Blood Trails

by Michael A. Black

  “Elsa and Anna Swanstrom,” he said, letting out a breath. “I dedicated my book to them.”

  “Oh, that was nice of you.”

  The doors of the ornate elevator slid open. Colby felt a sudden awkwardness. Like a kid on his first prom date. Should he make his move, or what?

  She made it for him, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He squeezed back, figuring it would end with a warm handshake, but instead, she stepped back and gently pulled on his arm.

  “Want to come up for a little while, Rog? There’s a wonderful view.”

  Colby felt the warmth of her hand holding his. “I’d like that very much,” he said.

  “Good,” she said as they stepped inside.

  When the elevator doors closed, she leaned forward and kissed him.

  Chapter 15

  What the hell am I doing here? Colby asked himself as he suddenly awoke in the strange room. They’d left the drapes open and the ambient lighting filtered through the window giving everything a velvety softness. He turned his head and studied Leslie’s beautiful face in the semi-darkness. Her steady, regular breathing told him she was still asleep.

  And still way too young for me, he thought.

  He asked himself again: What the hell am I doing here?

  Carefully extricating himself from the bed, he shuffled to the bathroom, the lush carpet feeling soft against his bare feet. When he’d finished, he went to the window, and looked out at the cityscape, his city, with the myriad of lights creating a twinkling design against a backdrop of elegant blackness.

  Their lovemaking had been immediate and intense, both of them seeking the comfort and release of the unexpected passion. Her body had felt slim and taut beneath him, like an athlete’s, but also soft and inviting. The smooth texture of her skin, the tangle of her hair as he ran his hands through it. He could hardly believe it had happened. Yeah, he thought. Way too young for me.

  As he was picking up his clothes in the darkness he heard her voice.

  “You leaving?”

  He came and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Her hand came up and caressed his face. “Don’t,” she said. “Stay with me tonight.”

  Her fingers curled around his neck, gently pulling his head toward hers, until their mouths met.

  He crawled back under the covers, and they made love again. More tenderly this time.

  The sunlight, peeping in between the parted drapes, woke him. He was alone in the bed. The digital clock on the nightstand showed seven-forty.

  Getting in the bathroom first for a quick shower would be essential if he wanted to get to the task-force office by nine. But then he heard the water running and knew she’d beaten him to it.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and considered his options. Why not take her to breakfast? Someplace nice. Besides, with Pearson virtually guaranteed to exclude him from anything important, it wasn’t like he had to punch-in, or anything. He’d be lucky to get an assignment to the nighttime surveillance team.

  The door opened and Leslie stepped out, holding a towel around her. Her eyes widened and she gasped.

  He smiled at her sudden modesty. “Don’t you think I’ve already seen everything there is to see?”

  “No, you haven’t seen one of my bad-hair days.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” he said, stepping toward the bathroom.

  After a quick shower Colby came out, gathered up his underwear and socks, then plopped down on the bed. He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote, turning the TV on to Chicago Today. Might as well see how Dix’s fantasy gal is looking this morning.

  The picture materialized like an electronic jigsaw puzzle, displaying a black guy dressed in a country-and-western shirt singing about the virtues of a fast food franchise.

  Colby slipped on his right sock and shook out the left one. Just as he was pulling it over his toes, the screen displayed a “Breaking News Story” emblem, and the picture morphed into his old buddies, Carmel Washington and Pierce Nolan, both trying to look like serious reporters.

  “As we reported earlier, Chicago Today is following a story involving the Morgan Laird copycat murder investigation this morning,” Nolan said, his mellifluous voice enunciating every word perfectly. “A source close to the investigation confirmed a few minutes ago that a ‘person of interest’ was being held in connection with two murders that occurred overnight. Carmel?”

  Colby jumped up and snatched his pants, stepping into the legs as he felt the pockets of his sport coat for his cell phone.

  They must have caught Laird in the act, or something, he thought.

  “Yes, Pierce,” Carmel said. “As you know, I’ve had a personal interest in this story—” He tuned her voice out as he hastily dialed the taskforce office line and waited, listening to the solitary ringing. Finally, Pearson’s voice message came on.

  “This is Special Agent Stephen Pearson. I’m not available to answer your call at the moment. I’m either on another line, or—Christ, thought Colby. Can’t this guy ever just say something simple?

  “Please leave a message,” Pearson’s voice continued, “after the tone, and your call will be returned as expeditiously as possible.”

  Colby took a deep breath and was just about to speak when a picture of a familiar face flashed on the screen next to Carmel’s pretty features.

  “…and it has been confirmed,” she was saying, “that one of the victims was prominent defense attorney Lance Fontaine.”

  Colby stood there holding the phone, stunned.

  Damn, he thought. This might be too good to be true.

  Matthew had given the Blem another of his tranquilizer-bars and stuck him in the locked storage space he’d rented. He made sure to tie him up first. The twenty-four hour access, courtesy of a swipe-card, made it the perfect base of operations. He’d looked around as he closed the overhead door on the compartment. No one in sight. Video cameras monitored the entrance and exit, but none on the inside, as far as he could see. No prying eyes. Nobody gave a shit what kind of garbage he put in here.

  He figured the Blem would be safe enough in there sleeping it off until his return. The creature stank, too. He’d obviously pissed his pants. But the storage area was deserted, so no one would notice the smell. It was also large enough to store his Corvette inside if he wanted to. With that in mind, he parked the dead tech’s car in the lot of a nearby department store and called a taxi to take him to his apartment. He’d have to get rid of the tech’s car soon, but it had a few more uses.

  Matthew told the cabbie to circle the block a few times while he looked for Knox or his car. He had the tire iron tucked inside the left sleeve of his shirt, just in case.

  “What? You ain’t sure where you live?” He was a nosey asshole.

  “I’m seeing somebody,” Matthew said. “Got to make sure her boyfriend ain’t around.”

  The cabbie chuckled. “In that case, you want me to stick around?”

  Matthew weighed the option of killing him instead of paying, but decided it was too risky. The asshole might have called in his destination when he was chatting on his cell phone before.

  “Just pull over here,” Matthew said.

  He got out, paid, and began walking down the sidewalk. The area where he lived was close to the college so people were coming and going at all hours of the day. His eyes kept scanning for Knox. Hopefully, Mr. Webber would be in.

  Shit, if they hadn’t taken my cell phone I could have called, he thought as he continued his brisk walk. Get in and out quick. Just pick up essentials, and the car.

  He turned on the sidewalk that led to his building, opened the door, and pressed Webber’s buzzer.

  “Whaddya want?” the voice asked.

  “Mr. Webber, sir. It’s Matthew Jetters.” Keep it polite. Keep it simple. “I got robbed and they took my wallet and keys. I need you to let me in, please.”

  He silently marveled at the pitiful whining sound he was able to cre
ate in his voice. The safety door buzzed and Matthew pushed it open. He went to the super’s first floor messy apartment and waited. Presently, the door opened and the old man shuffled out and stopped with a look of sudden surprise pulling at his sagging face.

  “You got a haircut?”

  Matthew rubbed his hand over his shortly cropped scalp. “Yeah, I’m joining the ROTC.”

  The old man smiled approvingly. Matthew smiled back at the dimwit.

  “What’d you say happened now?” Webber asked. “To your keys?”

  Matthew quickly repeated the bullshit story he’d come up with, watching the wrinkles deepen on the old fart’s face. He was swallowing it, hook, line, and sinker.

  “I’d better have the locks changed then.” The old man shook his head as he walked on stogy legs toward the stairs. “Come on, I’ll open your door with the master.”

  Matthew put a hand on the old man’s arm. “Would you come in with me, sir? I’m still a little shaken up.”

  Webber sighed and nodded. “I ain’t heard nobody come in or out, but I’ll be glad to go in with you if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Matthew resisted the urge to take out the tire iron and beat the old son-of-a-bitch to death. After all, he was still useful at this point. Matthew could use Webber as a shield if Knox had secreted himself in the room.

  Knox felt an undercurrent of anger at the old man’s insistence that he report in person to New Genesis. This was slowing his search for Matthew. Jetters had also hinted at a further development, so perhaps it was a necessary delay. Besides, it was a matter of when, not if, he found the errant fugitive from a science lab, but Knox knew if his plan were to work, he’d need to accomplish the capture sooner rather than later.

  He used his special key to open the elevator and took it to the second floor. As he got out, he wondered about the condition of the dormitory, three floors above, that Matthew had left in such disarray. All was quiet in the building today.

  Jetters looked up from his desk as Knox entered and closed the door behind him.

  The old man looked like he’d aged ten years overnight.

  “I saw the news,” Jetters said, his mouth puckering as he looked downward. “Both Laird and the lawyer dead,”

  “As you instructed.”

  Jetters took in a deep breath, sighed, and nodded. “We’ve achieved stability on the fifth floor. However, there’s another problem.”

  Knox assumed he meant the federal subpoena. “Give them the dummy personnel file that I came up with for Krems. It was painstakingly created.”

  The old man’s mouth puckered again, this time with irritation.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone was demanding, angry. “Give who what?”

  “You’re referring to the subpoena, right?” Knox asked.

  “No, I was not referring to the subpoena,” Jetters said, looking away.

  Knox stood there without inquiring further. The two of them locked eyes, and the old man was the first to blink. Knox was glad he’d remained standing, forcing Jetters to look up at him. It gave him a feeling of dominance.

  “I shall do as you suggested with that,” Jetters said. He blew out a puff of breath. “Do you think the tidying-up you did last night will be enough to forestall any further questions?”

  “I laid the ground work for a plan that I think will put us totally in the clear,” he said, smiling slightly. Perhaps it was time to go on the offensive and set up his lucrative exit from New Genesis. “Look, if I’m to clean up this mess totally, I need to know the whole picture.”

  Jetters leaned forward, his shaggy eyebrows rising slightly. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

  Knox waited before replying. Always keep ’em on the edge of their seat, his father used to say. The man had been an amateur magician, and Knox had acted as his assistant as a boy, watching him perform.

  “This whole thing’s rather complex,” Knox said. “I only know bits and pieces, and that’s not enough.”

  Jetters was starting to show signs of irritation again. “You know all you need to know.”

  Knox paused, almost wishing he smoked so he could take out a cigarette and slowly light it before speaking again, like James Bond did in the movies. But this was real life, and the upper hand was now his. Finally, he said, “Matthew left some trace evidence at the scene of one of his little excursions. They have his DNA.”

  Jetters’s eyes widened momentarily. “My God.” Then he recovered. “You’re sure?”

  Knox nodded. “But, as I’ve said, I’ve taken steps.”

  “What steps?” The old man’s face reddened. “What God damn steps?”

  “To throw the police off his trail.” Knox stared down at him. “That is, if what I’m thinking is correct.”

  “And, what, pray tell, is that?” Their eyes locked.

  “That Matthew’s DNA matches Morgan Laird’s.” Knox smiled again. “Matches it exactly.” The old man’s upper lip twitched slightly.

  Knox stared back at him, waiting for a reply. When he got one, it was curt. “You seem to know everything already.” His gaze was as steady as an ancient reptile’s.

  Still smiling, Knox continued. “The authorities believe that Laird himself, was somehow involved in this string of new murders, but due to his confinement to a wheelchair, they assumed he was involved with a confederate.”

  Jetters was sitting still now, his eyes unblinking.

  “By dispatching Laird, and his attorney,” Knox said, “I’ve eliminated any chance the authorities would be able to prove or disprove this.”

  The old man’s head jerked slightly in assent. “So,” Knox continued. “What we’re in need of is someone whom they would think was the confederate. A fall guy. A patsy.” He held Jetters’s gaze momentarily. “And I’ve given them one.”

  “Who?”

  Knox shook his head. “Nobody you know. An ex-cop who happened to be badgering Laird. It’ll look like he and Morgan conspired to create a little havoc together, and then had a falling out.”

  “You’re sure this will work?”

  It’ll work long enough for me to get to an island somewhere to spend my money and live like a king, Knox thought. He nodded his head and said, “Of course.”

  Jetters considered this, rubbing his hands together in front of him then tented his fingers. “And the flaws in your plan?”

  “Well, it’s imperative that I catch your prodigal son before he commits any more such acts.”

  “Don’t call him that. He’s not my son anymore.” The old man frowned. “He’s an abomination. An egregious misjudgment on my part. I treated that boy well. Made sure he had every advantage. A first rate education, a proper upbringing, college, financial support…and now, he rewards me with this.”

  Knox suppressed a smile. This was quite a switch from the old man’s quasi-paternal musing of yesterday.

  “And as for catching him,” Jetters said, “there’s a new development in that, too. We’ve determined he’s got L-Seven with him.”

  “L-Seven?”

  “One of the Others,” Jetters said. “We didn’t realize he was missing until we’d restored order yesterday. Then I had the men search the grounds, but there was no sign of him. The surveillance tapes showed the two of them exiting, Matthew was in Kirby’s uniform.”

  “Any idea why he took him?”

  Jetters looked up, ready to explode. “How the hell should I know? He’s already proven he has the same sociopathic tendencies as his” He stopped short of completing the sentence, and his lower lip engulfed his upper. “But there’s something we can use to our advantage here. Something that Matthew doesn’t know about. All of the Others have a microchip implant, including L-Seven. It’s not designed to broadcast a long-range signal, since we never envisioned they’d get off the compound. Only about a hundred yards, or so. But we’re working on enhancing the scanners so they can pick it up at a greater distance.”

  Knox was beginning to like wha
t he was hearing. Maybe this would turn out to be a productive morning after all. It was time for the coup de grace. “I can’t proceed unless I’m sure I can cover all the bases.” Jetters squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “I need the whole story,” Knox said. “The total picture.”

  Jetters rolled his tongue over his teeth as he looked down at his desk and then sighed. “Very well. I’ll tell you. But I must have your strict assurance that it will go no further.”

  “Of course,” Knox said, settling into the chair in front of the desk as he mentally added, until it’s time for me to pass Go and collect the cool million you’re going to give me.

  Leslie finished getting dressed and eyed the rumpled sheets and the now-empty room. Colby had been brief, but urgent.

  “I’ve got a situation,” he’d said. “Gotta run. Call me and we’ll tag up. I’ll buy you lunch, okay?” Then he was gone. So much for her brief, U.S. romance, she thought. He’s dumping me already.

  She smiled to herself and assessed how she felt. There was the age difference, which obviously was giving him cold feet, but things like that had never mattered much to her. It was more about kindred spirits and good hearts, and she sensed he had one.

  Sighing, she went to the phone and checked the time. Eight-twenty. It was an hour later back home. Certainly a respectable time to be calling in.

  It took her about five minutes of solid waiting to get through to Graven. She’d pretty much decided to have a leisurely breakfast in before strolling over to see Colby. To hell with his “situation.” Or had he gotten what he was after last night and now wanted to ditch her? Cops— male cops—were apparently all the same, on both sides of the border.

  “Inspector Graven,” the voice said. “It’s Labyorteaux, sir. Checking in.”

  She heard him sigh. His voice sounded weary. Like he’d gone to bed late and gotten up early. Or maybe hadn’t been to sleep at all.

  “How’s the investigation going?” she asked. “The perp crack?” She heard him grumble.

  “No. In fact, it looks like we’ve brought in the wrong man, luv.”

  “Really?” She was stunned.