by Alex P. Berg
My partner’s face softened, and she seemed to regard me in a new light—though it could’ve been the strengthening sun burning its way through the mist and into the pit.
“Well…that was very thoughtful of you, Daggers.”
I nodded.
Shay played with the tassels on the end of her scarf. “Did you find out who died?”
“His father.”
My partner took a sharp breath. “Oh, no. Poor Rodgers.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He suffered a stroke. Totally unexpected. Well…not totally. The guy was pretty old, apparently. Did you know Rodgers is the youngest of five?”
Shay shook her head.
“Yeah. Anyway, it sounds like Rodgers will be gone for at least a week. I hope he doesn’t lose that trademark smile of his. Losing a parent…can be tough.”
Steele seemed to have lost her taste for speech. She regarded me with soulful eyes and nodded.
“So where’s Quinto?” I asked.
“In self-imposed solitary confinement,” said Steele. “He’s trying to churn through the Captain’s paperwork in record time.”
I snorted. Apparently the big guy didn’t realize the key to survival wasn’t to wade through the stacks of work but to simply weather the storm until it passed.
A flash of sunlight shimmering through fog caught my eye. A runner, no more than ten years old, pushed his way through the front doors and headed in the direction of the Captain’s quarters. Just what the doctor ordered…
Shay noticed him about the time he reached the bulldog’s office. “Oh, no. I could’ve gone without that this morning.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” I said. “Why is it people always get forked in the kidneys at night?”
“That’s a rhetorical question, I presume?” asked Steele.
“Mostly,” I said. “But killers need sleep, too.”
Within a minute, the Captain emerged from his office and motioned to the two of us. “Daggers? Steele? A minute.”
The runner made himself scarce, and we joined the Captain, who leaned against his door frame. A grim frown stretched across his lips.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Another murder?”
The bulldog didn’t bother to rib me over my patent observation. “Possibly. The runner’s description was unclear. I’ll need the two of you to check into it.”
“Where are we headed?” asked Steele.
“Back to the Delta district,” said the Captain. “Outside, on a street corner, near Cross and Sweetgum.”
I shot Steele a suspicious glance. “Wait…that’s not far from where we found Lanky yesterday. A few blocks at most.” The Delta district could get rough at night, but not that rough.
“Think I don’t know that?” said the Captain. “Like I said, the details are confusing at the moment. But given yesterday’s events, I want the two of you to investigate the matter. Speaking of which…any leads on yesterday’s murder?”
“We’re working on it, sir,” said Steele.
The bulldog snorted, and his lip curled upward in an approximation of a smile. “What a wonderfully vague response.”
“She learned from the best, Captain,” I said with a grin.
“I can’t tell if you’re talking about yourself or me.” The grizzled commander-in-chief nodded toward the door. “Now quit yapping and get moving. The murders won’t solve themselves, detectives.”
Shay stopped by her desk to grab her scarf. I watched her, transfixed, as she wrapped the napped wool around her slender neck, looping it once, then twice with a casual grace. There was a feminine, sensual element to the way she did it, the way she flicked her fingers and elongated her neck opposite the motion of her arms.
Shay glanced at me curiously as she settled the last end in place over her shoulder. “You…ready to go?”
Based on the look in her eyes, I knew yesterday’s storm had passed. The question of how to prevent another squall from blowing in, however, still lingered.
I nodded. “Let’s hoof it.”
20
The sun burned off the last of the mist as we reached the outskirts of the Delta district, though it wasn’t strong enough to displace the droplets of water clinging desperately to awnings or to banish the thin, glimmering sheen coating the exterior of residences both old and ostentatious enough to be built out of stone. Cats mewled from within alleys, their calls followed by the patter of small, clawed feet scrabbling for purchase on damp earth and fog-slicked cobblestones. As I skirted a rat that dove out of a back street in front of me, I couldn’t help but reflect upon what the city’s vermin infestation said about the homeless population: either felines and rodents reproduced faster than they could be skewered and eaten, or New Welwic’s soup kitchens were flush with cash.
After fumbling about at the intersection the Captain had directed us to, Shay and I eventually found our crime scene hidden amongst a couple smaller cross streets nearby, sandwiched between an embroidery shop by the name of Needle in a Haystack and a shoe store that specialized in anything dull, brown, and ugly. Probably because of the location, gawkers were nonexistent. Besides me and Shay, I only spotted a couple of bluecoats, a young couple with bags under their eyes, and a rough around the edges stiff laying on his side in the dirt.
One of the two beat cops approached me, one of the guys who’d been at yesterday’s scene but whose name I couldn’t remember—if, indeed, I’d ever learned it. An ill-advised chinstrap beard grew from his face, and when he opened his mouth to speak, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off his severe underbite.
“You’re Detectives Daggers and Steele, right?” he asked.
I forced my gaze north of the mouth border with a practiced ease, born from years of tearing my eyes away from prominently displayed female knockers. “That’s right. And you are…?”
“Officer Peabody.” He jerked a thumb toward the other bluecoat. “That’s Carter. You need a rundown?”
“That would be helpful,” said Shay.
“Alright,” he said. “Not much to tell, really. Gary and Norma, here—that’s the couple, see—flagged me and Carter down ’bout an hour ago. Said they ran into this guy who wasn’t doing so good. Collapsed and fell down right on the spot. So they brought us here and showed us who it was. And that’s the guy. The one on the ground, there.”
“Yes,” I said. “We’re crack detectives. We identified which of the five of you wasn’t looking so hot right from the get-go.”
Peabody eyed me with a furrowed brow and a jutting lower lip, which was impressive thanks to his underbite. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate my humor. Where was Phillips when you needed him? That kid would laugh at anything I said or click his heels at a moment’s notice. Maybe Shay had been right. I’d probably treated him unfairly.
“Anything else you can tell us?” asked Shay.
The guy shrugged, and I felt confident in my assessment that he probably wouldn’t rise above his current station even if he stayed on the force another forty years.
“Thanks,” said Shay before brushing him off and kneeling beside the body.
I joined her. “Spooky, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“The resemblance,” I said.
The stiff was a dead ringer—no pun intended—for Lanky. Long hair, thick beard, wide frame, and big hands. He wore a tattered chestnut brown coat and matching, moth-eaten trousers. If anything, he was burlier than Lanky, which was a surprising quality for a transient—of which the new guy undoubtedly was. The clothes, beard, and hair gave it away. Unlike Lanky, however, he was in pretty rough shape. Lesions covered much of his face, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor to it—whether from disease or from some orc or ogre blood in his lineage, I couldn’t tell. He also smelled. Bad.
“He does look a lot like yesterday’s victim, doesn’t he?” said Steele. “And the similarities between him and Lanky don’t end at the superficial. Look at this.”
She pointed at the vagrant’s backsid
e, and I leaned over so I could follow her finger. At the base of the man’s skull was, for lack of a better word, a dent, caked with mud and dried blood and bits of hair and gristle. I held a couple fingers to the wound. Two wide, as with Lanky.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as I rubbed my chin.
“What’re you thinking?” asked Steele.
“I’m thinking this case just got a lot more complicated,” I said. “Never mind Lanky’s disappearance. We now have two murders with the same M.O., and I’m struggling to understand how our GI friends from yesterday fit into all this.”
“Yeah,” said Shay. “Me, too.”
She reached out and rifled through his pockets. I fully expected her to come away empty handed, but upon checking his right coat pocket, Shay pulled out a shiny coin.
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “Looks like Burly here was holding out on his hobo buddies. He’s rich!”
“Not quite.”
Steele handed me the coin, which upon further inspection turned out not to be legal tender, but rather a token. On its face, a geometrically-designed vortex swirled around a perfect circle. I flipped the token over. The back was blank.
“You ever seen anything like this?” I asked.
My partner shook her head as she completed her search. “Can’t say I have. But any evidence is better than no evidence, right?”
I mumbled my agreement as I stood. “I suppose. Let’s see what our concerned citizens can add to this mess.”
I pocketed the coin and gave Shay a hand before turning to the witnesses, both of whom leaned against the side of the embroidery store. They held their arms folded across their chests as they talked in hushed voices.
“Gary and Norma?” I asked.
They nodded, and Gary responded. “That’s right.”
“I’m Detective Daggers, and this is Detective Steele,” I said. “We understand you were the first ones to come across the body?”
Gary bobbed his head again as he pushed a mop of hair across his face and over to the side. A flashy suit jacket draped over his shoulders, partially concealing a shirt with far too many unbuttoned buttons. Based on his haircut and almost complete lack of chest hair, I placed him in his early twenties.
His date/girlfriend/courtesan Norma, on the other hand, probably hadn’t even made it that far in life. She wore a diaphanous yellow dress under a heavy, knee-length overcoat, and her shoes were strictly of the flattering but impractical variety. Like the soldiers from twenty-four hours ago, both she and her boy toy reeked of alcohol.
“Yeah, yeah, man,” said Gary. “We ran into the guy. I did, really. But he wasn’t dead when we found him.”
“Says you,” said Norma. “That guy was dead as a doornail.”
“If he was dead, then how did he bump into me?” he asked.
“He didn’t,” said Norma. “You ran into him. And if he wasn’t dead already, then you killed him when you knocked him to the ground, you stupid gump.”
Gary’s eyes widened into saucers, and his hands turned into claws. “Norma! Shut up! You can’t joke about that kind of thing. These are cops!”
“Whatever.” The girl rolled her eyes.
Steele glanced at me with narrowed eyes before turning the suspicious peepers onto the young couple. “Why don’t you two explain exactly what happened? Start at the beginning.”
“Ok,” said Gary. “So, Norma and I, we went out for drinks. Stopped at the Crown and Rose first, but that place was lame. So we cut out of there. Then we heard about a party over at the Flapping Gander. You know, that new jazz club? And man, it was hoppin’. The drinks were wicked strong, and the bartenders were pouring them as fast as the nozzles would let ‘em. And the band? They had this crazy guy on the horn. Best trumpet player you ever heard, man. The music was flowing through me. I could feel it in my body, man. And—”
Shay jerked her thumb at Burly. “Why don’t we skip to the part where this guy entered the picture?”
“Oh. Right, right,” said Gary. “So anyway, Norma and I leave the club late. Real late. Like early morning late. And there’s this fog everywhere. Thick as soup. Can’t see a thing. So we start walking back to our place—”
Norma huffed. “Because apparently there aren’t any rickshaw drivers around these parts at six or seven or whatever it was. Told you we should’ve gone to the Pearl instead.”
“What?” said Gary. “You can’t get jazz like that in the Pearl. With that kind of flow? That kind of soul? No way.”
“Guys, focus,” said Steele.
“Right,” said Gary. “So we’re walking along, looking for a rickshaw. But we can’t find one because of the fog. Can’t see anything ‘cause of the fog. And then this guy comes out of nowhere. Barrels into me and almost knocks me over, and—”
Norma rolled her eyes again. “Please…”
“You remember things differently?” I asked.
The young lady—if, indeed, that word applied—flicked an idle hand. “Gary’s embellishing everything. He was drunk as a skunk. Couldn’t walk straight. Lost his balance and fell into the side of the building. ’Cept there was a guy standing there. That homeless man. Knocked him over.”
“I didn’t knock him over,” said Gary. “The guy bounced off me.”
“Alright,” said Steele. “So what happened after he fell or was knocked over?”
“Well,” said Gary. “I think I knocked the wind out of the guy, and—”
“Wait,” I said. “I thought he bumped into you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Gary. “Same difference. So he careens into me, losing his wind, and he grunts—”
“He did not grunt,” said Norma.
Gary tossed his hands in the air. “Is anybody going to let me finish this story?”
Norma ignored her beau and eyed Steele and me. “He didn’t grunt. Just fell over like a log. Splat.”
“He grunted,” said Gary. “I heard him. Anyway, I bend over to help him. See if he’s ok, right?”
“Really?” I eyed the kid’s expensive jacket and considered how much money he must’ve blown on drinks through the course of the night. “You stopped to help a homeless guy?”
Gary tried his best to look offended. “Hey…what’s that supposed to mean?”
“He didn’t realize the guy was a hobo,” said Norma. “Couldn’t see in the fog.”
Steele rolled her hand in the air. “Can we wrap this up? Preferably before lunch.”
The tension in Gary’s jaw was a clear sign of his annoyance, but I couldn’t tell if it was due to our line of questioning or Norma’s constant undermining of his story.
“Yeah,” he said. “So I kneel down to help him. And that’s when I notice this glimmer. On his head. Like blood. And I think, holy crap, somebody must’ve mugged this poor bastard. And at that point, I start to freak out. I’m not even sure if the guy’s breathing any more. So Norma and I, we call out for help. Eventually find these two cops here and bring them back. But by that point the guy was dead.”
I glanced at Norma to see if she felt the need to contradict any of that last part. She shrugged in acquiescence.
“I’m assuming neither of you know who this is?” said Steele, pointing at Burly.
“No idea,” said Gary.
“Do you remember hearing any shouts or yells or screams before you stumbled across this man?” asked Steele.
Gary and Norma shook their heads.
“Did you see anyone suspicious either before or after the incident?” I asked. “Anyone carrying a weapon?”
Norma gave me a mocking glance. “How many times do we have to tell you it was foggy?”
“A simple no would suffice.” I dug the coin out of my pocket and showed the young couple the face. “This ring any bells in either of your belfries?”
“Belfries?” said Gary.
“What is that thing?” asked Norma, squinting as she gazed upon it.
“I’m guessing that’s another no,” said Steele.
&nbs
p; Norma stifled a yawn. “So…like, can we go now?”
I pocketed the coin and held up a finger. “Just a moment.”
I pulled Steele back out of earshot. “So…what do you think?”
“About these two?” She glanced at Gary and Norma. “I don’t think they could be any more clueless if they tried.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think they might be able to give Officer Peabody over there some competition for his title. So we’re in agreement they’re not involved in the murder?”
“Correct.”
“What about their stories?” I said. “Who do you believe?”
“Both. Neither?” said Steele. “It’s probably somewhere in the middle.”
I grunted in agreement and pursed my lips.
“Detectives Daggers? Steele?”
I turned to find the runner who’d burst into the precinct this morning tugging at the hem of my jacket.
“That’s us,” I said. “What’s new?”
“I’m relaying a message that arrived at the police station not long after you left,” said the kid. “An Agent Blue at the New Welwic Main army base has requested a meeting with you. He said it’s urgent.”
I snorted. “I rather doubt that. I’m not allowed to play over at his house anymore.”
The kid got the gist of my turn of phrase. “No. The other runner was very specific. He said Agent Blue requested to meet with Detectives Steele and Daggers. Right away.”
Steele raised her eyebrows at me. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I said.
“Can you maintain your composure if we go back?” she asked.
I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose. “I’ll manage. I promise.” And I’d have to, unless I wanted to risk alienating Shay again. I could do better than I had yesterday. I knew I could. “Besides, I’m curious to know what Blue has to say. I’m having a hard time believing his summons and Burly’s presence here are coincidental.”
Before we left, I engaged myself in a stern chat with Peabody and Carter. I made doubly sure they knew to deliver the fresh corpse directly to Cairny at the station, and to make sure she accepted the body before they left, otherwise they’d learn the origins of the phrase ‘holding one’s feet to the fire.’
