Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Monday
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Tuesday
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
About the Author
Copyright Page
Eyes of the Dead
A Gardens Novel
Adam Netherlund
Detective Joseph Berlin’s life is a mess. He drinks too much, he dreams of his dead wife, and he’s been off the job for the last three months. After receiving a transfer to the Gardens Police Department, they waste no time in assigning his first case: the murder of one of their own, Undercover officer Tim Scott.
There's just one problem. No one in the department is talking. Not even Tim Scott's so-called "buddies" in the department are willing to help out. When Berlin and his new partner are nearly run off the road, and a number of strange occurrences start developing, he knows he's getting closer to the truth.
But how far can one man go before he breaks? Before he loses control and begins to lose sight of what he was meant to do?
Someone is desperately trying to keep their secret buried and Berlin is a man with nothing to lose.
The clock is ticking and time is running out...
In a city fueled by greed, corruption and deceit, Berlin will come face to face with his greatest fear in this exhilarating first book in the police procedural series, The Gardens.
CHAPTER 1
“We know you’re there, Joseph. Please, just pick up.”
Berlin listened to the voicemail message, standing in his kitchen wearing only a pair of boxers and a white tank top. He slouched over on the counter as he cleared away an area filled with glasses covered in a smoky film.
It took him a few seconds before he could place the voice. As soon as he did, a wave of emotions flowed over him.
Anger.
Frustration.
Guilt.
They stacked on top of one another like overdue bills.
He took a pull on the bottle of Jim Beam next to him. He leaned forward and stretched his back, angling away from the counter, his head falling in between his arms.
They need to let it be. Can’t they understand that?
“Why won’t you talk to us?” the female voice asked.
Berlin slogged over to the machine. Enough was enough.
“We know what you’re going through but—We miss you, darling.”
Miss me? Honey, no one would miss me.
He held his index finger steady above the machine. It hovered, dangling just over the delete button.
“Please, take care of yourself, Joseph. Goodbye—”
He pressed the button, silencing her voice once and for all.
***
The phone rang at exactly 5:51 in the morning. Berlin pushed himself off the bed and reached for his cell phone.
“Ye—ah?” his voice croaked.
“Detective Berlin?”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
A man cleared his throat on the other end. “This is Lieutenant Ryan Knox. Gardens PD. Is this Berlin?” He sounded formal and precise. But the name meant nothing to him. What bloody time was it?
He rubbed at his eye. “This is Berlin. What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Hold the line please for Deputy Chief Ecker.”
“What is—”
The caller clicked off. Berlin sat up in bed then checked his bedside clock. It read nearly six in the morning, the red numerals burning into his retinas.
What was this about?
Finally, Ecker picked up on the other end.
“Detective Berlin?” Chief Ecker said.
“Yeah.”
“Detective, I need you for a special assignment.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As soon as possible, Detective. Are you able to work?”
Berlin drifted away from the call and went somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere far away from the here and now. He came back just as quickly as he went and recognized the importance of the deputy chief's personal call to him.
“Of course, sir,” Berlin said. He got up out of bed, holding his cell phone to one ear. “I can work.”
“Get going, Detective. We’ll have some coffee down at the scene. You sound like you might need it.”
“Scene?”
“You’ll find out more once you’re there. I don’t want to delay things any further. It’s on the Canal Parkway—in the direction of Queenston.”
“The canal?”
“Do you know it?”
“Yes,” he said. Of course he knew it. What a silly thing to ask, but he didn’t bother to speak up. “What about Lieutenant Armstrong, sir? Shouldn’t we—”
“We’re wasting time, Detective. Get to the scene.”
“Of cour—” But it was too late, Ecker had already hung up.
Berlin still held the phone, his mind racing with questions. Why did he call him? What about the other detectives? Ultimately, one question stood out from the rest, was he ready?
He tossed the phone down onto the bed and bent over to pick up a pair of slacks from the floor. He gave them a cursory sniff.
Clean? Ah, the hell with it.
After putting on a white dress shirt, he picked his cell phone back up from the bed and hit the speed dial button for Paul Mitchell, his newly assigned partner.
“Mitch, it’s Berlin,” he said. “We’ve got work.”
***
Berlin pulled into the gravel lot next to the Italian restaurant named Monchelli’s and put his department issued dark blue Ford Crown Vic into park. The restaurant sat atop a hillside, overlooking the canal just off Queenston Street.
He turned off the ignition and sat in the car, unable to move. What was holding him back? Fear?
This is what you wanted, isn’t it?
Finally, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He hit the redial button.
It rang a few times before it was picked up.
“This is Mitchell. Go,” the voice barked.
“Mitch, it’s Berlin. You here?”
“You know it, brother. Where you at?”
Berlin turned his head and looked back at the restaurant. “Just by the restaurant.”
&n
bsp; “Okay, give me a minute. I’ll come to you,” Mitchell said. “It’s a bit of a trek and I don’t want you stumbling around in the dark down here. Bust an ankle or some nonsense.”
“You got it,” Berlin said, ending the call.
It was still in the early hours of the morning. The morning air felt crisp, with a hint of the winter’s cold still evident, even though it was only May. Global warming at its finest, he joked to himself.
It had taken Berlin twenty minutes to clean himself up to become presentable, or at least for what passed as presentable for him these days. He really needed to get his act together. Berlin got out of the car and leaned with his back against the door, staring at the Italian eatery. From the back it appeared to be quite large for a restaurant. More like a factory.
He swiveled his head and looked out at the canal then back to the restaurant and made a mental note to talk with the owners. The restaurant sat right on the canal. He presumed the dinner guests had a pleasant view while they ate. Too bad the view was going to be spoiled by a crime scene.
Berlin hadn’t lived in the city of the Gardens long, but he knew the canals well enough. Ships and vessels made their way through the canal on a daily basis, much to the dismay of the city folk. Shipping season was only closed from January to March for the winter so that left plenty of time for people to get worked up about the bridges being up. The summer months were the most excruciating while you sat, waiting in a line-up of cars in the dry heat.
Berlin was staring at the ugly pink brick restaurant when he heard footsteps approach on the gravel behind him.
“Glad you could make it, partner.”
It was Paul Mitchell.
“I got here as fast as I could,” Berlin said.
The dark-skinned man frowned at the comment and then smiled, his stark white teeth shining bright. “I’m only messin’ wit you, Berlin. I just got here myself. Actually, I just finished gettin’ down there when ya called. Now you gone and made me drag my ass all the way back up here,” Mitchell laughed.
Berlin found Mitchell hard to read since he only knew him a short couple of weeks. They had been paired together shortly after Berlin’s transfer into the Gardens Police Department. Mitchell came from Vice. As far as he knew, Mitchell hadn’t worked Homicide. It was too early to tell how he'd make out.
Berlin took notice of Mitchell’s appearance and compared it to his own while they stood in front of one another.
Mitchell looked fresh. Clean. His short-cropped dark hair was perfectly formed, not a hair out of place. His shaved chin glistened from the lone streetlight that stood outside in the lot. He wore earrings in both ears: silver circles with onyx-colored insides that matched his dark eyes. His dress shirt was purple, with white lines flowing down his chest. He had unbuttoned the top three, exposing a crisp white undershirt. It screamed style and flair.
It only made Berlin feel worse. In his time off he had let his sandy-blond hair grow out. He pushed it back and to the left subconsciously. Rubbing his face, he felt that his mustache and beard had also grown quite long. He thought that it must have looked like wild wires, sticking off his face.
Still wearing the day old pants that he had found on his floor, he spotted a faint yellow stain on his cuff while he scratched nervously at his wrist. He suddenly felt itchy all over.
Get it together.
“You look like crap, man. You get any sleep?”
Berlin ignored the comment and asked, “So where we headed?”
Mitchell pointed to somewhere in the dark. “The trail. I’ll show you.”
“That place been there long?”
Mitchell raised a brow. “What place?”
Berlin pointed a thumb back at the restaurant.
“Oh. Monchelli’s? Yeah, man. Why?”
“Looks like they’ve been renovating.”
“Yeah. My Pops used to take me there all the time as a kid. It’s been a while since I’ve been back, though. I had forgotten all about them. They’ve been there, oh, I dunno, over thirty-five years I’d say. Before my time, anyway.”
Berlin nodded.
“You a funny man, Berlin,” Mitchell said.
“How’s that?”
Mitchell stopped abruptly.
Berlin then stopped as well, confused.
“Why do you care about some Italian joint?”
Berlin smiled. The muscle movement felt odd and foreign to him. “I’ve been on the hunt for a good Italian place is all.”
Mitchell just shook his head.
***
While they walked, Mitchell gave very little details regarding the scene. This suited Berlin just fine, as he preferred to go into a scene cold. It was bad enough that he was out of touch and out of his element here in the big city. He’d have to focus to get his rhythm back.
Once they cleared the parking lot, they headed down a steep descent that followed the sidewalk. Berlin held onto the metal railing on his right. They went deeper down the hillside and Berlin found it treacherous to navigate in the dark. He now understood Mitchell’s comment about a busted ankle.
Tall evergreens stood on either side amidst the brush, tall grass, and pieces of litter scattered across the open areas. It felt neglected. He reasoned that it wouldn’t be long before the city crew would be out, doing clean up, though. They seemed to start later every year.
Mitchell pulled out his Maglite and lit the rest of the way. “Just a little farther,” he said.
They reached the bottom and Berlin felt his feet go back to horizontal. His knees ached already from the harsh descent. Two yellow rusty posts then greeted them as they passed in between them and made their way onto the trail.
Mitchell proceeded to give him a history lesson, despite the fact that Berlin did not really care in the slightest. He told him that the Canals Parkway Trail was a long stretch of asphalt that ran from the Gardens all the way out to Gravelly Bay. It spanned twenty-six miles from beginning to end. Runners, dog walkers, and nature enthusiasts use the trail each and every day, he said.
Berlin wondered if the local kids came down here to smoke up. It looked like the ideal spot. Tucked away from the harsh realities of life.
No lights.
Away from the road.
No wonder they were headed to a crime scene.
Berlin saw lights up ahead.
Mitchell clicked off his flashlight as they approached a couple of officers that stood off to the side of the trail. One short, one tall. They looked like a pair of kids playing dress-up because of their young faces.
“Sign in here, please,” one of them said to Berlin.
Berlin did so.
“This way,” Mitchell told him.
Berlin followed behind him. He felt like a mouse stuck in a maze. His feet shuffled through the grass, occasionally kicking rocks and stepping in squishy material.
“What do I keep steppin’ in?” Berlin asked.
“Huh? Oh, probably goose poop.”
“Great.”
“All right, here we go.”
They came to the edge of the shoreline and Berlin looked out across the water. It was black and ominous, with no current whatsoever.
Here we go what?
“I don’t see anything,” Berlin said.
“Our boy is across the way. Middle of the canal on those rocks there.”
Berlin followed Mitchell’s eyes, but it was pointless. It was simply too dark.
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I don’t see any rocks.”
“He’s there. Don’t worry.”
A low rumble sounded above Berlin. As he looked up he realized how close they were to the Garden City Skyway. Everyone knew the Skyway. You couldn’t miss it. It helped motorists to bypass the canal as it ran directly over top of it.
The rumble sounded again and Berlin looked up.
“It’s the cars, man. Just people gettin’ to work is all,” Mitchell said, noticing Berlin gazing up at the bridge.
Berlin nodded and foll
owed the bridge all the way down to the water below. “How high do you think that is?”
“The bridge? About 130-140 feet at its highest point.”
Well, at least Mitchell was resourceful. He really knew the area.
“We’re going to need lights over there, Mitch. Sun won’t be up for a little bit.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. Probably gonna need a boat, too. Tell you what, you start a perimeter on the shore here and I’ll call for some transpo.”
“Sounds good.”
Mitchell left and headed back up the trail to the two officers that were standing watch. Berlin stood alone on the shore, looking into the darkness, and wondered what awaited him on the other side.
***
It was a quick boat ride to the other side. Berlin guessed that the crime scene lay twenty-five to thirty feet out into the water. Where the bridge met water, steel beams that ran high into the sky supported its structure. The beams connected with a large concrete base at the bottom. Next to that, two other smaller concrete structures lay on either side. These were filled with large stones and rock the color of wheat and clay. They glistened in the morning light and gave the only indication that something tangible lurked out in the water. The stones that were nestled inside were guarded by a ridged perimeter of concrete.
Berlin felt the briskness of the wind now that they were out in the open on the water. He imagined that the wind was like an unwavering hand that was trying desperately to push them in.
With new lighting apparatuses set up all around them, they stood awash in a warm yellow glow. It would certainly make things easier with the extra help. Their crime scene appeared to be almost twelve feet below them.
Mitchell leaned over the edge and peered down at the victim. “So, what are ya thinkin’? We were right, weren’t we? Boat or somethin’.”
Berlin sidled up next to him. “Yeah. Curious, isn’t it?” He glanced back at the shore.
“Didn’t fall from here—too far,” Mitchell said.
“Could be a body dump.”
Berlin continued to look down at the body sprawled out on the rocks. His eyes were open, staring into the heavens. What do you see, he wondered. He was reminded of what his training officer told him years ago. ‘Homicide Detectives see life in a way that most people never will, Berlin. They witness it through the eyes of the dead. Someone needs to speak for them and that person is you.’
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 1
