Deadly Awakening (The Ashdale Reaper Series Book 1)

by G. K. Lund

  I sat trying to figure this out and at the same time attempted to control the breathing. After a while, I succeeded in this and decided to take it as a small victory. At this point, I would take anything.

  In the end, I came to the conclusion that something was stopping me. Not exactly a eureka-moment I know, but honestly. Something was hindering my leaving and so the natural solution was to find out what. To find out the what, I suspected it was necessary to find out who I actually was first and why I was even here. I stared with a blank look at the neighboring buildings across the street as I relived those moments on the bridge. I remembered Ben, the spectators, and the jump quite vividly. Nothing wrong with that memory. That didn’t help me though. I attempted to attack this affair from a different angle. Where had I been? I remembered having been near Ben. Had I been standing on the bridge as well? I frowned at this thought. No, I had not. I could remember seeing him on his way down. Seeing the mix of calm and fear on his face.

  I had not jumped. But I had been there. Why though?

  I knew with certainty that I had never been corporeal before. I looked down at the body. I had little problem controlling it, making it move about. Granted, I seemed to say things before thinking them through, but that was beside the point.

  I knew with certainty that I was not human. So… what was I? Who was I really? And why had I taken Ben’s place? There had to be a reason, and it had better be a damn good one, I thought as I got up from the floor, opened the balcony door and went outside. I didn’t have the answers but knowing the questions made me feel marginally better. I drew a breath and leaned on the railing while looking down at the people going about their business. Was I supposed to be one of them now? They were walking in and out of the surrounding buildings. One person was trying to park a car in an impossibly small space and an old man was cursing at a woman who was riding her bike on the sidewalk. By the bus stop further down the street a woman with a child in tow was running toward – and missing – a bus that drove off with no regard for her yelling. Most of the people, though, seemed focused on entering a small shop of some kind on the corner of the street. The ones who came out carried cups. I straightened up at the sight and decided to do as them. I had to if I was going to be one of them. Besides, I had to get out before the ridiculous body started its uncontrollable behavior again.

  It turned out to be a coffee shop. A few tables were occupied, but most of the customers got their coffee and went. Since eating and drinking was the only thing I liked about the body, I wanted to try some.

  “What can I get you?” a stressed barista asked as she finally got around to me.

  “Um… coffee?”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific. Regular, decaf, espresso, cappuccino, latte?” she said looking expectantly at me.

  I blinked.

  “Uh…” I said, eloquent as ever. “Regular… would that be the normal kind?”

  This time she blinked. “Are you, um, unfamiliar with coffee?” she asked with a strange look on her face.

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  She blinked again.

  “I lost my memory,” I volunteered, hoping this would speed things up. “I don’t know what I like… including coffee.”

  At first, she looked like she was going to laugh. Then she seemed to think better of it and gave me a short lecture of the different types, before finally deciding I should try regular black the first time. I gratefully accepted the cup I now felt I had been waiting ages for.

  Ah, the smell. The rich aroma. I knew instantly that this was something I liked and the first taste confirmed it. Even before I had finished the cup I ordered another one, and with the barista’s best wishes for a healthy recovery following me outside, I walked back to the apartment feeling a little better.

  It was not until half an hour after I got back in, that I realized the pounding headache I’d had since waking up in the hospital, was gone.

  Chapter 8

  “So, Jones, what you’re telling me is that there’s nothing tying Reed to the murder?” Captain Costa asked with a trace of disappointment in his voice. He liked clean and cut cases. No fuzz. Get the guy and move on.

  “Yes,” Olivia answered, feeling rather disappointed herself. “They were found together, one murdered the other one… alive. So far I have no better suspect.”

  “Obviously,” Costa said as he sat down heavily in his chair – as heavily as a skinny man like him could. “What of his phone?”

  “Nothing, sir. It seems he didn’t bring it with him that night.”

  “Damn. The best thing about those horrid noisemakers is that people tend to forget they have them. Makes it easier for us if they do something wrong.”

  “Yes, sir,” Olivia said, voice bland, as the Captain smiled at people’s general stupidity.

  “It’s a shame you know… about this Okanov case.”

  “What is, sir?”

  “The man was total scum. The kind we usually go after. Now we have to stop whoever murdered that shit.” Costa sat back, shaking his head. “It’s the principle of the thing, I suppose.”

  “Yes, sir.” Principles were what had made them both end up in Ashdale. Costa, because he knew the mayor and the head of WGI. Always a good thing in this city. And she? She had Costa on her side. That had helped a little. “Might be that the guy who killed Okanov needs stopping.”

  Costa nodded. “Very well, Jones. Keep me posted.”

  And with that, the briefing was over. Olivia left her boss’ office and found her own desk where she sank down into the chair. She started looking through the files of her other cases but found her thoughts tracking back to the Okanov murder. Of all her open cases, this one simply irked her. Something didn’t add up. She had seen Reed before he woke up, and the man had looked anything but alive. All broken bones, scrapes, and skin pale as death. What had happened between those two? An argument? A fight? For Okanov to die it had to have been bad. But how bad could it get with a self-help book writer? The man had no priors. Nothing. A model citizen. On paper at least. But Olivia knew from experience that that didn’t have to mean anything. Particularly when a man like Dimitri Okanov was involved. She grabbed the report from the techs again; the fourth time that day. No electronic traces. Why hadn’t Reed brought his cell phone with him? He had not worn exercise clothes when they found him by the river, so he had not left the phone to take a run. There hadn’t been any valuables among his things either. When Olivia had gotten hold of Reed’s belongings she hadn’t found anything but the man’s clothes and shoes. Had he lost everything in the river? Quite possible. But then again… he might also have left everything at home so as to not be traced or identified. The self-help book writer. He had nothing in common with Okanov. Reed lived in Harrow which he could afford with his various incomes. Central Bridge connected Harrow with Northwater, and the two bodies had been found in Harrow, almost washed down to Fairview. Reed had ended up down there in the hospital though, but everything else had happened in Harrow. Okanov didn’t live there. A hotel key in his pocket told them he had been staying in Northwater, on the other side of the Ashdale River.Nothing, of course, had been found nothing in his room. He must have sought out Reed. But how could the tables have turned so badly on him? Olivia suspected there were many things they didn’t know about Okanov, but what they did know suggested he wouldn’t be overpowered with ease. Despite her reservations, she suspected Reed had fallen into the river with Okanov, the fall killing them. She shook her head. Not them. Only Okanov. Reed was alive and well.

  Thankfully an e-mail appeared in her inbox at this point. A message from Dr. Ogden. The autopsy was done.

  Olivia grabbed her cell and jacket and got up. She glanced at her partner’s desk for a moment. It was an odd case. Perhaps they should both be on this one? They had an excellent working relationship. For different reasons, neither wanted a partner. He worked best alone, while Olivia tried her best every day not to think about what happened to her last one. She glan
ced toward Costa’s office. He had been her superior back in New York as well. He was the reason she was even in Ashdale now. She blinked hard and forced the thoughts away. She wouldn’t bother her partner with this. They divided their cases and signed a few papers together when they had to. Other than at their desks, they rarely saw each other. A perfect system. Olivia suspected that Costa knew, but as long as they did their jobs he didn’t seem to bother with them. Olivia put her jacket on and left. If she needed help she would call later. After all, it was a perfect system.

  Dr. Ogden was a plump middle-aged and redheaded woman with a pair of large red glasses that gave Olivia the impression of a goldfish. That was how far the comparison went though. Dr. Ogden would never stare at anyone with big empty and forgetful eyes. Her eyes would carefully assess any situation and her reasoning was valuable to any investigator wise enough to listen. She was one of the few people associated with the police department that Olivia liked.

  “Well?” she prompted as she came into the always chilly morgue. The body of Dimitri Okanov lay on the nearest slab, pale and sunken. Drier than the last time Olivia had seen him though. Despite the cool temperature in the room, there was a distinct smell of rot in the air. No wonder. It had been a couple of days.

  “Is that any way to greet your favorite pathologist?” Dr. Ogden answered her.

  “My favorite pathologist, who keeps me waiting too long?”

  “What can I say,” she said as she shrugged her round shoulders. “Many people have died. That makes me very popular, but sadly the deceased forgot to clear their passing with you and your schedule.”

  “Don’t make me dream of an impossible world that would make my job easier,” Olivia replied as she walked closer to the slab with Okanov’s body. “In your preliminary report, you put the time of death to a couple of hours before we found him, and you suspected he didn’t drown.”

  “Yes, and I was halfway right too.”

  “Halfway?”

  Dr. Ogden put on a pair of latex gloves and came over to the body. “I put the time of death between midnight and 6 AM. And he did drown. There was water in his lungs. But the head trauma we see here is probably what caused him to drown in the end.” She pointed at the wound on the man’s head. It seemed tidier after she had washed away what little blood had survived the river and cut off some of the hair surrounding it. This made it easier to see that the wound was round and no more than an inch or so in width.

  “So, our murderer used a weapon or a tool of some sort?”

  “A hammer to be exact.”

  “A hammer?”

  “An ordinary hammer.”

  “Who brings a hammer with them out in the city?”

  “Someone who’s planning something, I’d imagine,” the doctor ventured. “If it had happened in someone’s home it could have been more of a spur of the moment type of thing.”

  “That’s true. You don’t happen to have a hammer nearby when you’re out in the city. That’s something people have at home.”

  “Yes, but this Okanov… he was a contract killer?”

  Olivia nodded before she answered. “Yes. He’s been in our spotlight a few times before. Interpol more often. From what I’ve gathered – if he was after you, you didn’t really stand a chance.”

  “What about that man who gave you and poor Tyler a scare?”

  “You know about that huh?”

  “I know everything that goes on around here,” Dr. Ogden smiled. “Tyler was pretty shaken up about it. Needed to calm his nerves a bit.”

  “Can’t blame him. He checked the guy, confirmed that he was dead, and then he woke up.”

  “What an interesting case. I’d love to meet him.”

  “He’s an arrogant bastard who’s conveniently suffering from amnesia of all things.”

  “You think everyone’s an idiot, dear. But how interesting…”

  “More like annoying.”

  Dr. Ogden sighed. “I wonder if the cold water might explain something…”

  “I don’t know. But I saw him, and he looked anything but alive. Bones twisted, pallid skin. He wasn’t breathing. It doesn’t really matter though. He’s the only witness I have… and possibly guilty of the crime. The fact that he’s alive either simplifies or complicates everything.”

  “Perhaps, but you might get a more elaborate tale from the living.”

  “Says the doctor who deals in fatalities.”

  “I do, and what this fatality tells me isn’t much.” She lifted Okanov’s left arm. “As you can see, there are defensive wounds on his arms as the hammer hit him here as well, but the abrasions on his knuckles show that he was not a passive participant in this attack.”

  “There were a few scrapes on Reed, but it didn’t look like he’d been in a fight.”

  “You sound so disappointed, dear. Unfortunately, I don’t have much good news for you,” she said as she lowered Okanov’s arm. “There are no traces of the murderer’s DNA on the body.”

  “Damnit. Nothing at all?”

  “The lab found nothing salvageable. The river must have contaminated it all. The impact of the hammer blow, however, might reveal something. Our hitman was struck with great force—”

  “So, unless the murderer is an expert at what he’s doing, we might actually find DNA on the hammer,” Olivia interrupted.

  “If you can find it of course.”

  Olivia smiled. “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  Chapter 9

  The infernal knocking on the door was so determined that it pulled me out of the body’s sleep state. I staggered into the living room where the legs seemed to wake up and work better. I glanced over at the couch where Walter lay twisting, trying to sleep despite the noise. Apparently, Old Ben’s friends thought I shouldn’t be alone for too long, so they were now functioning as babysitters, taking shifts. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the baby.

  I reached the door, unlocked it, and wrenched it open. What anger I had felt at this obtrusive awakening was eviscerated when I found myself face to face with that overly suspicious detective again. The woman was smiling as well. That could not be a good thing.

  What was even worse was that she was accompanied by a couple of uniformed policemen.

  “Good morning, Mr. Reed,” the detective said. “I hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

  “Oh no,” I answered. “I’m sure I’m always awake at this hour.” I was trying hard to focus on the situation at hand and not the unease that was shooting through the body.

  “Well… you wouldn’t really know, would you?”

  “What’s going on?” came Walter’s voice behind me. I could see the detective’s eyes seeking out the source of the interruption, and the sight of Walter getting up from the couch did not make her happy. She continued none the less.

  “It seems that your friend Okanov drowned because he was bludgeoned in the head and then pushed or fell into the river.”

  “So what?” said Walter as he came over to the door.

  “The murder weapon was a hammer,” the detective added and handed Walter a piece of paper it was clear that he didn’t like the look of. “Do you own a hammer, Mr. Reed?”

  “So we’re back to this now?” Walter muttered under his breath while reading.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Of course you don’t,” the detective said with a smirk. “Well… we need to have a look.”

  “Of course,” was all I could manage at this, simply because I didn’t know how to react. Was I supposed to be angry, hostile, helpful, friendly? Whatever I said to this woman it seemed to be wrong. Even letting them do their job seemed to irk her. The look of suspicion increased at my answer, but she nodded to the officers who went about searching the apartment. At least it was best not to get in her way I figured. I had enough on my plate excluding this angry woman.

  “Really?” Walter exclaimed after finishing reading the paper. “You think Ben here murdered a man with a hammer?” he
added in a tone that suggested I wasn’t even strong enough to lift one.

  “Or he saw who did,” the detective interjected.

  “And in any case, he killed a man – or saw it happen – and went home with the murder weapon and then back again to fall into the river?”

  “People do odd things when they’re in shock.”

  “Odd things, yeah, but this is just stupid.”

  “Yes,” the detective conceded while smiling at me.

  It took me a couple of seconds longer than Walter to register the insult delivered with my favorite word.

  “Fine,” Walter barked. “If Ben’s a murderous idiot I’m sure you’ll prove his guilt soon enough.”

  But the look on the detective’s face at that statement gave me pause. She had yet to decide on whether I was a blabbering fool or not. Before any of us could say anything else, one of the officers called out to her.

  “Ma’am, a toolbox.”

  We all turned toward him, and sure enough – there was a toolbox in his hands. He had found it under the sink. He opened it with his gloved hands and it didn’t take long before he found a hammer. The other officer took some photos before they put it in a bag. All the while, the detective was looking pleased. The policemen were also content with their find, packing up and heading for the door at once. Detective Jones went last and before closing the door behind her she turned, looking like she’d remembered something.

  “You didn’t bring your cell phone that night.”

  At this point, I realized that any comments and questions regarding my doings in this world from that particular woman were not in my best interest. Still, I didn’t understand the underlying peril in her words so I answered honestly, “No. I found it here when I came back from the hospital.”

  She nodded. “Yeah… that’s convenient,” and then she left.

  “Why is that convenient?” I asked Walter as we both stared at the closed door.