Death Song (Episode Eight: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  “And the tox screen?” Gerri looked up from examining what Ray had done. “Anything?”

  “Still in process.” Ray turned to Robert who nodded.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

  “One thing that was odd on all three victims,” Ray said. “We found traces of rose oil.”

  Thomas pulled out his notebook, the leather smooth and flawless, paper crisp white without a hit of curl on the edges. As polished as he was in his well-tailored suit and cropped haircut. Preppy boy doing an honest day’s work. “Yeah, that’s one of the signatures,” he said. “Why we suspected it might be homicide despite Druit saying the COD was natural causes. Rose petals at the first two scenes, scattered on the steps.”

  “We thought it was a coincidence the first time,” Moore said, scratching his stomach through the gap between his shirt buttons. “Looked into it, but St. Clare’s a star, you know? Thought someone was being a smartass.” He shrugged. “The second time makes it a signature, but we had nothing to go on. No discarded bouquets, no local purchases of roses, nada.”

  “And since they weren’t COD we hit a dead end,” Thomas said. Smirked. “No pun intended.”

  “So you left it at that.” Ray started, looked over Gerri’s shoulder when Jackson Pierce spoke up. She hadn’t even seen him there, lurking behind the others, watching with those cold, blue eyes. As usual, he acted like a jackass of the highest order.

  From the squinting frown on Moore’s face, mirrored by his partner, they liked Jackson about as much as Gerri and Ray did. Maybe the whole world. Wouldn’t surprise her.

  “I followed a hunch,” Thomas said, east side accent showing through in his agitation. So, Detective Thomas’s careful exterior hid a more blue collar upbringing. “Looked for about six blocks in every direction, dumpsters, private trash.” He blushed and grinned. “The wife, she’ll wreck flowers I give her to say sorry if she’s pissed enough. Hides the evidence in the neighbor’s garbage and tells me she took them to work.” He chuckled. “I know she does it, she knows I know, but it makes her feel better.”

  “No luck?” Gerri was grinning, too.

  Why didn’t Ray find the story funny?

  “Nothing.” He sounded disgusted. “Only real lead we had and nothing.”

  “What about talking to some of the fans?” Gerri opened her own notebook. Ray suddenly wished they’d take this elsewhere. She had work to do. Her wash of irritation surprised her.

  “Gary Bunch, you mean?” Moore shook his head, this time scratching at his receding hairline. “We had nothing to ask him. Dude never misses a show, but that’s not a crime.” He met Ray’s eyes. “Unless you can give us one, Doc. He’s a chemist.”

  Gerri’s brows shot up. “And no one thought to mention it?”

  The two detectives shrugged while Jackson barked a laugh.

  “Silver City’s finest, hard at work,” he said. So bitter it cut at Ray like tiny knives.

  “I think it’s time to have a chat with Mr. Bunch,” Gerri said before turning to Ray. The partners left, muttering to each other, Jackson hesitating before going after them with a deep, sullen scowl on his face. Gerri waited for them to leave, for Robert to retreat with a sigh to his computer, before leaning closer to Ray.

  “You okay?” The concern in those green eyes should have warmed her up, made her grateful. But Ray’s temper ran on the cold side.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “And perfectly capable, thank you.”

  Gerri backed off, hurt from the flare of emotion on her face. She really needed to learn to hide her feelings. Ray immediately chastised herself for being so harsh while the chill of her power observed.

  “Sorry, I know, just trying to help.” The wolf was gone, the massive, shuddering power reined in. Ray reached across the dead man on the table and touched Gerri’s arm.

  “I can handle Druit,” she said, softer, taking the edge of her response away. But needing Gerri to understand things had changed. And wouldn’t be going back to the way they were before. This sense of personal power that had taken her over was growing and Ray never wanted to return to the broken, damaged girl she’d been. “I’m good, Gerri.”

  The detective nodded, tried a smile. “You always were, Ray. You just never knew it.”

  Ray’s response wasn’t positive. It should have been. Gerri was trying to support her. But the cold inside and Cici’s voice chiding turned the words around until they were an insult.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of. You or Kinsey. Stop underestimating me.”

  Gerri’s hurt was back and Ray rather liked it before hating herself for it.

  “You’d have done the same for me,” the detective whispered, all the heat and power gone. She retreated from the morgue much as Druit had, head down, shoulders slumped.

  Ray drew a small, tight breath, heart pounding. She’d done that. And she wasn’t sure if she should be proud or not.

  ***

  ***

  EXT. to INT. – GARY BUNCH’S APARTMENT – LATE AFTERNOON

  Gerri tried not to think about how fragile Ray seemed, tied in with this new confrontational and irrational woman the detective was struggling to reconcile with what she knew of her college friend. Yes, they’d all changed—some more than others—since coming to Silver City and especially finding out they were paranormals while dealing with weird cases. But Ray seemed to be more stressed, coming apart at the seams, while Kinsey and Gerri were both dealing.

  Well, mostly dealing. Gerri was a big enough woman to admit she still had her moments. But this whole relationship with Cici was supposed to make things better, not worse. At least, that’s what Kinsey tried to convince Gerri of, the argument she’d given herself for not driving Cici away.

  So, why was the brunette turning into CrayRay?

  Gerri drove, Thomas and Moore following her in their own Charger, all the way to Bunch’s address. If either of them wondered why Jackson was with her at this point, they didn’t mention it. In fact, from the way they glared at the sad excuse she had for a partner, Gerri was pretty sure he’d been making friends in the department again. The kind of friends who would watch her kill him with smiles on their faces and then help her get rid of the body.

  Her so-called partner was waiting for her, ass on the fender of his own car, sunglasses hiding his hateful eyes. She snorted out a rush of anger-fed air at his arrogant pose, thinking about just how big a douchebag he had to be to think standing there like that made him look cool.

  Jack to the double ass.

  When he slowly straightened in a move she was sure he’d practiced in front of a mirror for sex appeal factor, she strode past him, an order staying behind. “Canvas the victim’s families,” she said, leaving him in her dust. And sending him away from her. As far as she could get him.

  She heard a matching set of chuckles behind her, knew Jackson would make her pay for embarrassing him in front of the other two later. Didn’t give a shit. Too much fun, really. Just too much.

  The elevator was out, the detectives behind her complaining and grunting as they chased her up the steps, stairs she purposely took two at a time in her long stride. She glanced down at Moore and Thomas on the second landing, grinning as they puffed their way after her.

  “Little less powdered sugar and a little more treadmill, yeah?” Looked like she was making friends, too. Their matching glares made her laugh. “Just keep up. Only three more floors.”

  Even she was a bit warm by the time she reached the fifth floor, but only because she’d pushed herself on purpose. Gerri had her breath back easily by the time the two detectives dragged their sorry asses to the hall and stood there, Thomas with his hands on the knees of his nice suit, his partner blowing like whale breaching.

  “How about you ladies take a break and I’ll deal with the actual police work.” Yup, they adored her already. Marvelous. She slapped Moore on the shoulder, the sheen of sweat on his skin and the pale, pastiness of his cheeks making her a little nervous.
“Maybe talk to the neighbors?”

  She left them there, knocking on doors, while she approached #509. Her soft knock was met almost immediately with footsteps.

  “Who is it?” He had a fisheye, so he clearly saw her. She held up her badge for him to examine, the tiny glass portal reflecting the shine of her hardware. Locks turned, but when he opened the door, the chain rattled to an abrupt tightness, his small, nervous face peeking out. Gerri’s first impression of Juliette’s biggest fan was underwhelming. Round glasses, a plaid button up shirt, polyester dress pants. He might have been Kinsey’s height, though it was hard to tell with him squeezed into the crack in the door.

  “I need your badge number.” All official, huh? Gerri held the shield up, watched him punch her ID code into his cell phone and wait. One thick finger shoved his glasses wire rims back on his nose as she did her best not to sigh. He finally looked up, blinking myopically through the glass and nodded.

  “Detective Geraldine Meyers of the 9th Precinct.” She’d never had anyone introduce her to themselves before.

  “Mr. Bunch,” she said, as gravely as he had, though she was laughing inside. This guy? Dangerous? No way. Even her gut giggled.

  The door closed, chain rattling as he slid it free. But, when he opened the door again, it was just wide enough for her to squeeze in before he closed it behind her.

  She hadn’t been mistaken about his height. Made all the shorter in appearance thanks to his round, protruding belly, though it seemed the only part of him that carried real weight. Balding, shuffling nervously in his house slippers, he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, maybe forty, but carried himself like a much older man.

  “You’re here about Juliette.” Gerri looked up as he spoke. Froze. Her gut wasn’t laughing anymore. The apartment wasn’t small, and the nicely-appointed furniture told her he was white collar, easily. But it wasn’t his taste or sense of style that troubled her.

  A life-sized cutout of Juliette St. Clare stood in one corner, singing her heart out to Gerri. Flanked by two more, slightly smaller, cutouts. Posters. Glass panels and etched mirrors.

  Dear God, was that a black velvet Juliette?

  “My collection.” Bunch didn’t seem as nervous, beaming at the shrine to the blues singer. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

  Gerri nodded. “You go to her shows frequently?” That had to be an understatement.

  He gasped softly, as though she’d spoken some heresy. “I never miss a show,” he said. “Not even if I’m sick.” Bunch smiled at Juliette. “The show must go on.”

  Gerri’s phone buzzed, grabbing her attention. A quick check gave her an image. One that troubled her about as much as the shrine to Juliette.

  “Mr. Bunch,” she said. “You’re a chemist, correct? With Beauty, Inc.?” Small town. She wondered how Darlene Moore was doing now that her murdering, insane son, Ian, was dead. Gerri never forgot a shooting. She could still taste the scent of the animal shelter and hear the fear in Darlene’s panting sobs. Smell the blood as Steven Stranford bled out on the concrete floor. And the burn marks, the brands of the six symbols white and ghastly on Ian’s chest.

  “I am.” He cleared his throat, nervous all over again as someone knocked on the door. Gerri knew who it was, ground her teeth together, pissed he’d found the evidence and not her. But Jackson was a good detective when he wanted to be and searching the dumpsters downstairs before going to question the victim’s families made sense.

  Damn him.

  Gerri got the door, stepped aside, knowing what Jackson held in his gloved hands from the pic he'd sent to her phone. Roses he’d found in the dumpster servicing Bunch’s building.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come downtown, Mr. Bunch.”

  He shivered, looking back and forth between Gerri and Jackson. “What for?”

  “To answer questions about three murders,” Gerri said.

  “Hope you like prison, you little freak.” Leave it to Jackson to have the last word.

  ***

  INT. – KINSEY’S APARTMENT – EARLY EVENING

  Kinsey sat back, let Gerri run the show. This was her part, after all, what she’d worked so hard for.

  “We believe Mr. Bunch poisoned those men out of jealousy,” Gerri said while Juliette shook her head, hands pressed to her chest, terrible sadness on her face. “Obsessed fans can do terrible things to people they think the object of their obsession might be attached to.”

  “I know the man you’re talking about,” the singer said in a voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve seen him at every one of my shows.”

  “At least now we know you’re innocent of their deaths.” Kinsey squeezed Juliette’s hand. “You can keep singing without worrying.”

  “I wish that was true,” the blues singer said. “But I still caused this, didn’t I?” She swept to her feet, turned toward the window, arms around herself. Kinsey remained seated, not sure what to do, while Gerri just watched and waited. “Whether with my power or my voice, those men are dead because of me.”

  “No,” Kinsey spoke up, starting herself and Gerri who met her eyes with one brow raised. “You didn’t. You’re not responsible for any of it, Juliette. The world is full of people looking for an excuse to hurt others. Just because he decided to fixate on you doesn’t make you guilty.”

  The singer nodded heavily, turned back. “He poisoned them?”

  “Most likely,” Gerri said. “The toxin must have made them pliable as well, so he could guide them to your step. Left them as a kind of love offering.” Kinsey made a face at her friend, a "what the hell are you thinking face", but Gerri went on anyway. “The flowers… just a last touch.”

  Juliette rushed forward suddenly, grasping Gerri’s hand and pulling her to her feet. Kinsey hid a grin behind one hand as the detective’s huge, green eyes shone with shock as the singer hugged her tight.

  “Thank you.” Juliette let her go, reached for Kinsey who stood and hugged her of her own accord. The singer’s voice vibrated between them as she spoke. “Thank you both, so much.”

  It was hard for Kinsey to let her go, waving from her doorstep, with promises to see her again. To come to a show. Kinsey couldn’t wait. As she turned back, catching Gerri staring off into space, the blonde remembered the phone call, the watcher. And made a decision.

  Kinsey told Gerri everything, about her mother, about Margot’s warning. About Cici.

  At least, what little she knew about Cici. Gerri cursed softly.

  “What about her?”

  “I wish I knew.” Kinsey rubbed goosebumps from her arms, Gerri’s intensity making her nervous. “She just told me to stay away from her. That’s it.”

  “But not Ray. Or me.” Gerri waited for the qualifier.

  “I guess not,” Kinsey said, knowing her tone sounded weak, childlike. “All I know is Grandmother is coming back to Silver City and this time she’s telling me everything.”

  Gerri grumbled, nodded. “Both of us.”

  “All three of us.” Kinsey dropped her hands. “Ray’s still part of this, Gerri.”

  “I know.” The detective ran one hand through her red hair. “The three of us, then.” She hesitated, making Kinsey nervous. “Are you still working for Simone?”

  Where the hell did that come from? “No, of course not.” She couldn’t help her frown of anger, the tingle of worry inside her that made her feel like Gerri was judging her. “I told you already, I quit.”

  The detective nodded, frowning herself. “I know,” she said. “Sorry to ask. Just… keep me posted if she tries anything, will you?”

  “You know I will.” Kinsey hugged herself, not liking this lack of trust between them even a little bit, needing to change the subject. “You’re not going to go hunting this watcher guy, are you?” Kinsey almost wished Gerri would. But, her friend flashed an evil grin, so no hope there.

  “Are you kidding?” She winked. “Dude deserves a medal.”

  “You’re such an asshole,
” Kinsey sighed.

  It wasn’t until Gerri left that Kinsey had a thought. If Margot was having her watched…

  Who was watching Gerri? And Ray?

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT BULLPEN to 9TH PRECINCT INTERROGATION – EVENING

  Gerri set aside Jackson’s report about the next of kin and the nosy neighbor who accused Juliette St. Clare of murder. All dead ends, tying up her case to move forward against Gary Bunch.

  If only her gut agreed with her. She hated its grumbly mumbly way of making her uncomfortable sometimes, of pushing and prodding at her, telling her she didn’t quite have things sorted yet.

  Time to talk to her perp and see if her instincts were just pressing her for deeper truths or if the whack job in interrogation one was innocent.

  Gerri left her desk, Jackson’s report in one hand, Moore and Thomas’s about Bunch in the other, mind churning. As a chemist, he’d have potential access to toxins and substances that normal civvies wouldn’t. And though Robert still hadn’t gotten back to her about the new tox panel, Gerri had to suspect some poison or other chemical as the murder weapon.

  Making Bunch her numero uno.

  She opened the door to the thumbs up from Monkey See and Monkey Do, Moore grinning in her direction, making a slam-dunk motion. Gerri resisted rolling her eyes. She liked the pair well enough, but seriously. They needed some sensitivity training or something.

  Because, she was the queen of sensitive. Gerri snorted.

  Bunch looked up from where he sat, hunched over and sweating, behind the ratty, metal table dominating the center of interrogation one. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, oddly. When his intense, concerned eyes followed her as she sat down to face him, Gerri asked herself why he thought he didn’t need one.