“Let’s start with the body you pulled the fingernails off of.”
“Yeah, that’s a puzzler. Doesn’t match up with anybody I know. Or even know of. But I was talking to this one guy… he does homeless men down close to the water… and he was saying there was someone new on the scene.”
“Someone new?” This whole thing was so bizarre to Trey. It was like some weird online dating service or something.
“Right. Sometimes one will move in, or… you know… start up. It can take some time for them to come on the radar, but if they’re really weird, sometimes we notice pretty fast.”
Trey nodded. Made sense, in a bizarre kind of way. He was about to ask another question when a sound interrupted him. It was coming from Darc’s direction. Wow. That was strange. It sounded like…
“Hey, man. I think your partner fell asleep,” Jeremy said, pointing at Darc. And sure enough, Darc’s head had slumped forward and his eyes were closed. Trey had thought the great savant was processing stuff, but instead he was just taking a catnap. He was taking this hormonal teenager thing to an awkward extreme. Trey shook it off.
“Whatever. He had a late night. Anyway…” Trey collected his thoughts, trying to get back on track. “So, this new killer. He was weird?”
“Well, my friend seemed pretty freaked out by him. Wouldn’t talk much about it. My guess is he was religious or something. They’re the worst.”
“Hold on. Religious ones are bad? How do you mean?”
“Well, they’re even crazier than the rest of us,” Jeremy responded. “And then there’s the whole judgmental thing, you know? I mean, hello. You’re killing people. Get off your high horse. Know what I mean?”
“Like Father John?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Naw. None of us saw that one coming. He didn’t really mix with our crowd much. Except for Henry over at the slaughterhouse, and no one liked him. He was one messed up dude.”
Trey felt like his world was expanding in all kinds of uncomfortable ways. This serial killers social scene was right out of his darkest nightmares. But here Jeremy was, and he seemed willing to help, so… Plus, Trey couldn’t help it. He kind of liked the guy.
Clearing his throat, Trey asked, “Is there anything useful you could tell me about this new one? He could be the killer that took down this woman.”
“Only that my friend said he got the feeling this one was going to be here for a while. You know. Settling in for a long spree.” Jeremy shrugged away his lack of information, his body language apologetic.
“Well, that’s more than what we had, anyway. Thanks. I’ll make sure the Deputy Attorney knows that you were cooperative.”
“I appreciate it. But you know, I did kill a lot of women.”
“Yeah. You did.” Trey pushed himself up to his feet, reaching over a fist to slug Darc in the arm to wake him up. He snorted and glanced around the room, then stood up himself. Before exiting, Trey turned back to Jeremy. “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that you kill people, I could totally see us going out for a beer.”
Jeremy nodded. “Being a serial killer sucks.”
Trey could only imagine.
*
The moment after taking the life of a sinner was both sublime and horrific. This one had been gratifying and troubling all at once. The pig of a man had squeaked at the last, pouring out confession after confession, the words spewing up from the black ooze that doubled as his soul. The crimes, some trivial, some far-reaching, had tainted the soul of the servant of the Lord just in the hearing of them.
The man’s blood had been thick and sticky. It had taken a long time to wash off the stains.
But the deed was accomplished. The first act had created little effect, at least at first. But these acts of God’s justice would gain notoriety. The progression would be exponential; it would grow to fill the world. Just like the Lord’s judgment.
Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
But sometimes He needed His servants to give things a little nudge.
The first act had been obscured within another case, languishing in the world of high-profile cases because it had been thought only one more in a string of slayings. And no one remarked on the death of a prostitute.
But now, the identity had been revealed. A socialite. An attention seeker. A glittering example of the harlot who bestrides the many waters.
And now the chickens were clucking, scurrying around, crying that the fox was in the henhouse. One of their own had been taken. As long as they thought the victim was on the fringes, everything was fine. But now…?
Soon they would discover the next, a particularly hideous man who had met nothing but an appropriate end to the misery he had called his life. Oh, how the chickens would squawk now.
They would call on their best and brightest to fix things. It was what the servant of the Lord was counting on. All part of the plan.
But now, to wait. Not too long. If the incompetents on Seattle’s police force didn’t find the scene within twenty-four hours, the servant would find a way to bring it to the attention of the public.
This would not go away. There would be no happy resolution to the plan that was being set in motion. At least not for the wicked.
For the servant of the Lord there would be trials and tribulations. But that would be followed by the joy of the righteous who dwell in the bosom of Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.
It was a rest for which the servant yearned both day and night. Peace would come. It was promised.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you not as the world giveth, give I unto you.
The peace of the righteous.
It was coming.
*
The patterns flowed, waxing and waning in Darc’s mind, the glowing threads weaving a web of intricate forms and shapes, creating negative space that throbbed with meaningless meaning. One frustrating aspect of image-based reasoning and deduction was that when there was no discernible structure, the streams of logic would continue to strive toward conclusions that created only more chaos within.
That chaos wrapped itself around the gray clouds of non-logic that formed every time Mala was anywhere in the near vicinity. That had been fine while she was spending time getting things ready to become Janey’s foster parent. But now that she was actively helping them on the case, at the captain’s behest no less, the mists never seemed to leave for long.
And the situation was quickly degenerating. Even right in this moment, with Mala off doing another errand imposed by the DSHS, the gray clouds threatened. That did not make rational sense. She was no longer here, yet the effects of her presence remained.
Were even the thoughts of her mentally toxic? She was quickly becoming anathema to Darc and his reasoning process, and yet when she was not present he found himself wanting her to show up. It was an emotional paradox the likes of which he had never experienced, not even during the worst of the dissolution of his relationship with Maggie.
Meanwhile, the threads of color intertwined with the formless fog, creating a lightshow of epic proportions, the colors reflecting and refracting off of the emotional droplets of moisture. The images they created were stunning and disturbing. Darc felt as if his entire equilibrium had been placed in a container, shaken, and placed back down, but with a different orientation. What was once up was now down. What was once left was now right.
Only his focus on the case at hand allowed for any semblance of order to prevail. Working on the task caused the lines of logic to align, disentangling themselves from the emotional haze. But the equilibrium felt tentative at best, an uneasy truce between the forces of order and entropy within him.
As Darc walked down the hall to the bullpen, he passed in front of Captain Merle’s office. The door was ajar, and Merle’s bass voice echoed out past the door and into the hallway around him, creating a tunnel effect with the sound.
“Darc. Come in here for a moment.”
Entering the office,
Darc took a second to allow for his eyes to adjust to the darker lighting. The captain rarely had more than just a small desk lamp lit, seeming to prefer relative darkness to a brightly illuminated working space. Perhaps he had some form of early-onset macular degeneration that he was seeking to minimize.
“Pull the door shut, would you, Darc?” The captain waved him toward an empty chair facing the desk. After making sure the door to the office was indeed closed, Darc took a seat in front of his superior officer.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on your work on this case,” the captain shared, nodding his head as if in approval. “That was short work with Jeremy Krauss.”
“The majority of our success with Krauss was due to my partner.”
The captain clucked his tongue. “Never take credit when it’s not yours to take, eh? Laudable. Shortsighted, maybe, but laudable.”
“I had fallen asleep during the interrogation, so could not be of any help to Detective Keane.”
Sighing deeply, Captain Merle took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. “You know, Darc, there is such a thing as too much honesty.”
“I do not see why that would be the case. My partner was discussing things in which I had no interest. I was physically and mentally drained. It seemed prudent to take the time to recharge.” Darc never understood the importance of what Trey called “putting a good face on things.” Situations did not have faces. They had facts.
The captain shook off the statement, waving his hand at Darc, presumably to ask him to refrain from speaking. Seeing as how that was exactly the type of nonverbal communication Darc was attempting to learn, he chose to follow the unspoken request.
Leaning in across his desk, Merle spoke again. “Whatever. I want you two to know you’re doing a good job.”
“But we are not doing a good job, sir,” Darc corrected. “We have yet to apprehend the killer of Porsche Diamante.”
Merle coughed into his hand. “That’s precisely why you’re here. Look…” The captain grabbed for a mug and took a long pull from the liquid within. “Things are complicated right now, with the press and the Prosecuting Attorney and the public. I need you and Keane to help things out. Help me out.”
“We are attempting to do so.” Darc was unsure of what the captain was saying. There seemed to be an underlying message that Merle was attempting to convey, but it did not match the language that sallied forth from his mouth. This may be what Trey referred to as “subtext.” If so, this would make for a fascinating test case.
“Yes. Yes. I can see that.” Merle rubbed at his forehead, his eyes darting around the room as if he were searching for something. “I would’ve had this conversation with Keane, but you are the one I’m worried will…” The captain broke off, clearing his throat. “Okay, here it is. I need you to pretend that Krauss is the one who killed Diamante.”
“But he did not.”
“I understand that,” the captain growled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know. But allowing the public, and perhaps even the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, to believe that Krauss is our man would be helpful at the moment.”
The glowing paths snarled and snagged on one another. This did not make sense. “That is an untruth.”
“No,” Merle corrected. “No, it’s not. It is a diversionary tactic. A strategy by which you and Keane gain time to pursue the real killer in relative peace. If everyone believes the killer has been apprehended, the heat comes off of you two.”
The threads within settled. Tactics. Strategies. These were understood. They made logical sense. In fact, the chains of light pointed to another benefit that Captain Merle seemed to be overlooking. Darc took the opportunity to point it out.
“It will provide the added benefit that it will also remove pressure from you, Captain.”
The captain’s face seemed to pucker, as if he had consumed something sour or extremely bitter. Darc conjectured that the coffee in Merle’s mug had not been adequately sweetened. That would account for the displeasure that the captain’s expression seemed to indicate.
“Yes, Darc. It will take the pressure off of everyone in the department.” The captain grunted. “So, will you do it? Make sure no one knows of the second killer?”
“Of course, Captain. It is a logical command to make, given the circumstances.”
The captain’s shoulders seemed to relax at Darc’s statement. “Good. That’s good.” He waved toward the door. “You can go now.”
Darc stood and moved toward the exit, attempting to understand what that conversation had accomplished. Strategy was imparted, but that could easily have been accomplished in an email. The interview format was inefficient and allowed for no follow-up. It was a mystery to Darc, wrapped in gray shrouds. Perhaps the captain was suffering from nervous exhaustion. He would bring it up with Trey when next they spoke.
It would not do to have a captain unable to effectively lead the precinct.
CHAPTER 11
Trey had a headache. It was one of the dull, aching ones that started off right behind his eye and slowly progressed until it encompassed his entire head. As far as Trey could tell from the feel of things, there was a hot metal band slowly constricting itself around his cranium.
Nothing was panning out. Their perp on the fingernail case had ended up being a Chatty Cathy, but nothing Jeremy Krauss had told them so far had led to anything concrete. Krauss might as well have been completely unhelpful for all the good he was doing them.
That wasn’t completely fair. The guy had coughed up everything he had. There had been a couple of times that Trey had halfway expected Jeremy to regurgitate the fingernails he’d eaten, just to be helpful. For a serial killer, he really was turning out to be a standup guy.
But Trey was still stuck with a case for which he had no suspects. And while some of the pressure was off thanks to the captain’s little diversionary ploy, Trey suspected that cover wouldn’t hold up for too much longer. There were too many people sniffing around it, especially now that everyone knew the “unidentified prostitute” was actually a rich and beautiful heiress. That reporter Charity alone had left no less than five messages on Trey’s work voicemail.
And Darc hadn’t been much help this time around, either. Normally, Trey was playing second fiddle to the prodigious steel trap that was his partner’s deductive reasoning. Now that he was having to deal without it, Trey felt like he was constantly playing catch-up.
This was not what he had signed on for. Back when he was working Vice and Merle had twisted his arm into coming over to Major Crimes, the arrangement was that Trey look after Darc while Darc caught the bad guys. No one had told Trey that he would have to shoulder responsibility like this largely on his own.
He looked over at his partner, who was gazing into his computer monitor, his eyes glassy. Under normal circumstances, Trey would’ve thought that he was processing information in that freakish way he had. But now? Now, Trey was pretty sure that Darc was just mooning after Mala.
“Dude.” Trey snapped his fingers in front of Darc’s face. His partner’s eyes refocused on Trey, the faraway look retreating. Too little, too late. Trey was pissed off. “What the hell’s going on with you, Darc? You’re like a zombie. We’ve got a murder on our hands, with no suspects in sight, and according to Jeremy, it sounds like it’s someone about to go on a rampage. And you’re… what? You’re picking out a house for you and Mala to live in?”
“Dr. Charan has no interest in cohabitating with me,” Darc replied, his tone morose. That was another thing. Morose? Really? Since when was Darc’s tone anything but an EKG flat line? He normally had less inflection than Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
“Seriously, Darc, I am going to strangle you.” Trey held up his hand before Darc could say anything. “No, not actually strangle you, although the idea is tempting. But you have got to get your head out of your ass. I’m drowning here.” He took a breath and held it for a moment, trying to calm down. “Look, I get that this is new
territory for you. I even think it’s kind of cool. But we’ve got to make sure our priority is this case.”
“Perhaps if you could get me that list you promised?” Darc prompted.
“Are you hearing yourself? This is insane. I am going insane.” Trey sat down at his desk, reached into the first drawer on the right and pulled out a handful of cards. “Fine. They’re not done yet, and I was going to get them laminated, but here.” He thrust the notes at Darc, who snatched them up and immediately started scanning them.
This situation was so much worse than Trey had thought.
The phone ringing on his desk kept him from continuing with a conversation that seemed doomed from the start. He scooped up the receiver and held it to his ear with his shoulder. “Keane.”
The voice on the other end was a familiar rasp. “Trey, buddy.” It was Bill Harris.
“Hey, ya big lug,” Trey answered. “Whatcha got?”
“Well, it may be nothing, but you know how word gets around on the streets. There’s a… well, a working professional I know who was called in for a job. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”
“Yeah, I think I still remember the lingo from my days in Vice,” Trey chuckled.
“Anyways, she ran out as soon as she’d gone in. Called me just a second ago. The john she’d gone to see was a bloody corpse. It was weird enough I thought it might be related to your case.”
“You were right to call. Got an address?” Trey pulled out a pen and jotted down the location the crusty P.I. listed for him.
“I’ll meet you there. You know, just to make sure there’s someone there who knows what he’s doing,” Bill joked.
“Sounds like a plan. Pick up a pastrami on rye for me,” Trey answered, then slammed the receiver down. He then turned to Darc. “C’mon, man. We got a hot crime scene. We’ll check in with the captain on the way out and call in Mala and the C.S.I. unit on the way.”
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 11
