by L. K. Hill
“I printed the body,” she shrugged again. “But didn’t get anything.”
“Even around her neck?”
“Nope. Perp must’ve worn gloves.”
“I thought you were pulling hair off her when I got here,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah, a few hairs on her shirt that were darker than the platinum blond. Maybe they’ll give us something. I’ll get them to the lab.” She put her hands on her knees and straightened her legs. “I’m going to collect that fabric. Then I’ll sweep the alley one more time for anything I’ve missed.”
Gabe stood with her. “Guess I’ll talk to the crowd. See if anyone saw anything.”
Bailey made her way toward the back of the alley. Gabe gazed down at the dead prostitute. Most nights he dealt with the harsh realities of his job just fine, but the strange twist in Dillon’s case had unsettled him. He knew he needed to keep his mind on this case—his first impressions at the crime scene were important—but his mind kept straying back to that cross, and the words written on it.
With a sigh, Gabe straightened his legs. He was a homicide detective, and most murders he investigated fell into one of three categories: gang violence, drug related, or prostitution. Gangs always killed one another violently, and the Sons of Ares gang, which practically ran the underbelly of the city, was worse than most. Junkies could die as a result of overdoses, their bodies simply giving out after years of drug use, or because they got into fights over product. And then there were the prostitutes. Not only did they attract average-joe scumbags who would rather pay for sex than have a normal relationship, they also enticed the all-out psychotics who needed easy prey.
Shaking himself, Gabe tried to focus on details. Details often broke the case. He took several steps back and let his eyes sweep over the entire scene, trying to get a feel for it. Something strange struck him. It wasn’t something tangible, but rather a sense of something. Something dim. And sticky.
He remembered having that sense several weeks ago, at the crime scene of another dead prostitute. At the time, he’d felt like whatever he sensed was the residue of something left behind. He felt that same thing now. He’d brushed it off at the first scene. But then, Gabe had solved that first case. Mallory Butler. She’d been stabbed by one of her regulars. A man named Jace Anderson. Anderson was making his way through the court system even now, and with the evidence they’d collected against him, acquittal was unlikely.
This victim was similar in profession, but her appearance was different. Not to mention a different MO and a different killer, as Anderson was behind bars. And yet the feeling lingered. Perhaps he’d been in Abstreuse too long. He was becoming too in tune with the overall energy of the city, with the dark remnants left in the wake of evil acts.
Down the alley, Bailey ran her flashlight over the ground until she found what she wanted. She started to squat down, glanced up at the wall to her left, and froze. “Oh. Um, hey Gabe?”
“Yeah what is it?” he walked toward her, mindful of where he stepped.
Bailey was staring into a narrow alley that branched off the one they stood in. For the first thirty feet, it was so narrow that Gabe’s shoulders would have brushed both walls had he tried to squeeze through. After that, it opened to a more normal size for this part of town—roughly wide enough for three people to walk abreast. On the other side of the narrow passage, he could make out three shadowy figures. One was smaller than the other two. It was out ahead of its larger counterparts, and heading for their crime scene.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again, not taking his eyes off the figures.
“A minute ago, the two bigger ones had the smaller one against the wall and were beating on her. I was calling you to help. Then she kicked one of the larger ones in the crotch, so…maybe she doesn’t need help after all.”
A muffled voice, obviously that of a man, reached Gabe’s ears.
“…here. Kill…bitch.”
It had come from one of the two larger figures. Then the smaller figure, obviously a woman, broke into a run, straight toward him. Gabe didn’t think the small figure realized he and Bailey stood in her path. She put their head down and bulled through the narrower passage, fitting easily while her two pursuers had to turn sideways.
“She’s gonna run through the crime scene, Gabe,” Bailey said, taking an unconscious step back, her voice worried. “She could trample evidence.”
“No,” Gabe said, putting a hand on Bailey’s shoulder to ease her out of the way. “I’ll catch her. Just stand back.”
Bailey took several giant steps away from the opening and Gabe felt a presence at each of his shoulders—uniformed officers, no doubt. The smaller figure burst out of the narrow passage and straight into Gabe’s arms. She was going so fast and slammed into him so hard, he had to put one foot back to steady himself, twisting to the side to absorb her momentum.
The woman, who’d obviously been unaware of what she was running into, flinched when Gabe grabbed her, sucking in a breath. Her head snapped up to look at Gabe, her eyes wild with surprise. Gabe’s eyes went just as wide an instant later.
It was Supra. Or Tanya. The woman who’d saved his life six weeks before, then disappeared into the shadows of the city. He hadn’t seen her since, though it hadn’t been for lack of searching. Now, here she was, gaping up at him after nearly tromping through his crime scene.
She blinked, shook herself, and tore her gaze from him. Her eyes swept over the other officers around him, Bailey, the alley, and widened further, if that was possible, when they fell on the body lying ten feet behind Gabe.
“Supra,” he said her alias softly because he didn’t know what else to call her. Her eyes snapped back to his, all the perception and intelligence he remembered being there shining out of those unnaturally blue eyes like a beacon.
A choice phrase echoed from the narrow passage, from one of her pursuers. It snapped her out of her shock. In a swift, slippery move, she ducked under his arm.
“Hey, hey!” Gabe made a grab for her, and his hand closed around her forearm. She whipped around and put her other hand on his. He thought she’d try to pry his fingers off, but instead he felt something cool and metallic against his skin. With an electric jolt that slackened his fingers and vibrated all the way up to his jaw, she slipped right through his grasp. Gabe couldn’t even gasp. The electric shock rooted him to the spot for a full five seconds before feeling made its way back into his fingers.
Supra, or whatever her name was, darted past all the uniforms, some of whom reached out to grab her. They were far too slow. She leapt over the body and bolted down a different alley. Gabe would have run after her himself if he could have.
Even as he lost his hold on her, a large uniformed officer stepped into the alley. Gabe didn’t realize Doug was working away from the precinct tonight—he rarely did—but he couldn’t have shown up at a more opportune time. Built like a Spartan, Doug was downright intimidating when he didn’t smile, which was always. The man might have the upper body of a linebacker, but he also had the height of an NBA forward, which made him one of the fastest runners to wear the uniform in Abstreuse. Supra ran right past him.
Damn, she’s fast, Gabe thought. He pointed frantically at Supra’s retreating figure. “Grab her!”
Without hesitation, Doug broke into a sprint, only twenty feet behind her. She might use her shock stick on Doug, too, but perhaps it wouldn’t affect the larger man as much as it had Gabe. He prayed Doug managed to hold onto her. Gabe would finally get a chance to get some answers out of her.
The entire exchange took only twenty seconds. Gabe flexed his fingers, turning back to the narrow alley she’d emerged from as the two larger figures appeared, looking wary. The alleys of the Mire were dense enough that it really would be hard to see police lights bouncing off the walls until you were right on top of them, as Supra had just demonstrated. These two had obviously seen the lights before entering the scene, but either they realized it was futile to hope they hadn�
�t been seen, or they just didn’t care.
Both were tall men who wore dark jeans and black, leather jackets. One was thick through the arms and chest, with buzzed head, while his companion had longer hair, but was much thinner. Tattoos on their necks disappeared under both their shirts and they had the air of bouncers who were looking for trouble.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” Gabe asked, keeping his voice sharp.
The two men glanced at one another, then back at Gabe, their faces smug, their eyes tight and angry. These weren’t the sort who had any fear or respect for the police. The thin one even leered audaciously at Bailey. Gabe had almost forgotten she was there—at least she had the sense to stay back—but after the leer, Gabe could feel indignation emanating from where she stood.
“There was,” the thinner fellow finally ventured, “a woman…”
“You were chasing her,” Gabe said firmly.
The man glanced around. He didn’t look anxious—rather like he owned the alley down to the last speck of grime—but Gabe could feel his uncertainty. “Where is she?”
“She’s under our protection, now,” Gabe answered. No reason to tell the man that he wasn’t sure if that was true, depending on whether Doug caught her.
The man’s faux-cooperation turned instantly into a sneer. “She stole something from us. We want our property back.”
“And that gives you the right to beat on her? To throw her against a dumpster?”
The thin man’s eyes narrowed. “We did no such thing.” His buzzed companion’s eyes shifted with vague uncertainty.
“My colleague saw you.” Gave was careful not to give any indication which colleague he meant. It could feasibly have been any of the unies standing rigid nearby, hands on their weapons. Still, for some reason, the man’s eyes slid sideways to Bailey.
“You can’t prove it.” The man’s voice was soft and threatening. “And you won’t book us for something you didn’t see with your own eyes.” The man glanced down at the corpse splayed out behind Gabe and Bailey. “Especially not when you have…bigger fish…”
Gabe arched an eyebrow at the man. He was brazen. Not wrong, but ballsy to speak to a cop like that. Not many Mirelings would have the stomach for it. And it wasn’t lost on him that neither of the men was at all put off by a dead body. Unlike Supra who’d seemed shocked.
“Our property,” the buzzed one said. “We want our property.” He was trying to push the focus back to something that made Supra the bad guy. Criminals always believed they could manipulate seasoned cops. It was hilariously insulting. Not that it was ever a laughing matter.
Gabe sighed. “Okay. I’ll bite. What did she steal?”
The buzzed man paused, eying Gabe in a condescending way. It gave the impression he was sizing Gabe up, deciding whether to answer. Gabe read volumes in the hesitation. “A watch,” the man said.
Gabe raised an eyebrow skeptically. “A watch.”
“Yes. An expensive one.”
Gabe sighed. “All right. One of my men is escorting her to the precinct as we speak. When we get there, I’ll look for this watch and take it off her. You can claim it there in the morning.”
The man turned his face away with a barely audible growl. If he hadn’t been facing half a dozen cops, he probably would have punched the wall. Or Gabe. He marveled at the danger Supra put herself in. She’d been fleeing from these men, with no other plan that Gabe could see than to try and outrun them.
“Fine,” the thin man said, glaring daggers at Gabe. “We’ll come to the precinct in the morning.”
Gabe nodded, hoping he looked reasonable, though he kept his voice hard. “Good. Thank you.” They wouldn’t come into the precinct tomorrow. Gabe suspected the watch was completely made up. A story to explain in a somewhat reasonable way why they’d been chasing a woman through a black alley.
The two men turned to go. Gabe ought to let them go at that. The chances were slim to none that these men weren’t armed. But he didn’t like the idea of them preying on Supra.
“Just for the record,” he said, making his tone neutral. The two men froze. Their backs faced him, and they didn’t turn around, but turned their heads to the side to listen. “Two men chasing a woman through a dark alley in the middle of the night doesn’t look so good.”
The thin man turned more fully toward Gabe, though he still didn’t raise his eyes. “She stole something from us.”
“I understand,” Gabe said reasonably. “But that’s my point. If it’s your word against hers and you’ve just harmed or terrorized her, most people won’t believe a word you say, even if it was her that did you wrong. File a report next time. Or call us. Don’t let me see you chasing anyone again. I will remember your faces.”
The thin man whipped around to meet Gabe’s eyes, snarling. “Don’t you threaten—!”
His thicker, buzzed companion put a hand on his arm, murmuring something so softly that Gabe didn’t catch it.
“Let go of me, Jenkins!” The thin man said, trying to yank his arm away. The thicker man snarled something inaudible, and the thin man stopped fighting. Looking ready to chew nails, he gave a single nod. Then, still glaring at Gabe, stalked back into the darkness.
The thicker man—Jenkins, apparently—hesitated. He glanced down the alley, the way Supra had run, and Gabe had the chilling sensation that this man knew exactly where she’d gone. But that was ridiculous. Still, Jenkins mouth set in a stony line while his eyes smirked, and Gabe suppressed a wave of unease. The thought of these men getting their hands on Supra made Gabe grip his gun more tightly. Strange how quickly the protectiveness came, when he’d been livid at her for weeks.
Jenkins met Gabe’s gaze briefly before turning to go. His eyes held wary intelligence. They sized Gabe up with a smugness he didn’t like, then turned to follow his friend back the way they’d come.
Gabe memorized the name and the face. The thin man was inconsequential. He’d taken the lead, but definitely wasn’t the leader. Just the one who felt the need to show bravado, which made him the weaker-minded of the two. Jenkins was silent. He observed, absorbed everything around him. It would be Jenkins who could cause Gabe—and Supra—more trouble. Gabe filed the information away for later.
The tension that drained from Gabe and his fellow officers once the two men disappeared was palpable.
“Geez,” Bailey murmured, rolling her shoulders around.
“You okay?” Gabe asked, flexing sore fingers as the uniforms spread out around the crime scene again.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…geez.” She still held a collection envelope in one hand, and Gabe noticed it was badly rumpled at the top where she’d been gripping it. Indignation or no, she’d been afraid. And rightly so. Gabe would rather she had a healthy fear of guys like that, and keep from getting into trouble, than be like Supra, who didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Bailey squatted to collect the material from the victim’s shirt and deposited it in the envelope. Miraculously, they’d managed not to trample it.
“What’d she do to your arm?” Bailey asked.
“Shocked me. She was carrying some kind of mini shock stick.”
Bailey froze in her evidence collection. “Are you okay?”
Gabe waved his hand dismissively. “It wasn’t high voltage. Couldn’t have been. Just deadened my arm. I guess that’s how she gets away from…everyone.” He glanced down the narrow alley where the two men had disappeared.
“I don’t know if that’s disturbing or really smart of her,” Bailey said.
“A little of both, if you ask me,” Gabe sighed, starting back toward the body. He nodded at the uniforms who met his eye to thank them for backing him up. They nodded back before putting their eyes back on the shadows of branching alleys.
Gabe stopped at the hooker’s body, about to squat down, when he caught sight of a figure moving toward him from far up the alley. Doug. He was alone.
Gabe groaned. He stepped carefully around the victim and met Doug half way
in the space between them. It was hardly Doug’s fault. Gabe had been outrun by his share of perps, and Supra wasn’t really a perp. Maybe she had righteous speed on her side. Even so, he couldn’t keep the judgment from his voice. “She got away?”
Doug looked chagrined. “Sorry, Boss,” he muttered in the deep, grainy voice of a trucker. “That woman can run.”
“She actually outran you?”
Doug shook his head. “No. She was only a little way ahead of me. Then I turned a corner and she was gone. I walked through, looked down intersecting alleys, but there was nothing. Not even fading footsteps. I think she must have gone to ground somewhere.”
Gabe nodded. “Not your fault,” he muttered, though his voice wasn’t convincing. “I actually have first-hand experience with how well that woman can hide.”
“Who is she?”
“Remember Tanya? The Carlotta case? She squeezed out the bathroom window?”
Doug’s eyes widened, a rarity for him. Nothing ever surprised Doug. “That was her?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s quite a makeup job.”
“You’re telling me. Now you know why it took me so long to figure it out.”
Actually, Tanya wasn’t her real name either. She’d called herself Tanya Roberts, but the contact information they’d taken down was bogus. No fewer than fifteen women living in Abstreuse City were named Tanya Roberts. None was her. Outside the city, both names were simply too common to narrow down a search.
Gabe turned to gaze toward where Bailey was again squatting over the body. Doug stepped up beside him.
“What a night,” Gabe murmured.
Doug gave him a grim smile. “It’s just getting started. What happened with the guys chasing her?”
“They walked away, but I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.” Gabe ran a hand through his hair. A cold feeling lingered when he thought about this Jenkins character. He could only pray Supra had the sense to steer clear of him. And his thin buddy. And the Mire at large.
Gabe sighed. The chances of that were about as good as finding the dead prostitute’s killer in the next five minutes.
