Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1)

by Adam Netherlund

  “How would you know that, though?” Mitchell asked him. “Undercovers, man, they work in a world most of us don’t understand. Stuck between law and disorder. I knew a guy once, he ended up hating both the job and himself.”

  “Yeah, but, Mitch—”

  “All I’m sayin’ is, you didn’t know Scott. We can only go by what the evidence tells us. Maybe you’re right and I’m wrong, but let’s leave emotion out of it.”

  “Fine,” Berlin said, nodding. “Doc, do me a fav and keep this part quiet for now, okay?”

  “Sure, Berlin. I’ll do my best,” Truby said. “If there’s nothing else, I’d better get back to it. These bodies aren’t going to clear themselves, you know.”

  “Of course, Doc. And thanks for the rush on this.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Truby,” Mitchell said as he patted him on the shoulder.

  “Take care, Doc.”

  They moved together past the other bodies and Berlin hesitated one last time as he strolled by the Jane Doe with the mark behind the ear. He pulled the sheet up again and looked down at her face. What was it about her that called to him? What was it that he was supposed to see?

  “You comin’ or what, boss?”

  “Huh?” Berlin said as he turned his head at Mitchell who waited for him at the end of the hall. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He let the sheet fall back over top of her face and caught up to him.

  “So what gives?” Mitchell asked him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back there. Why do you care so much about that woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “Jane Doe.”

  “Hmm. Not sure yet. I can’t really explain it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mitchell pushed open the door that led outside and a blast of the afternoon light hit them full on, which caused the two of them to bring a hand up to shield their eyes. Berlin forgot how cold and lonely it was in the autopsy room. To work in there with all those bodies, no windows, and that awful smell.

  “You hungry?” Berlin asked him, opening the car door.

  “Nah. You?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Mitchell chewed on a fingernail, while leaning on the hood of the car. “How’re things goin’ with that shrink?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You know, the uh…what’s her name? Doctor Coe? That’s it, right?”

  Berlin frowned. “How do you know about her?”

  Mitchell chuckled, spitting the cut nail down onto the sidewalk. “You kiddin’? Everyone knows, man.”

  “Christ,” Berlin said, moving inside the car. “That’s just what I need.”

  “Relax. I hear she’s somethin’.”

  “Yeah? What else ya hear?”

  “Easy, easy. I mean no offense.”

  “They sayin’ anything about Kate?”

  “Who?” Mitchell said. “Oh, was that your wife’s name? Nah, man. I don’t think they’d say anything about that. Look—”

  “Save it, Mitch,” Berlin said, turning the ignition key and pulling out of the parking spot.

  CHAPTER 11

  Berlin watched the man in the suit approach, but he couldn’t place him. Tall, chiseled chin, slicked hair with a bit of gray by the ears. He looked like the guy from that TV show, Justified, but Berlin knew that wasn’t it.

  “The Deputy Chief would like to speak with you, two,” the man said.

  “Yeah?” Berlin said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Knox, Detective. We spoke on the phone earlier this morning.”

  “Ah,” Berlin said, nodding. “What’s this about?”

  The lieutenant’s lips pursed and he repeated more forcefully, “Detectives, if you’d please.” He motioned behind him with a hand.

  “Come on, man,” Mitchell said, standing up from his desk and walking to the chief’s office. He gave Berlin’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed.

  Berlin stared at the lieutenant. There was something about his face that he just did not like. Once he decided that it wasn’t worth the fight, Berlin reluctantly got out of his chair and caught up to Mitchell.

  Mitchell asked Berlin, “You do somethin’ I don’t know about?”

  “Hardly. You?”

  “Nah. Maybe it’s about our vic.”

  “I think you’re right.” Berlin gestured at the room with a nod. “He’s got company in there.”

  Berlin noticed another figure, standing in the office with the chief. His arms were folded across his chest as he waited for them in the corner of the room. The chief’s demeanor changed once they reached the door.

  “Knock, knock. You wanted to see us, sir?” Mitchell asked.

  Chief Ecker rose in his seat and indicated for them to sit down at the two empty chairs. “Detectives.”

  They sat quickly. Berlin acted indifferent. He slouched in his seat and stretched his legs out in front of him. If he didn’t know any better, he could swear that Mitchell was scrutinizing his every move.

  Chief Ecker leaned over the desk, on his elbows, clasping his hands together. He ran his index fingers up and down his nose, deep in thought. The other man stood silently in the background. He might as well have been a lampshade. He had the personality for it. Finally Ecker said, “How is the Scott case progressing? I haven’t heard a peep from you two all day.”

  Mitchell spoke first, saying, “Our apologies, sir, we just returned from the Coroner’s office.”

  Ecker’s eyes grew a bit wider. “Oh? What did they have to say about the body?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. He died from his wounds. No trace evidence. They put time of death in the early morning hours or the night before.”

  Ecker nodded and sat back in his chair. “Not a lot to go on by the sounds of it.” He turned his head and looked at their mysterious guest. “Well, you’re going to have to get out there, start knockin’ on doors, anything to get this case moving. You can handle this, right, Berlin? Don’t forget that I pulled you in special for this. I’d hate to see—”

  Berlin sat up, cleared his throat, and said, “Sir, we can handle it. I can handle it.”

  “I’m not convinced,” Ecker said abruptly. “Show me something, Berlin, or you’re out. I have no problem, sending you back wherever the hell you came from.”

  Berlin opened his mouth, ready to speak up again, but he was silenced with a finger from Ecker.

  “You think that I like being here on my day off? It’s Sunday, fer cryin’ out loud. I’m tired of workin’ six days a week just so my detectives can piss away cases.” His face had darkened, the frontal vein on his forehead bulging. Then, suddenly, he stopped and took a breath. It was almost as if he was aware that the vein was there. “I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done. And try to teach your new partner here somethin’ while you’re at it.”

  “Sir. I…I got some files,” Berlin said, flabbergasted by what was happening. Just who the hell was this mystery man in the corner? Was he responsible for the tone from Ecker? “Scott had a home office. It may turn out to be nothing, but it’s at least something. We can start there.”

  Ecker shared a glance with the other man, before coming back to the detectives, and said, “Okay. You have three days, Berlin, before I shut you down.”

  What? Three days?

  Berlin’s heart skipped a beat. “Sir? I need—”

  “I know what you need, Berlin, but I can’t do it. Not on this one. You’re lucky that we’ve been able to keep this quiet so far. So make something happen and make it happen quick. Understand?”

  “I got it,” Berlin said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s all I got. You’re dismissed.”

  “Sir.” Mitchell nodded and got up from his chair.

  Berlin reluctantly rose as well a few moments later, examining the man in the corner on his way out.

  ***

  Berlin watched Ecker’s closed door from afar. The shadow moved around the room, circling Ecker’s desk like a vulture.

  “Do
you know the shadow?” Berlin asked.

  “Huh?” Mitchell said, sitting down at his desk. He glanced at the office door and shook his head. “Nah, never seen him before. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, well…lookee here, Anvil. What’s this guy’s name again? Brazil?”

  Berlin turned around and saw the big detective, standing behind him. Detective Hamilton chuckled, his large belly gyrating up and down in uncomfortable looking swinging motions. They called him the Hammer. It wasn’t hard to see why. “Heard you caught a big break,” Hamilton said.

  Detective Merritt, aka Anvil, joined him. He cast a shadow far and wide, enough to engulf Mitchell in darkness. “Somethin’ weird like that, anyway,” he said in between heavy deep breaths.

  “Get lost, you two. Mind your own damn business,” Berlin told them.

  “The mouth on this one,” Merritt said, chuckling to himself. Suddenly he produced a speckled donut from nowhere and stuffed it into the huge crater of a mouth.

  “You know, you keep eatin’ that garbage, Merritt, you’re gonna find yourself either dead from a heart-attack at 46 or, even worse, a carbon copy of your partner there. Not sure which is worse.”

  “You son of a—” Merritt said, lunging for Berlin.

  Berlin could smell the sweet taste of sugar on his breath. It nearly made him gag.

  Hamilton grabbed his partner, pulling on his shirt from behind. “All right, Anvil, easy. Forget ’em, he ain’t worth it.” Berlin kept his eyes on him while Hamilton surveyed the rest of the Squad Room to make sure that no one had noticed the tussle.

  Mitchell put both of his feet up on his desk and smiled as the two behemoths walked away. Proud of what he had just witnessed.

  “Great guys,” Berlin said.

  “You just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” Mitchell said.

  Berlin laughed. “That? That was nothing. I shoulda asked them about those four dead vics.”

  Mitchell smiled. “Yeah. Although, hard to say what’s worse. Four dead vics or one dead cop. Ecker doesn’t seem pleased.”

  Berlin sighed. “Maybe he’s right. This city’s gone to hell and back. It doesn’t look good on the department. The shit always rolls down hill. When he starts to feel the pinch, we’ll feel it too. Can’t say I blame him. I just wish that we had more time.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “Next? Not sure. I might try to get out of here early.”

  “You told Ecker that you’d look at those files.”

  “Yeah, I will. Maybe later tonight. I need to think.”

  “We still on for dinner?”

  “Sure.” Berlin scratched his chin. He had forgotten about the dinner. First Ecker and now this. He couldn’t even remember the last time he went out. It would have been with Kate. Before everything turned to shit.

  Mitchell stood, grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair and put it on. “Look, I know you don’t wanna come. But can you please just come by, get it over with? It’ll get the Missus off my back.” Mitchell leaned on his desk, facing Berlin on the opposite side.

  “I’ll be there,” Berlin said.

  CHAPTER 12

  Berlin pulled into the driveway of his home at 4 Greenmeadow Court and remained seated. Rubbing the back of his neck, he arced his head back onto the headrest. He thought again about what Ecker told them in his office.

  Three days. It wasn’t enough time.

  He got out of the car and moved alongside the wooden fence that ran next to his driveway. His home was a single story, brown-red brick building with white trim. It featured a single car garage and a large bay window on the left side. To the average passerby it probably looked like a perfect family home, but, underneath the brick and wooden frame, it was anything but perfect. The garden in the front yard showed the first sign of trouble. A sign of its decay.

  He peered over into his neighbor’s lot. Quiet and tranquil with its lush, healthy green lawn. Not a weed or dandelion in sight. It made him sick. As he approached the front door, his chest tightened. He felt ashamed for the neglect that he’d shown his own yard.

  Once there had been a time when Kate would spend hours out here, tending to the lawn, removing the pesky weeds, planting a wide range of colors in the garden. Berlin would wake from a nap and find her, working ever so diligently out here in the sun, with her paper straw hat that was much too big for her head. She would catch him as he spied on her from the window and she would smile, but continue her digging. She was planting new seeds of life. New opportunities for something more.

  Now, when he looked at the garden, his heart ached and the world around him became darker. Void of any color.

  Void of life.

  Berlin pulled open the white storm door to head inside and his face went stark white.

  The door was already ajar.

  Someone was here, inside his house.

  He reached for his sidearm, slowly pushing the front door open with his foot. He raised the weapon in front of him, his free hand cupping his grip underneath. Taking a step inside, he locked his elbows and held his breath. Listening.

  The house was quiet.

  Had they left?

  He advanced slowly into the front foyer then into the main living room. He found nothing. His eyes circled to his left into the dining room. Again, nothing.

  His heart beat rapidly inside his chest. The thumping startled him and he thought it would expose his presence. Beads of sweat emanated under his hair.

  Where they still here?

  He entered the hallway, but it was dark. Too hard to make anything out. Should have left the bedroom doors open, he thought. The guest room would be first on his right, the kitchen on his left, and the remaining two bedrooms at the back of the house. Although one of them he used more as an office or storage room now.

  His left hand gripped the door handle of the first bedroom, the gun still firmly held in his right. He slid up next to the wall, hugging the area just outside the door.

  “You can put that away, Detective,” sounded a voice nearby.

  Berlin hesitated. His eyes darted around, searching for its source. First, down the hall, deep into the darkness and then to his left at the kitchen.

  “Where are you?” Berlin asked.

  “I’m coming out,” the voice said. “Don’t shoot.”

  Berlin waited. A chair slid first, it sounded like wood on wood.

  The dining room? Had he missed them? No, they must have been in the kitchen and then gone through to the opposite side.

  Footsteps now, on tile, the heel pressing firmly, clicking and clacking. Dress shoes.

  “I come in peace,” the man said, coming from behind Berlin.

  Berlin turned and once he realized who it was, he lowered his weapon and holstered it.

  The shadow.

  Berlin narrowed his eyes. “First you break into my place and now you’re eating my food, too?”

  The shadow smiled and shrugged, swallowing a bite of whatever it was that he was eating. “I was hungry. You caught me off guard. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “Ducked out early,” Berlin said, still watching him. “You were in the meeting, with Ecker.”

  “I was.”

  “Who are you?”

  He was nearly the same height as Berlin, a little over six feet. Clean shaven with brown hair that had been styled with gel. He wore the same dark suit that he had worn earlier in the day. His eyes sat deep in his face, spotlighted by bags under the eyes. He looked tired and overworked.

  The man went to reach into his inside coat pocket.

  “Do it slow like,” Berlin told him as he tapped at his holster in plain sight.

  The man frowned. “You’re a careful one, aren’t you?”

  “My house. I can do what I want.”

  The man stuck out his arm. In his hand was a black leather badge holder. Emblazoned in the center were the giant letters U and S. “I’m Special Agent William Widmark, DEA Special Operations Division
. SOD for short.”

  “Never heard of it. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “It’s my house.”

  “And a lovely one it is,” Widmark said, glancing back at the dining room. “Also, you have my condolences, Detective. Chief Ecker was kind enough to share the details with me, regarding your sordid past.”

  Berlin clenched his hand, two knuckles cracking under the strain. “I’d hardly call it sordid.”

  Widmark stayed quiet.

  “I’ll ask again, Agent. What are you doing in my house?”

  Widmark sighed, like the whole thing was an inconvenience to him. “All right, I’ll play. The Gardens is starting to make a name for itself in Washington, Detective. They asked me to come down and have a look-see.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It’s a nice city. Wine country, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I'm not a wine drinker.”

  “Ah. A liquor man, perhaps? I should have known. I saw all the empties. Your place could use a woman’s touch. But I suppose, given the circumstances, I understand.”

  Now the guy was really starting to grate on his nerves. “You have ten more seconds before I throw your ass outside, Agent.”

  “We’ve taken a particular interest in a Russian. A man named Ivan Sokolov. Do you know him?”

  “The Falcon.”

  “That’s right. The Falcon,” Widmark said, bobbing his head. “They always have such quirky names. I’ll never understand that. Anyway, we find it a little alarming that the Gardens Police Department has seen fit to let this mobster essentially run around scot-free in your city.”

  “I’ve had no hand in that. He was already here when I came over to Gardens PD.”

  “Ah, but you do, Detective.”

  “Get to the point. What’s this got to do with me?”

  Widmark smiled a wide devilish grin. “I want the files, Detective.”

  “What files?” Berlin said, and then left him, standing in the hallway, as he headed into the kitchen. Widmark followed behind him.