need to turn back to know that the stranger had a gun barrel aimed at her spine. She was no expert in ballistics, but at this distance, there was zero percent that the person could miss.
“Stand up.”
Ellie closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer. Pushing herself off the ground, she started to rise. Her left hand clenched her cellphone. Her right hand squeezed the knife’s handle. Her purse hung heavy on one shoulder. Her knees were shaking so much they nearly buckled.
“Turn around.”
Ellie tried to think of a way out of this, but her mind was suddenly blank as if fear had swept away all thought, rational and irrational. She needed to listen to the man and hoped that she could use whatever manipulation skills she had to explain her predicament. The gloves and knife wouldn’t help her case.
“Put down the weapon.”
The steak knife clanged at her feet and came to a wobbly halt. Sweaty, quaking, and with wracked nerves, Ellie turned around. The words slipped from Ellie’s lips before she could fully comprehend the situation. “Detective Peaches?”
The handsome man kept his gun up, but his finger was off the trigger. He was flanked and backed by crows in cages that were fluttering their wings and cawing furiously. The noise was nearly unbearable, but Peaches was cool and calm, apart from his eyes that were slightly wider than usual and hinted at his surprise. “What are you doing here, Ellie?”
“I thought I could ask you the same thing,” Ellie deflected.
Peaches kept the gun up. “I’m following a lead. The one you gave me.”
“What a coincidence,” Ellie said with an awkward smile.
“Indeed,” Peaches replied. “I’m sure this doesn’t surprise you, but I’m going to need to take you downtown.”
“Please, Detective,” Ellie pleaded. “I know I shouldn’t have come here, but if you were in my shoes--”
Detective Peaches hushed her.
Ellie quickly shut her trap. She could sense something was wrong.
“Someone’s here,” Peaches whispered and moved closer to Ellie. “Who is it?”
Ellie shook her head and said nothing. She glanced back to the den behind her where the freed bird had been flying. It must’ve flown out the front door, but Ellie remembered the detective had shut it behind him.
Peaches kept walking toward Ellie, but his pretty boy green eyes were on the room beyond. Ellie stepped out of his way and kept her hands up, even after he had moved into the next room. Gun aimed in perfect form, the detective leaned his waist out far enough look down the hall of mannequins.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Gunshots echoed in the apartment. Peaches ducked back into the cover to avoid the barrage of small arms fire that splintered the windows behind him.
“Police! Stand down!” Peaches yelled and leaned back out of cover to take a potshot.
The unseen shooter fired back. A bullet must’ve hit Peaches. His gun went tumbling into the air and the detective stumbled back, grabbing his right hand with a grimace on his now-red face. He cursed. The birds screamed. Blood droplets splattered on the floor.
Ellie instinctively ran to the detective’s aid. Thick scarlet seeped through the gaps between his fingers.
Ellie peered around the corner, seeing the hooded figure at the end of the hall. The person was clad in black, and the shadow of a cowl masked their face. The person fired the pistol at Ellie. She ducked low and saw the figure run for the roof access stairs near the back of the hall.
“He’s going to get away!” she yelled at Peaches.
Retrieving his gun from the floor, the detective raced for the front door. Within a few seconds, he was out of apartment 42A. Ellie swiped her knife from the bedroom floor and slipped into the den. At the end of the hall, she saw the door to the roof access room close behind Peaches’s foot.
Ellie looked at the elevator longingly. It would be easy to just leave. No one would stop her, but the detective would know. It was clear that whoever he was chasing owned the apartment, and if said person was not apprehended, Ellie’s only hope in learning the truth would be lost. That left her only one option. She ran after the detective.
Gripping the stairs railing with her plastic-glove covered hands, she darted up the stairs and burst on top of the roof.
She arrived just in time to watch the hooded figure leap off the edge of the building. Peaches slid on his heels, nearly tumbling over the roof in full pursuit. He armed his gun but did not fire. Ellie ran up and stopped beside him. All those years of cardio were finally paying off. Ellie watched the hooded figure hustle down an emergency staircase at the far end of a shorter building’s roof. He vanished from sight. The detective lowered his pistol.
“Go after him!” Ellie exclaimed.
The detective squeezed his injured hand.
“He’s going to get away,” Ellie blurted out in anger. Her one lead was slipping from her fingers. Back to square one. “Call it in, hurry.”
Peaches flexed his bloody fingers. “It will take Dispatch six minutes to get here. He’ll be long gone by then. You, on the other hand, you need to answer my questions.”
Ellie knew it was coming, but after being shot at, the last thing she wanted to do was play twenty questions. “I’ve told you everything.”
“Not why you’re here.”
“For answers,” Ellie explained. “It was stupid, okay, but I thought I could learn something.”
Something about the way the detective looked at her, she could tell he wasn’t buying it. Ellie wasn’t sure if she was lying either. The rational part of her mind told her to stop now before she got into any more danger. The gunshots were a wake-up call, no doubt, but the craving to learn more about the painting and the killer fed on her mind like a parasite. If anything, she was more intrigued.
She noticed that the detective was still bleeding.
“Here,” Ellie reached into her purse. The detective eyed her suspiciously. Without making any sudden movements, Ellie fetched a few crinkled napkins and handed them to him.
The detective stanched the wound.
“How bad is it?” Ellie asked with genuine concern.
“It’s only a graze,” Peaches replied. “You put me in an interesting predicament, Ellie. I need to report the gunshots. I need to report your involvement.”
“But you won’t?” Ellie gambled.
&nbs
p; Peaches shook his head. “Unlike my partner, I’m a little more open-minded.”
“You believe me?” Ellie asked, trying her best to hide her relief.
“I know that our gunman wouldn’t have shot at you if you were best friends, and I can tell you’re the type of woman that doesn’t back down,” Peaches smiled. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m just as curious about this case as you, but I’m better qualified, better skilled, and have years of experience to back up my expertise. Nonetheless, you have something I don’t have: a connection to this case. One that can’t be overlooked. I think we can help one another.”
“Like partners?” asked Ellie. Something about this seemed too easy.
“More like damsel and hero.” Peaches winked and fished his phone out of his pocket with his uninjured hand. He called Dispatch and gave the skinny as to what happened in the apartment, stressing every detail except for Ellie’s involvement.
When the call ended, he turned to Ellie. “Leave through the fire escape and hail a cab when you’re a few blocks away. I’ll meet you at your place in an hour.”
“Do you need my address?” Ellie inquired.
“No.”
Ellie gave him a look.
Peaches elaborated. “How else do you think I found this place if it wasn’t by following you?”
His comment made Ellie uneasy. Not wanting to overstay her welcome, she hurried along and hailed a cab a few blocks away. She saw a few police squad cars zip by as she dipped into the taxi’s backseat.
Heart still racing from the shootout, she returned home. She chewed on her fingernails and paced, waiting for the detective to arrive. When she blinked, she recalled the flash of the pistol and felt a tightening feeling in her chest. It was terrifying, exhilarating, a high unlike anything she’d experienced that made her feel alive despite the fact of skirting so close to death. It was like the brief but uncanny investigation was unlocking a part of life she never knew was there. Her own inner thrill seeker. It was a dangerous feeling, Ellie knew. A delightfully dangerous feeling.
Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries Page 6
