Nightcrawler: A Supernatural Thriller (The Books of Jericho Book 2)

by J. D. Oliva

  "Do I know you?"

  "Not quite," the Asian man said, pulling out a badge and ID.

  FBI. Special Agent Andrew Nashida. Interesting. She didn't have to talk to them without her lawyer present, and Dad would be furious with her doing so, but she had nothing to hide. Besides, the curiosity of what they wanted would overwhelm her eventually.

  "Can we talk for a minute?"

  "I suppose," Dana said, taking her first sip of iced coffee.

  Dana took her seat and watched the two agents take the chairs across from her. Seated together, side-by-side, they almost looked like a couple. How adorable.

  "What can I do for you, Agent Nashida?"

  He seemed a bit surprised she took the time to read his ID.

  "We have a few questions about a friend of yours."

  Ah, so that's what this is about. It was only a matter of time before someone showed up asking about the man who tied up loose ends on her two biggest stories. Dana knew what Mr. Ishikawa did this time. She kind of had no choice but to lie to federal agents to cover for him. Lord knows how many laws the two of them broke together. Still, she needed to tread carefully.

  "What friend would that be?" she asked, playing dumb.

  Agent Nashida's partner spoke first. "Christopher Shane."

  "What?"

  "Yes, we understand that you and Mr. Shane had something of a relationship last winter."

  Why were they asking about Chris?

  "I wouldn't call it a relationship. He certainly wouldn't even call me a friend. Chris was a source for a story."

  "But you were with him the night his father died? Correct?"

  "Not quite. I was trailing his father before he killed himself in a Road Ranger bathroom. I told Chris about it."

  Agent Nashida kept stone-faced. He tried reading her. Good luck when it came to that story. It happened over nine months ago and she still had no idea how to explain what happened. Agent Nashida looked down at his phone, like he was reading notes or something.

  "That was the same night he was attacked by a, quote, rabid, freakishly large wolf, end quote."

  Dana nodded. "Shitty Christmas."

  "Sounds like it. What happened with this wolf thing?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't there."

  "You reported the story."

  "Based on what I was told by the victim. Chris Shane was the victim."

  "Of course, he was."

  Silence took the table. Dana made sure to keep her eyes locked with Nashida's. Whatever Chris got into is dangerous, and the last thing she needed is to get herself involved again. No matter how interesting it might be.

  "If you don't mind me asking, Agent Nashida, what did Chris do?"

  "Mr. Shane is wanted for questioning in a murder that happened last night in St Charles, Missouri."

  "What?! A murder?" Dana started laughing at the idea.

  "Miss O'Brien, a man's dead," Tunde said, almost disgusted.

  "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just, the very idea that Chris could kill anyone is—"

  Then she stopped. The laughter subsided when she remembered what happened in his family's home last Christmas Eve. She didn't see what happened, but she saw the aftermath. Chris did what he had to to survive. But maybe things were different now. Maybe he is capable of—

  "What is it, Miss O'Brien?" Nashida piqued.

  "What's what?"

  "You stopped laughing when you thought of the idea of Mr. Shane killing someone? Why?"

  They wouldn't believe her even if she was honest.

  "Chris Shane isn't a murderer."

  "Miss O'Brien, what happened last Christmas? Why was Jackson Shane's body never recovered? How exactly did all this get swept under a rug?"

  "My involvement is a matter of public record. As for the location of Mr. Shane's body, you'll have to take that up with CPD."

  Nashida curled his lip and drummed his fingers on the table. He knew she lied. But the truth isn't going to fix anything, let alone help Chris with whatever trouble he was in.

  "I know what you're doing, Agent Nashida. You think Chris came back home and is hiding somewhere in the city. You're wondering if he reached out to me, and maybe I can point you in the right direction. I can't because I'm not a person Chris Shane would ever reach out to if he was in trouble. I also doubt he's here in this city. If you've got any further questions, we can set something up when I have an attorney present," Dana said, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes.

  Dana was finished with this. Whatever trouble Chris is in, she couldn't say, but the more that people pulled the strings on what happened in the past, the more they weren't going to like what they found. The real world is a scarier place than people like Andrew Nashida would ever realize.

  Before walking out the door, she heard Agent Nashida one last time.

  "Miss O'Brien!"

  She turned back.

  "Can you tell me about a man called Leo Encarta?"

  Who? Dana was about to say she had no idea who he meant. Then it dawned on her. She isn't the person Chris would ever reach out to if he was in trouble. But she had a good idea about who he probably called.

  Dana smiled. "Sounds like a person who doesn't exist."

  XXVI

  Even deep into the summer, the Library Annex is the place to be. Commonly known as the Lannex, its close location to the SLU—St. Louis University, but pronounced Slue—undergrad campus and library theme made it a popular bar. Especially after midnight.

  Jamie Casten was enrolled in summer classes at SLU and opted to live with her aunt and uncle in Central West End. She liked the idea of the apartment, but Uncle Mark talked her out of it. She was nineteen, and they let her stay rent-free. It's not like Jamie didn't have money, but most of it was locked into a trust she couldn't touch until she was twenty-five.

  After a night of pre-gaming with Madison Race, her suite-mate during the school year, the girls were ready to hit up the after-hours at the Annex. Thumping base welcomed the girls as they quickly passed through the bouncer's checkpoint. The first few times, Jamie worried about being caught, but they never looked twice.

  "Jager bombs!" Izzy shouted as a tray of Jaegermeister, and Red Bull energy drinks emerged.

  Jamie hated the bubblegummy taste at first, but two or three of them usually got the desired effect. She took a few sips from the glass and started swaying to the music. Conversation with friends is just about impossible near the dance floor.

  She looked up to the crow's nest of a deejay booth and watched him work the turntables. She didn't have much of a plan for the night. She needed an evening away after grinding away in class all week.

  Jamie finished her first Jager Bomb and turned back to the bar. A guy standing near the bar pretended not to look at her. He had an athletic build with short, almost shaved hair, and unlike a lot of the guys around here, his face was clean-shaven. So many of these guys tried to look like Jon Snow with their beards. Most looked gross with their patch fuzz.

  He smiled. She smiled back, but turned back to the dance floor. He looked cute, and she would have liked to see more of him, but it's not like she's going to walk over to him. After a few minutes of careful swaying to the beat, Jamie got the hint he wasn't coming over, so she went back to the bar.

  "Jager bomb!" She shouted to the overworked and underpaid bartender.

  The bartender nodded and went to mixing the drink. Jamie's eyes wandered across the bar, trying to see if she could find the guy with a friendly smile. The bartender slid her the drink.

  "It's on him!" The blonde bartender with the super-curly hair shouted.

  "Who? That guy?" She pointed at the same guy, still looking over at her, but from a different spot.

  Jamie acknowledged his presence with a smile, which would have to work as a thank you. Not like he would hear it anyway in there. She expected him to make his way over to her, but he didn't. He stayed in the same spot, almost like he was too shy to say anything. Normally, she didn't go for that kind o
f thing, but something about it is kind of sweet—in a boy next door kind of way.

  Thinking like that was way out of her character. Still, Jamie found her swaying to the music, making her way over to his side of the bar. The guy is a little taller than her, maybe 5'8 or 5'9 with brown eyes and a SLU Rugby shirt.

  "Thank you!" She shouted over the thumping sounds of The Weeknd.

  He squinted as if he couldn't understand her.

  "I said, thank you!"

  He still couldn't understand her and pointed towards his ear, which, to her surprise, looked weird. Like mutilated or damaged somehow.

  "I can't hear you!" He shouted back.

  "I said thank you!" She shouted again.

  "Oh! You're welcome!"

  He stuck his hand out to her and shook it, but it wasn't a dainty little half-ass shake a lot of guys give girls. This was firm and strong. She liked that.

  "I'm Jamie!"

  "Hi, Jamie!"

  "What's your name?" She tried to playfully ask back, but it's far too loud for subtleties.

  "I'm sorry," he said, pointing toward his ear again.

  Maybe he's hard of hearing and had some kind of disability?

  "That's okay!"

  "What?"

  This is getting a little frustrating for both of them.

  "You wanna step outside for a second?" He asked.

  Jamie felt unsure at first. She just met the guy, but it's only a quick conversation. After a few sentences, she'd know if she wanted to say anymore to him. Over the guy's shoulder, she saw Maddy and Izzy giving her the thumbs up.

  "Sure," she finally said.

  Very gentlemanly, he extended his hand, almost guiding her toward the exit.

  When the music started to go out, she said at a reasonable volume, "What's your name?"

  "I'm Danny."

  "Nice to meet you, Danny," she said with a smile.

  They walked out the door. The cool part of the Lannex is the building looked more like an actual college library than some regular bar. The two of them headed down its white, concrete steps.

  "Nice to meet you, too," he said. "You know, I think we've got a mutual friend."

  "Really? Who's that?" She asked playfully, assuming he meant someone from her dorm.

  "Hello, Jamie," a different voice said.

  The smile faded from her face. She recognized the voice even if she hadn't heard it in five years. Jamie Casten looked down the alley and saw an immense African-American man with a long trench coat and sunglasses. The same man who was with her sister the night she died.

  XXVII

  Detective Brian Anderson needed to check in with the witness. Kim Aranda was a scared twenty-three-year-old who was staying in the St. Charles Marriott. Originally from New York, she met up with the victim, Dennis Reed, while traveling through the St. Louis Metro-area. Both her and the St. Charles PD thought she might be a target for the perp. They set up a hotel room at the nearby Hampton Inn on Clay Street, where she could be under police protection.

  Anderson thought it was extremely unnecessary, but went along with the plans. He also had doubts Special Agent Nashida would find Shane as quickly as everyone wanted. Because, he knew Chris Shane wasn't coming back.

  The tall, sinewy detective stepped off the fourth-floor elevator where he met Anthony Flores, a 6'1" beat cop who'd been assigned guard duty.

  "Detective," Flores greeted Anderson.

  "Officer Flores. How's she doing?"

  "Quiet. She hasn't eaten or said much. I haven't heard the TV or anything in there."

  "What's she said to you?"

  "Personally?" He asked for clarification. "Nothing. I had to knock and check in on her a few times to make sure she was alive."

  "Why don't you go get some lunch? I'll take over for a bit."

  Flores, not one to ask questions, accepted the gift. "Thank you, sir. I'll be back in sixty."

  Anderson watched Flores step into the elevator and disappear as the doors shut. Now he had his chance. Anderson knocked on the door. He was surprised when Aranda answered the door in the same dress she had on last night.

  "Detective Anderson?"

  "Miss Aranda," he nodded.

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, I just gave Officer Flores some time off to grab a quick sandwich or something."

  "Oh. Okay," she said, ready to close the door on the tall, red-haired detective.

  "I was wondering if we could talk for a minute?"

  "Oh, Um, sure," she said, opening the door.

  Anderson stepped into the immaculate room. The bed look made, not like she did it herself but like she never got under the covers. The remote control was still positioned next to the phone. He took a quick glance into the bathroom and saw all of the towels still arranged in the exact order the maid left them that morning. Aside from the single suitcase in the corner of the room, it looked like no one had been inside at all, let alone for seven hours.

  "Everything okay, Detective. Anderson?"

  "Sure," he scanned the room again.

  If she had been alone in that room the whole time like Flores said, with no TV, conversation or books to read, then the only thing she could have possibly been doing was looking at her phone. Anderson didn't see one with her. He tried to casually look around and find any kind of trace of a phone or a charger.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course. I was wondering if I could take a look at your phone?"

  "My what?"

  "Your phone. Can I take a look at it?"

  Kim didn't understand what he meant. She shook her head and said, "I don't have one."

  "Really? I gotta admit Miss Aranda, I've never met a twenty-three-year-old, male or female, who didn't own a cellphone. It's very interesting. Especially one who travels as much as you say you do."

  "Of course, I've got a phone," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I meant I don't know where it is. I must've lost it last night."

  "My niece is sixteen. If she lost her phone, she'd stop everything she was doing to find it. She certainly wouldn't forget to mention it. Most people her age wouldn't."

  "I'm not her age, Detective."

  "No, you are not."

  The look on Kim's face shifted from curiosity to annoyance.

  "Did you just come to talk about my phone?"

  "No, Miss Aranda. I want to know how Chris Shane got into your room last night?"

  "I told you he busted in."

  "That's not possible. Not unless you unlocked the door on purpose. But you said you didn't. There's one other way. If Shane had a key, he could've walked in that room. But where might he have gotten it from?"

  "I've got no idea." She turned her back on Anderson.

  "Unless you gave it to him. That would explain how he got in so easily and why he only attacked Reed. I can't figure out what game you're playing with us, Miss Aranda."

  Kim didn't turn back to him. She looked toward the curtained window and didn't move.

  "It's not robbery. None of Reed's money was taken. So what is this? Just a little thrill kill?"

  "Not exactly."

  Kim turned around, revealing a set of ghost-white eyes. Anderson immediately reached for his gun, but Kim lept into the air and speared her shoulder into Anderson's gut. The hundred-ten pound woman tackled the tall, muscled detective to the floor. Like a spider, she crawled over him.

  Anderson couldn't understand how she could be so strong. He couldn't shake her. She pressed down on his chin, turning his head toward the door. Anderson tried to scream out for help, but Aranda's free hand covered his mouth so that he couldn't speak or scream. She leaned into him. Her breath tickled his neck. Her mouth opened, and he felt something slide into his ear. Whatever it was popped. Anderson felt a thousand tiny feet dancing down his ear canal before stopping, then sinking a thousand white-hot needles into his eardrum.

  The intense pain eventually subsided. Then everything was fine. He was fine. He felt calm. There was no need to fight. Kim rel
eased her grip from around his face, and he understood everything.

  They had to find Shane before he talked.

  "You know what to do," she said.

  XXVIII

  Jamie glanced over at Chris and shot him a look much harsher than any Jericho had ever given one of his targets. She's a tough kid from tough stock.

  "I don't have anything to say to you," Jamie said before heading back to the bar.

  "So, you remember me?"

  Jamie whipped her head right back toward them. "I do. I remember you and my sister plotting some kind of scheme that ended up with her dead."

  "Sounds about right," Chris said, under his breath.

  "And who are you? His assistant?"

  Chris raised an eyebrow, almost appearing to like the idea.

  "In his dreams," Jericho said. "Jamie, I'm sorry about this, but I need to talk to you. It's about your sister."

  "She's been dead for five years. Same as my mom. Dad's been dead for six. Wanna talk about that too?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Go to Hell."

  "Already there, kid. I fucked up five years ago. When your mom and Alyse died—"

  Jamie turned back and stuck her finger in Jericho's chest. It was almost humorous. She couldn't be more than 5'5", maybe 110 lbs., but she bowed right up to the man who used to think of himself as a world-class assassin.

  "Don't you dare say her name! Do you hear me?!"

  "Jamie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let her die. I should've stayed here and finished the job. My mistake cost people their lives. I'm here to fix it."

  Jamie took her finger out of Jericho's chest, but the distrustful scowl stayed etched to her face. She turned back to Chris. "What's his deal, then?"

  "Same thing that killed your sister is after him. He's in this too."

  "What do you mean? Kathryn Bischoff has a life sentence for what she did to my sister."

  Jericho stroked his beard. "You were in the courtroom. You heard her say that when she killed your sister, it was like watching herself from the outside."