Death Notes Omnibus

by James Hunt

  Once the horde was pushed back Hart climbed inside the passenger seat. Cooper floored the accelerator and watched the crowd grow smaller in the rearview mirror. “We need to speak with the woman we pulled out of that grave.”

  “She’s over at Baltimore General,” Hart said, clicking on his seatbelt. “She’s still in surgery. One of the paramedics found a stab wound on her side and a bag full of blood in her pocket.” Hart shook his head. “The bastard hooked up an IV to slowly drain her body.”

  “She might be able to identify the killer. Aside from Kate Wurstshed she’s the only one that’s ever seen his face and lived to tell the tale.”

  Hart raised his eyebrow. “What if it’s just another situation like Kate’s? What if this guy and girl are working with him? You said it yourself—our killer doesn’t leave anyone alive. Why would he start now?”

  “Hope.” Cooper looked over to him, her voice calmer than she expected, her body still as she turned onto the highway toward the hospital. “The killer wants to dangle the hope that I can still get my sister out alive.” If the killer had meant to plant seeds of doubt in her mind, then the ruse worked. She was dealing with a mind that she’d never come across before, someone who had ascended beyond the mastery of his craft.

  The hospital parking lot was full, and the ER was busy. Hart spoke to the nurse at the reception desk, but one of the patients in the waiting room caught Cooper’s eyes. A mother slowly rocked her daughter back and forth in her arms. The young girl had a sling on her left shoulder, and her face was beet red from crying.

  “Hey, they said she just got out of surgery and is on the third floor,” Hart said, walking toward the elevator.

  “Okay.” Cooper followed, but as the elevator doors closed her gaze fell back to the mother and daughter, both their faces reminding her of Beth and Mary.

  After speaking to another nurse on the recovery room floor, they were escorted to the woman’s room, where the doctor was taking a look at her chart. Her eyes were closed, and the heart monitor beeped steadily on the machine to her right. The doctor noticed their presence and nodded. “Detectives. I’m afraid she’s still sedated, but she should be awake in a few hours.”

  “What can you tell us about the injury?” Cooper asked, keeping her eyes on the young woman. She walked over to her bedside and examined her hands, checking the woman’s nails for any signs of skin underneath the cuticle.

  “It was oddly precise.” The doctor pointed to the laceration near the ribs. “The needle was connected to the liver, draining the organ’s blood and rendering it impotent. Another half hour of that, and the damage would have been irreparable.”

  “You’re saying that little wound would have killed her?” Hart asked.

  “Not immediately, no. But the human body cannot function without the liver. And if the organ failed, and she needed a transplant, she would have only lasted a few more days before the rest of her body shut down.” He marked a few notes on his clipboard and shook his head. “It would have been incredibly painful.”

  Cooper lowered the hand, finding nothing under the woman’s nails. “What can you tell us about her physical condition? Any ailments, any other signs of abuse or force you could see on the body?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Nothing that stood out to me. Other than the blood loss and unconsciousness, there weren’t any other visible symptoms.”

  Cooper clenched her fists and turned away from the cot, toward the window. She ground her teeth and drew in a breath. She knows something, or has something that I need. “What about her personal belongings?” Cooper turned around, her voice cutting like the edge of a blade.

  “You can check with the nurse at the station. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more patients to check up on. If you have any questions, just let one of my staff members know.” The doctor smiled, returned the woman’s chart to the end of her bed, and left.

  Cooper retrieved the items in a cardboard box and combed through them while Hart was on the phone with Hemsworth and the chief, no doubt discussing her comments to the press. In the end her search efforts only yielded the woman’s wallet and keys. No note.

  “So the press is having a field day with your interview.” Hart snapped the phone shut and collapsed into an empty chair next to the box of the woman’s personal items.

  “Good. Maybe it’ll light a fire under everyone’s ass.” Cooper ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the oil and grime that had accumulated from two days without shower or sleep. “Look, I’m going to head home for a bit.” She motioned back over to the woman’s room. “You stay here and let me know when she wakes up.”

  “Sure,” Hart said. “I can do that.”

  “Thanks.” Cooper squeezed his arm on her way to the elevator, and her eyes closed along with the doors.

  The drive back to her apartment felt long. When she parked on the street she half expected to see a field of reporters outside, but the coast looked clear. She had her key in the door when she heard footsteps. Cooper reached for her pistol, spinning around to a shocked woman thrusting her hands into the air. “Whoa. I knew you didn’t like the press, but I’d say this is a step too far.”

  Janet Kimmings. Cooper uncurled her fingers from the pistol’s grip. “I’ve already made my comment.”

  Ignoring the statement, Janet hurried up the steps and leaned against the wall before Cooper could open the door. “How about an off-the-record comment, then?” She smiled, tucking away the recorder and making a point to show Cooper that she turned it off. “How close are you to really catching this guy?”

  “Closer than we were yesterday.”

  “Look, I think we have an opportunity to help each other here.” She smiled and reached into her pocket. “That sound bite you gave earlier can either be the death of your career or the start of something bigger. And I can help spin it in your favor.”

  Cooper crossed her arms. “If you think I’m going to leak you information on the case, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

  “Always about the laws with you people.” Janet pulled a small thumb drive from her jacket. “I could tell you what this is, but I’ve always held the mantra that seeing is believing.” She dangled it in front of Cooper’s face like a cat toy. “And I promise you it’s something you want to see.”

  Without taking the thumb drive, Cooper looked her dead in the eye. “What do you want if it’s not information about the case?”

  Janet curled her fingers around the drive then slipped it back into her pocket. “Once you find this guy, I want the exclusive with him, and you, and anyone that’s on the witness list.”

  “I can’t guarantee that,” Cooper said. “The victims choose who they speak with. Not me.”

  The reporter laughed, shaking her head. “God, you really are incorruptible. You know I followed your story pretty closely a few years ago. When you testified against your partner?” She crossed her arms. “That took some balls. I bet the heat in the locker room was pretty hot after that.”

  “If you followed the story then you know how it ended.”

  “Yeah,” Kimmings said, scoffing. “Farnes’s big brother, the governor of Maryland, made sure the captain and the rest of his higher-ups walked away scot-free. But that’s what happens when you stack the deck in your favor. If the DA hadn’t caved, you would have put them all behind bars.” She gave Cooper a look up and down, and her eyes rested on Cooper’s still-healing hand with the busted knuckles. “I’ll tell you this, though—I’d hate to be the bad guy that steps in your way.” She tossed the thumb drive in the air, and Cooper caught it as Kimmings walked away.

  Cooper shook her head, holding the drive up as the reporter made her way down the sidewalk. “I told you I’m not—”

  “You’re a good cop, Detective.” Kimmings smiled and walked backward. “I don’t see enough of you guys in my line of work. Consider that back wages for past deeds.” And with that she disappeared down a side street.

  Cooper examined the small d
evice, twirling it over in her hands before tucking it into her pocket. She trudged up the steps, pushed through the police tape around her door, and undressed on the way to the shower. The showerhead spit cold water, and the pipes whined from the effort, but after a few minutes it warmed, and she let the grime slide from her body and down the drain.

  Once the past few days had been scrubbed off, she lingered under the water, her eyes closed as she lifted her face to the rushing liquid, savoring the moments of relaxation that had been few and far between as of late. But the feeling was short-lived as guilt flooded her mind at the reprieve. She turned off the water, dried, and dressed.

  Most of the furniture and items in her room had been returned to their normal positions, but everything in the living room and the kitchen was either tagged or taken. Cooper poured herself a glass of whiskey, leaving the bottle on the counter this time, and made her way to the couch, her eyes shifting to the writing on the wall, but only for a moment.

  Thumps from the upstairs tenants, followed by shouts and screams, broke the quiet of the apartment, and Cooper slid lazily onto her back on the couch, watching the dust fall from the ceiling with each angered stomp. She closed her eyes, the weight of the day sinking her deeper into the cushions.

  Cooper opened her eyes, and saw her pants on the floor. She pushed herself off the couch and retrieved the thumb drive inside the pocket. She sipped the whiskey and twirled the device in her hands. She walked to her laptop on the kitchen table, but stopped at the sound of her ringtone in the living room. She set the thumb drive on the table and when she reached for her phone she saw that the number was blocked.

  Ignoring the first instinct to chuck the device against the wall, Cooper chose to just let it go to voicemail. But just as quickly as the ringing stopped, it started again. She flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?” Silence lingered on the other end, and Cooper repeated herself, the irritation in her voice rising. “Who is this?”

  “Have you liked my stories?”

  Goose pimples spread over Cooper’s flesh, and a chill ran up her spine. The voice was soft but well spoken, with a casual tone that understated a strength that he kept in check. She took control of the adrenaline-induced trembling of her body and made sure it didn’t transfer to her voice. “They’re really not my genre.”

  “Then perhaps you’d like something with a little more gore?”

  Cooper walked to the windows, peeling back the corner of the blinds, and looked down to the sidewalk and street but saw nothing but trees and parked cars. She paced around the living room, the adrenaline solidifying to rage. “Let my sister go, and you could make a deal with the DA. If you cooperate—”

  Laughter echoed back at her. “You really think they’re going to cut me a deal after the things I’ve done? No, no, no, Detective. There will be no deals. For either of us.”

  “The FBI is tracking you,” Cooper said, the desperation in her voice rising. “It’s only a matter of time before—”

  “The FBI is no closer to finding me than Jimmy Hoffa. And neither are you.”

  Cooper waited for him to speak more, afraid to ask the only question that mattered. She swallowed. “Is she still alive?” The weakness in her voice surprised her, and the long pause that followed dissolved what remained of her strength.

  “For now.”

  Cooper collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes. After a while she thought the killer had hung up, but when she listened closely she heard the faint pant of breathing. She looked to the wall, the red crayon that he’d scribbled the day Beth was taken staring back at her. “Why me?”

  “Haven’t you grown tired, Detective?” the killer asked. “It’s the same wheel you run every day. And no matter how fast you go, you stay exactly where you are, never moving, never gaining any ground. It’s just motion. Aimless, purposeless motion.”

  “And killing helps you fill that purpose?”

  “In a way. But it doesn’t satisfy me the way it used to. I’ve become numb to it, I suppose. After all, I’ve spilled more than my fair share of blood in this city.” Cooper clenched her fist tighter with every word, and she heard the smile on his face as he continued. “That makes you so angry, doesn’t it, Detective? Perhaps even more so than the abduction of your sister. You hate how I’ve been able to walk freely down the streets after the heinous crimes I’ve committed. It drives you mad that no one has been able to catch me. And it sickens you that I’ve been sitting right under your nose, in your city, in your neighborhood. How many unsolved case files have you looked at since you realized what you were dealing with, wondering if it was me? Quite a few, I’m sure. Well, the good news is, most of them probably aren’t mine. In the early days I used to practice on the homeless. They were never missed, and it allowed me to better understand the human psyche.”

  “Why the notes? Some sick fetish of yours?” Cooper looked to the large red letters mocking her in her own home.

  “Do you know the story of Heracles and his twelve labors, Detective?”

  The killer’s voice sounded as though he were a professor at a university, addressing a student. “It’s Greek mythology.”

  “Very good, Adila. When Heracles was born to a mortal woman and fathered by Zeus, Hera, Zeus’s wife, grew wild with jealousy and on multiple occasions tried to kill the infant. But after failed attempts she waited until Heracles was a young adult and married with children of his own. Hera bewitched Heracles and drove him mad enough to kill his own wife and children. When he awoke from his madness Heracles was distraught with grief and prayed to the sun god Apollo for penance. Apollo, knowing it was Hera’s madness behind Heracles’s crimes, instructed him to perform twelve impossible labors that once completed would earn his forgiveness and immortality. And do you know how the story ends, Detective?”

  A pause lingered, and Cooper’s grip tightened on the phone. “How?”

  “Hercales completed all twelve of his grueling labors and secured his place in history as one of the greatest warriors to have ever walked this earth. Upon his death he was carried by Athena in her chariot to Olympus, where he lived in eternity with the gods.”

  “There will be no Olympus for you, no chariots, no immortality.” Cooper spit the words through the phone’s microphone, every last syllable dripping with rage. “You’ll wither in a cell for the rest of your life. People will loathe you. Condemn you. No one will care who you are. I’ll bury you before that happens.”

  The killer paused. “I have heard of your labors, Adila.” His words were slow, softer than before, as quiet as a whisper. “Beth has told me so much. The struggles of your mother as a single parent. Growing up without a father. Putting yourself through college… the miscarriage.”

  “Let her go!” Cooper’s voice thundered throughout the apartment, and she noticed the screaming from her upstairs neighbors had stopped. “I swear to God I’m going to find you. I’m going to find you and gut you like the—”

  “Addy?”

  Cooper’s knees buckled and smacked against the floor as she collapsed. She squeezed the phone tight against her ear. “Beth? Are you all right?” Her sister cried, and Cooper clawed the floorboard, breaking one of her nails. “Beth, where are you?”

  “P-Please, Addy.” Another shudder of gasping cries flooded the phone’s earpiece. “Help me.”

  “Beth, I will, but you have to tell me something. Anything, are you—”

  The bloodcurdling scream caused Cooper’s heart to stop. And as she listened to the sobs and cries, her muscles seized up, paralyzing herself. Once Beth’s scream had ended there was silence, and then breathing. And then he spoke.

  “Your sister has shared so many stories with me, Detective. But I fear her tale has almost ended. And once I’m done with her I can’t wait to hear more stories from you.”

  The call clicked dead, and Cooper remained on the floor, the phone still glued to her ear, and she stared at the words the killer had written in red crayon on her wall. She balled he
r hands into fists, and her body shook with rage.

  Chapter 9

  Cooper cut through the precinct, knocking down anyone that stepped in her path, and didn’t stop until she made it to her office. She flung the door open hard, and its gust of wind blew down a few of the pictures on the wall. She retraced all the notes, all the evidence they’d been able to find. Murder weapons, DNA samples, fingerprints, pictures, placing them side by side. She reread every note over and over, looking for similarities, any hidden meanings, but every translation she tried was meaningless. “Fuck!” Papers exploded off her desk as she slammed her palm down in frustration.

  Hart walked in during the middle of the outburst and paused in the doorway until Cooper noticed him. “Hey, you all right?”

  “Where the hell is Hemsworth?” Cooper asked, pacing back and forth in short lengths, quickly. “He was supposed to have the forensics reports from Westminster completed by now.”

  Hart looked back down the hallway in both directions. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

  Cooper kicked the desk, knocking the case files to the floor. She stomped toward the door, her body hunched over like a Neanderthal on the hunt. Hart’s body suddenly veered in her path and blocked the door. “Get out of my way, Hart.”

  “You’re heated right now, and the last thing you need to do is walk out this door. Now, you want some advice, partner? Go back home. Sleep. I doubt you’ve gotten any of it since this whole thing started.”

  The rage had boiled out the fatigue that had plagued her over the past few days. She stepped forward, her ominous tone growing the closer she inched to Hart. “My sister is missing. She’s hurt. She’s scared, and she doesn’t know if she’s going to make it out of this alive.” She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I don’t know if she’s going to make it out of this alive. Every minute of rest I get is one more taken away from her. I’m not going to stop, Hart. I told you that from the beginning. Help, or get the fuck out of my way. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”