by James Hunt
“Thanks.” He sounded surprised, but grateful.
Cooper flexed her wounded hand, the scrapes over her knuckles from the fight with the wall earlier still cracked and bloodied. “How’s your wife doing?”
Hart cleared his throat. “Good. The hospital switched her to day shifts because of the pregnancy, so she’s enjoyed that. Though that hasn’t helped my sleeping pattern. She gets up to pee every thirty seconds.”
“How much longer?”
“Just a few weeks.” Hart smiled, beaming with pride over his young wife, but despite playing grown-up, the young detective looked like he was barely out of high school.
Cooper glanced down at her stomach, not realizing she’d done it until she felt Hart looking at her. She tugged at her seatbelt, pretending she was adjusting it and quickly changed the subject. “Stay with the booking officers when we get back to the precinct. Make sure we run background and alias checks on our meth lab techs.”
The rest of the trip was in silence, and when they arrived at the precinct Hart did as he was told and helped the returning SWAT team put their suspects through processing. Cooper cursed under her breath when she saw the news van stationed outside, and made it a point to avoid the front door on her way inside. But even when she made it inside, past the inquiry of the reporter, she still wasn’t free of a scathing.
“Cooper!” The usual disdain in Farne’s voice had thickened into a concoction more wicked than normal. “My office. Now!” The walls rattled when he slammed the door, and every eye in the precinct shifted to Cooper.
When she took her first step Hart fell in line beside her. “It’s all right.” She left Hart in the hallway, and braced herself for whatever shit storm the captain wanted to kick up this time.
Farnes stood next to his landline, the girth of his stomach resting on some of the desk space. His face was red, but whether that was from anger or having to stand up for a period longer than ten seconds she wasn’t sure. “Baltimore General just called. Roterro’s dead.” He tapped his foot impatiently. “It was his first raid.”
Though she remained rigid, Cooper felt a cold stream flood through her veins and her heart slowly sink into her stomach. The rookie’s blood-filled mouth and crimson-stained chest flashed in her mind. “Have we notified the family?”
Farnes slammed his fist on the table, the loud smack proceeded by rattling monitors and stationary. “It was your decision to put a team together to rush that house, and what did it get you? Do you have the killer in custody? Any new leads? No!”
The captain’s vigor wasn’t misplaced, but it was fueled by the hot anger already present in his view of her. And while Cooper felt the weight of the officer’s death, she wasn’t going to let Farnes use it against her. “It’s part of the job.”
“You really are a heartless bitch, aren’t you?” Spit flew from Farnes’s mouth. He left the crutch of his desk and steadied all his weight on his own steam, shuffling across the carpet. “The chief is being notified of Roterro’s death right now. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out another officer died because of your relentless pestering?”
“You can go fuck yourself. Captain.” Cooper swallowed the temptation to punch him and left the outburst at insubordination.
“This is all on you, Detective.” Farnes thrust his chubby finger and his accusations in her face. “The raid was based off of your evidence, your leads, despite my direct order for you to drop the case.”
“Which was before my sister was taken!” Cooper’s face and neck flushed a bright red, and the vein along her neck pulsed. “Every time we step outside it’s life or death, but I suppose that’s hard to tell since you don’t squeeze your fat ass past your desk.” Before Farnes had a chance to reply, she left and slammed the door shut on her way out, again rattling the precinct walls.
The door to Farnes’s office whooshed open, and the captain followed her into the heart of the bullpen, the officers at their desks stopping their work and turning their attention to the scene unfolding. “You won’t be able to hide behind that badge much longer, Cooper! It can’t handle the weight of two dead officers!”
The precinct went silent, and Cooper stood frozen, surrounded by the heated stares of her peers that meant to set her ablaze. Despite her reputation, the only thing she was ever guilty of was doing her job, and though she landed on the right side of the law, it was on the wrong side of the unwritten rules of police fraternity.
“For those of you who haven’t heard,” Farnes said, projecting his voice through the precinct, “Officer Roterro was killed today during a raid organized and planned by Detective Cooper.”
Cooper slowly turned, facing the unadulterated hate that was hot enough to melt the metal off her badge. The same look her fellow officers cast in her direction now were the same she’d seen on murderers she’d thrown in jail. It was a hate that dwelled in the bones, a primal vengeance only used against the unholy. And Farnes wasn’t afraid to stoke the fire.
“Officer Roterro leaves behind a wife and two-year-old son.” Farnes stepped between desks, officers rising when he passed. “Another valiant officer, cut down by a bitch who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Every officer stood now, and Cooper was surrounded by a sea of snarled lips, dead eyes, and flushed red cheeks. When she testified against her former partner she received death threats, and her office, car, and apartment were vandalized, but the aura in the precinct was different now. Empty threats were over. “I followed the best lead that I had.” Cooper’s voice was hoarse, and her body was so hot it felt like she would burst into flames. “Officer Roterro was a good officer—”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
While the voice remained hidden in the sea of faces toward the back, the words were sharp and poignant like a slap in the face. A wave of nods echoed their agreement, and a few more statements were tossed her way before Hart stepped by her side, pulling them both from the line of fire and into the safety of their office.
Hart locked the door, and Cooper pressed her back flush against the wall, her face and neck shiny with sweat. “You all right?” Hart asked.
“Hell of a first week for you.” Cooper spoke the words breathlessly and cleared her throat.
“Yeah,” Hart said, chuckling. “Nothing says sink or swim faster than getting paired with the most hated detective in Baltimore.” He twirled his wedding ring nervously. “I must have missed that portion on the detective’s exam.”
Cooper drew in a few deep breaths and regained her composure, looking at their evidence board to date. “Where are we at with the drug dealers we brought in?”
“Most are still in processing. We’re running background checks on all of them to check for aliases and known associates.” Hart peeked out the window, most of the officers still leering. “It shouldn’t take much longer.”
The whiteboard in their office had been cleared of everything save for the evidence they’d collected on their killer. Cooper reached for the picture of the bank account number associated with the house they’d raided. “So the killer uses the address of a meth lab to purchase a security system for an abandoned storage facility where he murders our first victim.”
Irene Marsh’s bloodied pictures rested on the outskirts of their evidence chain. Gaping holes and a mixture of muscle and bone crushed to a pulp had replaced her eyes, nose, and mouth. Her face had been beaten so harshly that they couldn’t even use dental records to identify the body.
A knock on the door caused both of them to jump. One of the booking officers poked his head inside. “Kate Wurstshed’s sister is here.” He ignored Cooper, choosing to address Hart.
“We’ll be out in a minute,” Hart said.
Kate Wurstshed’s picture rested on the board next to Irene’s. The crime scene photo depicted the blood splatter typical of suicides, along with the pistol she used on herself. Before she left the office Cooper turned back to the board and eyed one of the photos above Kate’s suicide that was taken of the walls in her basement, one o
f which was covered from floor to ceiling with scribbles of red crayon.
There were still a few harsh words muttered under breaths when Cooper weaved through the precinct halls to the front of the station, but for the most part everyone had returned their focus back to work. She tapped the back of the officer at the desk check-in, and he pointed to a middle-aged woman sitting by herself with her head down near the front door. “Mrs. Knoxen?”
The woman jerked her head up in surprise, and the physical features she shared with Kate Wurstshed were unmistakable. “Yes?” Her voice was weak, and she kept both hands clutched to the strap of her purse. Her nose was a bright red, which contrasted against the natural paleness of her cheeks.
“I’m Detective Cooper, and this is my partner, Detective Hart.”
“Hello.” The woman remained guarded, keeping her distance. “I was told that you had some of Kate’s things?”
“We do. Will you come back with us for a moment?” Cooper smiled, but the welcome didn’t entice the woman to step forward.
“Look, I-I don’t know how this works.” She closed her eyes, taking in a breath. “I’ve already identified the body, and—” A light sob cut her off, and she buried her face in her hands.
Cooper placed her arm around the woman’s shoulders and guided her out of the public waiting room with Hart following close behind. Cooper led her to one of the interrogation rooms and instructed Hart to fetch a box of tissues. “Just have a seat right here.” Cooper helped her to the chair then sat on the edge of the table and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know how hard this is for you.”
The woman jerked her shoulder away and looked up. Her cheeks had flushed red and were shiny with tears. “No, you don’t!” She caught her breath, nearly hyperventilating in the process before she continued. “I have reporters asking me questions, asking me if my sister killed that woman. If she helped the killer!” Her mouth quivered, and she buried her face back into her hands.
Cooper held back the impulse for a harsh response, egged on by the liquor from the night before, and paused before she spoke. “The killer that was responsible for Kate’s death… he now has my sister.”
The woman momentarily ceased her crying and looked up. She shook her head, embarrassed, stumbling over her words. “I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “Is she… still alive?”
Cooper rubbed a finger over the mangled flesh of her right hand, drawing attention to the bloody knuckles. “I don’t know.” Hart returned with tissues, breaking the awkward silence, and after the woman composed herself Cooper continued. “Did you know your sister was involved with anyone, Mrs. Knoxen?”
“We grew apart over the past few years,” Mrs. Knoxen answered, her voice still thick with phlegm. “Our family has a history of manic depression. Our father killed himself when she was nine.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I told her to get help, but I couldn’t force her into an institution unless I could prove she was a danger to herself.” More tears fell. “I should have tried harder. I should have reached out. I should have—”
“Your sister was sick,” Cooper said, reaching across the table and holding the woman’s hand. “And she was taken advantage of by someone who preyed on that sickness.”
Mrs. Knoxen nodded. “The doctor said she wouldn’t have felt anything. When she shot herself. She died instantly.” She wiped her nose. “I tried getting her help,” she repeated, muttering to herself.
“We found some letters she wrote in her house along with a picture of herself and a man she kept on her bedside table, but his face had been scratched out, and there was never a name mentioned in her writing.”
“Letters?” Mrs. Knoxen asked.
Cooper folded her hands, hiding the mangled knuckles of her right one with her left palm. “The man who killed that woman, Irene Marsh, made her write things down. I’m not sure what he makes them write down, but he seems to always have his victims use red crayon.” She paused, letting the woman process everything. “In your sister’s basement we found letters written on the walls, all of them matching the same red crayon consistent with our killer.”
“W-what did her letters say?” Mrs. Knoxen leaned forward, her voice soft.
“They were love letters. She saw a life, and a future with this man. She was obsessed.” Cooper’s mind drifted to the writing on the wall in her apartment, and her eye caught the shimmer of the cuts on her right knuckles under the florescent lighting.
Mrs. Knoxen held up her hands, both of which fisted handfuls of used tissues. “Look, I really didn’t know anything about what she was doing. I just want to grab her things and do what I need to do for the funeral. The sooner I can put this behind me, the better.”
“Of course.” Cooper and Hart left together, and the two lingered in the interrogation room’s anteroom. Left alone, Mrs. Knoxen started crying again, burying her face in the used tissues, her shoulders trembling. Cooper watched her for a moment, a feeling of guilt taking over. “It’d been almost a year since I spoke with my sister.”
Hart shook his head. “It’s not your fault Beth was taken.”
“Yeah,” Cooper replied, exhaling. “Right.”
The bulk of Kate’s personal belongings rested atop a pile of boxes in the corner of their office. They’d already combed through and tagged what they needed for evidence; what remained was little more than a wallet and a few pieces of jewelry. Cooper looked at the whiteboard that stretched across the side office wall from the front all the way to the back. She had seen more than her fair share of gruesome deaths, blood, and gore. But when she looked at those pictures, the letters, the writing, she felt her spine shake. If she didn’t act quickly, it could be Beth on that wall next.
Cooper returned Kate Wurstshed’s belongings to Mrs. Knoxen and walked her out the back to avoid the news crews. “Your sister’s house is still being searched for evidence. But if you need to retrieve anything just give me a call.” She extended her card. “I’ll escort you over.”
“Thank you, Detective.” Mrs. Knoxen clutched her sister’s belongings close to her chest. “I hope you find who did this.”
“I will.” Cooper watched Knoxen get into the back of the taxi, and she lingered outside for a moment, listening to the heartbeat of the city around her. She closed her eyes and felt it beat in time with her own. She’d worked every back alley, broken-down house, and shady street corner in the city. Baltimore was a part of her, and she of it. She clinched her fists tighter. I will find you.
When Cooper stepped back inside Hart intercepted her before she had a chance to make it back to the office, and he was smiling. “Tell me you have something good.”
Hart held up a piece of paper. “We ran the background checks on the perps from the drug bust. Most of them are low-level affiliates, no big ties, but one of them, a Julian Weathers, had a connection to someone we know, and guess who it is?”
Cooper snatched the paper out of his hands. The edges crinkled as she gripped it tighter after reading the name. “Zane Marks.”
“He shared a cell with Weathers during their time in county.”
“Pull Weathers’s cell phone calls. Let’s reach out to the Maryland probation office and have them arrange a chat for us and Mr. Marks.”
Chapter 3
Cooper tapped her foot impatiently at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to return with Marks’s parole officer. When she spied the two of them walking down the hallway she immediately understood what had taken so long. Probation Officer McKaffee was nearly as wide as the hallway itself. And when he stepped around the desk he required the use of the wall to catch his breath.
“Can I help you two?” McKaffee asked.
“I’m Detective Cooper, and this is my partner, Detective Hart. We’re the arresting officers that brought Zane Marks in after he broke parole last week.”
McKaffee offered a wheeze and a moan as he shifted from one foot to the other. “So you’re the ones Captain Farnes w
as talking about.” He offered a light chuckle, which cost him another breath. “Look, Marks was cleared of any charges related to the death of Irene Marsh. He had an alibi, he had witnesses, he wasn’t anywhere near the scene of the crime.” He furrowed his brow suspiciously. “And I was told by Captain Farnes that he’d passed the case on to another detective.”
“Officer McKaffee, while Marks may have been cleared of those charges, we have evidence that he still may be involved in some capacity.” Cooper stepped closer, and the large man pressed his body flush against the wall. “I need to speak to him. Now.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” McKaffee asked, looking offended.
“We went to his work,” Hart said. “He wasn’t there.”
“I want you to call him into your office.”
“He’s already checked in this week, so it might be hard to track him down.”
“Track him down?” Cooper asked, raising her eyebrows. “These convicts are on parole. You tell them to show up, or they go to jail.”
“That doesn’t help with the rehabilitation,” McKaffee spit back. “These guys all have a bad rap when they get out. You know how hard it is for them to acclimate back into society? You catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar, Detective.”
“And more than seventy percent of convicted rapists are repeat offenders once they’re back in society.” Cooper leaned over his desk, knocking a few empty cans of soda over in the process. “Get him the fuck here. Officer.”
McKaffee panted and wheezed but agreed to the request. Once they returned to his office he reached for the phone and dialed Marks, who answered immediately. Cooper took a seat in the corner and remained silent until Marks showed up, the look on his face shifting from inconvenienced to frightened the moment he saw Cooper.
The ex-convict’s first instinct was to run, and he stepped back, but Hart blocked the door, sealing all four of them inside the cramped office, grown warm by McKaffee’s heavy breathing. Marks put his hands in the air and looked to his probation officer. “C’mon, Rick. I thought we were done with all of this.”
