Dark Heart

by Margaret Weis;David Baldwin

  She looked at some of the other lizards in their glass cages, but the scale she carried could not possibly belong to the smaller ones. The Komodo dragon was the largest reptile she’d ever seen, and it still seemed as if it were too small to have a scale like the one in the vial.

  She traced a half-circle on the glass with her finger. The flat, unblinking gaze of the dragon followed her smallest movement. So how did the scale get into Madrone’s sleeve?

  She turned away from the dragon and leaned against the rail that kept visitors from getting too close to the residents. She remembered coming to zoos as a child, and rooms like this one always gave her an eerie feeling. The stucco walls were painted a shimmering green, as were the round metal rails. Each transparent cage was like a doorway to some other world, with its own special habitat. The lush jungle of the vine snake abutted the desert domain of the rattlesnake, both so lovingly crafted that Sandra felt as if her world was the fake one. Beyond the glass were lands of sand and rock, leaf and tree and the wondrous, though often poisonous, creatures who made those lands their home.

  She heard something move behind her.

  “Detective McCormick?”

  Sandra blinked and turned around. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  The white door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY stood ajar. A man in his mid-fifties with dark salt-and-pepper hair and glasses as thick as the walls of the Komodo dragon’s pen smiled briefly at her. The first thing that struck Sandra about him was that he wasn’t accustomed to smiling. The herpetologist was tall and gangly under his wrinkled white coat.

  “Dr. Dawes?” she said, crossing the distance between them and extending her hand. He nodded and shook it rather timidly.

  “I-I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he stammered. “It’s just we had a kind of emergency here.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Yes. One of the coral snakes took ill.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “There’s always an emergency here. It’s like dealing with a house full of children. Someone’s always sick.”

  “I understand.”

  “So,” he said, “how can I help you, Detective?” He pushed at his glasses nervously. “I must say that this is the first time I’ve had a police officer ask for my assistance. Usually when I’m called to deal with the public it’s some distraught mother who has a child with a limp boa constrictor, or a hysterical society matron with a grass snake in the middle of her lawn party.”

  He’s babbling, Sandra thought.

  “Well, I do need your help, Doctor. We found something that I was hoping you might be able to identify for me.”

  “W-well, of course, whatever I can do to help…”

  She pulled the vial from her blazer pocket and handed it to him. “I need to know what kind of snake or lizard this belongs to.”

  As soon as he took it, his eyebrows shot upward in surprise. He whistled and held it up to the light.

  “I don’t…believe I’ve ever seen anything like this.” The light creases that marked his face deepened. Lowering the vial, he looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCormick. I’d love to tell you what this is, but I’m afraid I don’t know myself.”

  “It’s not a lizard’s scale?”

  “Oh…” He stared at it again. “I don’t think so. It’s quite translucent, you see. Most lizard scales are designed to keep the light out, because most lizards live in such hot, bright climates. Built-in sunscreen. And, big as it is, the scale’s not shaped like an anaconda’s or a boa constrictor’s.” He turned the vial over and over again in his hands, watching the scale tumble around the small container. He seemed fascinated by it. “It’s such a strange shape…” he murmured.

  “What about—I don’t know—an alligator or something? Could the scale have come from something like that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s very unlikely. If so, it would be a species I haven’t seen before. Perhaps some deep jungle species. There are places in South America nobody’s been yet, even in these modern times.”

  “Why couldn’t it be a normal alligator?”

  “Oh, no. The scale’s much too thin and the shape is wrong.”

  “I see.” Sandra leaned against the green railing. The chain of experts she had called had led her to this man. If he didn’t know anything, she wasn’t sure where she’d turn next. “Is there anyone else who might know what this is? Can you think of someone I might call?”

  “I’ll tell you what…” he said slowly, “if it’s all right with you, I could keep the scale overnight and do some research. I might be able to discover its origin. At the very least, I may be able to come up with a contact that could help you.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ve got a form for you to sign.”

  She rummaged in her purse. “Let me call and clear this with my boss, and then we’ll turn you loose on it. If this has anything to do with the killer we’re after…well, he’s bad. Really bad. Anything you could do to help…”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how is the scale involved?” Dr. Dawes held it up to the light.

  “I don’t know. I wonder if the reason the killer went after the victim was because of this scale. But if I don’t have any idea what it is…” She spread her hands and shrugged.

  “R-right…” Dawes said, looking nervous. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you.” Sandra pulled a card from her blazer pocket and handed it to him. “Let’s go make that call.”

  She shook his hand, then followed him deep into the bowels of the employee areas of the building to use his phone.

  Later, she pulled out of the zoo’s huge parking lot, grabbed her cell phone out of the glove compartment, and dialed McKenzie’s number at the station.

  She got his machine.

  Pity. She’d wanted to explain in graphic detail how much a small snake eating an egg looked like Mac eating a burger. “Hey, Mac, it’s Sandra,” she said. “Check with the lab and see what they have to say about the scale’s composition. Dr. Dawes didn’t recognize it and now I’m wondering if it isn’t something manufactured instead of shed. I’m gonna get some lunch, then go read up on lizards.”

  She followed the streets to Greektown, parked near one of her favorite restaurants, and walked inside. Rain trickled steadily down the awnings. A few people moved along the sidewalk, mostly dry under their umbrellas, and she muttered at herself for forgetting hers as she shook the water droplets out of her hair.

  After ordering a souvlaki sandwich, tzatziki, and a raspberry lemonade, she went outside, sat at a small patio table under the awning, and watched the street, trying to sort out what little she already knew.

  She looked at the busy Chicago sidewalk as she munched, her mind feeling as blank as the clean white tabletop in front of her. A woman took shelter under the awning next to her, avoiding Sandra’s gaze as she straightened her hose and then moved on down the street. A redheaded kid in a scruffy green trench coat showed up right after the woman left. He stepped under the awning and paused, staring at her.

  Sandra sat there, sipping her lemonade. When the kid didn’t move on, she looked up. She stared back at him. He was of medium height, and thin. His trench coat covered his body from his ankles to his neck. Sandra guessed he was about eighteen, or maybe even younger, and he seemed familiar somehow. His face was pale and too thin, with a rash of pimples covering each cheek along with a thick sprinkling of freckles.

  His hands were twitching. Junkie, she thought. She turned away from him and looked back at the wet streets. She watched the water drip off the awning.

  “You a cop?” the kid asked.

  Sandra looked over at him. “What’s it to you?”

  “You’re the prettiest cop I’ve seen in a while.” The kid smiled. It didn’t do much for him. His teeth were scummy. His eyes had dark rings under them. “I think I’ll enjoy making a trade with you,” he said.

  Sandra narrowed her eyes. “Trade?”

  “You know, you scratc
h my back, I’ll scratch your…whatever.”

  “Listen, fuckface, I don’t just look like a cop, I am a cop. Move your scrawny junky ass on down the street, okay?”

  His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed, oddly enough, to be a little hurt. “Hey,” he said, “I can help you. I know things you want to know. You better be nice to me or you’re gonna get fucked up.”

  “That’s it,” she said flatly. Up and moving around the table, she reached for him. “You’re outta here.”

  She grabbed his wrist, spun him around, pushed him up against the restaurant’s brick wall. As she did so, one sleeve of his raincoat fell back, revealing needle tracks on his bony arm.

  “Crazy bitch! I’m gonna kick you in the head,” the kid snarled. “I’m doin’ you a favor! ”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He was squirming like a greased rat.

  “Hold still, gomer,” she hissed. In the struggle, something fell out of an inner pocket of his coat. He stiffened.

  She looked down at a small bag of white powder, bent quickly and scooped it up.

  “Okay, that’s cool, you are now under arrest. She pulled out a set of cuffs. “Against the wall, asshole. Cross ’em behind your back. You know how.”

  “Fuck you!” the kid said and pushed away from the wall hard. The back of his head bashed into her cheek, catching her off guard. “Shit!” she yelled as they both went sprawling across one of the tables.

  Plates, glasses, and food went smashing to the floor. The kid landed on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. A woman sitting at the table shrieked, stood up, slipped on the wet pavement, and fell to the floor with them. The man with her yelled and stood up, yanked the kid off of his wife.

  By the time Sandra got untangled, the kid was halfway down the block, really pounding along, his coattails flying. When she fought her way out to the street, he was lost in the lunchtime crowd on the sidewalk. She stood there for a moment, looking in all directions.

  Nothing. No sign of him at all. Just sullen, half-soaked pedestrians and more rain.

  She was wet again.

  Damn.

  Her next stop was the Chicago Public Library Main Branch, on South State Street. The scale and the funny-shaped footprint were the only concrete pieces of evidence she had from Madrone’s murder. Though that was more than she had from the Baxter jacket. But she’d never been forced to work with things as strange as a green scale and a footprint that looked like something out of a bad creature-feature movie before.

  Noon slid into afternoon, which turned into early evening. Sitting in the middle of a pile of encyclopedias, field research compilations, and reptile anatomy books, Sandra looked up and realized it was nearly seven o’clock. She’d learned a great deal about reptiles, but nothing that might lead her to some freakazoid killer with a supply of scales and a chest chopper.

  Leaning back and massaging her eyelids, she decided she’d had enough for the day.

  She selected three of the books she’d looked at to check out and take with her. Just as she reached the front desk, she saw a figure standing between the glass doors of the library entrance. Half in shadow and half outlined by the fading daylight outside was the junkie kid in the long, green trench coat.

  She headed for the door. As soon as she did, the raincoat-clad kid bolted, flinging the outer glass doors wide and running for the steps.

  She pounded out after him, but the steps were empty by time she got outside. “Damn!”

  Just as she reached the street, she caught a flash of green disappearing into the alley. There were crowds of people on the sidewalk. Streetwise glances tracked her with automatic alarm, although none of them said anything. She pushed on through to reach the mouth of the alley.

  Again she caught a glimpse of the edge of his coat turning the corner at the far end of the alley. Rain battered her face, hair and shoulders, soaking her as she ran along. When she reached the end of the alley, the kid was gone, lost in the crowd of commuters headed toward the stairs leading up into the State Street El station.

  She stood there in the rain, feeling like an idiot, watching the people go by and hoping to catch a glimpse of russet hair above a green raincoat. Gradually, her breathing returned to normal, yet still she remained standing in the rain. Why would a kid who’d escaped arrest by the skin of his teeth follow the arresting officer? For hours?

  What the hell…?

  The sense of menace she’d felt hovering about her since she’d seen Jack Madrone’s body closed in on her. Mac laughed at her woman’s intuition, but she felt it suddenly kick into overtime.

  Madrone had been chasing something. Only what he hadn’t known was that something was chasing him, too.

  Something deadly. Just like in her dreams.

  The weird, disquieting sense of danger was still with her when she returned home. She entered the gate, punched the code, and opened the door. As she climbed the stairs, she kept one hand on the stair rail while her other hand rested on the butt of her pistol, hidden underneath her blazer.

  Nothing leapt out of the shadows. She moved silently down the hall, the back of her neck itching, stopped before the door marked 807, and paused. Looked around. The empty hall felt ominous, shadowy. It never had before.

  “Oh, stop it,” she murmured aloud. She inserted her key in the lock and turned it.

  The lights were on. But the same still, watchful silence seemed to shroud her. Inside the apartment now.

  Sandra swallowed.

  “Benny?” she called.

  No answer.

  “Benny!?” She yelled louder this time.

  “Yeah, Sandra? What?”

  His wheelchair came rolling down the hall. She went suddenly limp with relief.

  “Sandra?” Benny wheeled himself into view and cocked his head at her. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you yelling?”

  “Nerves.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m such a dork.”

  “What’s up?” Benny’s ravaged face crinkled in concern for her.

  “I got paranoid tonight. Someone was following me today. I lost him, but I still got paranoid.”

  “Who was following you?”

  “I don’t know. Some kid, a junkie. I don’t know what he wanted from me, but he freaked me out. I tried to grab him, but he got away.”

  She closed the door to the hallway and stripped off her blazer, tossing it on the couch. She wandered into the kitchen, pleased that her knees seemed firm and her legs were steady, and opened the refrigerator.

  She grabbed an unopened gallon of orange juice, closed the fridge with a shove of her hip, and hauled the container over to the counter. She still had vodka, if she could just find it. She thought a moment, then opened the left-hand cabinet.

  There—she grabbed the bottle, dragged it down, and poured a hefty inch into the bottom of a tumbler. Topped it off with some orange juice. Then downed half the glass at a swallow.

  “Easy, Sandra.” He sounded concerned. She turned to face him.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “I just need to loosen up a bit.” Stepping on the heel of one shoe with her toe, she worked her foot out, then did the same with her other foot.

  She wiggled her toes. It felt wonderful—the first nice thing to happen to her all day. She waited with her eyes closed to better savor the sensation, as the liquor hit the bottom of her stomach and settled in for the night. Nice. Very nice.

  “Loosen up,” Benny said. “Sure. You’re really freaked about this, aren’t you?”

  She turned and put the orange juice away.

  “Nothing to worry about, little brother.”

  “Huh? I’m not supposed to worry when you walk in the door shaking and head straight for the liquor cabinet? You, who has about three drinks a year? Great. You worry about me all the time. But I’m not allowed to return the favor. Next time, let’s trade troubles. Then maybe I can worry all I want.” He turned his chair and scooted for the living room, obviously miffed.

  “Really. Seriously. I
t’s nothing, Benny,” she said, walking out of the kitchen, carrying her glass and moving down the hall, following him into the living room. “I’m better now. Really. Look.”

  She spread her arms and did a mocking soft shoe. He grinned in spite of himself.

  “Sandra—the last time I saw you like this was with—was when Chuck…”

  She winced. “No, it’s not like that. Not like it was with him. Never again like that.”

  She stared at him, knowing it was God’s truth. It wasn’t like Chuck. No man would ever knock her around again. It had taken two years worth of lessons in the martial art of kenpo, and four in aikido to convince herself of that, but she’d done it. Chuck, at least, was over with.

  “You’re really wound up, though, right?”

  She could feel the knots of muscle between her shoulders, tight along the path of her spine. The knots were broadcasting small white flickers of pain. If she didn’t do something about that, she’d be like a board come morning.

  “Kinda,” she admitted.

  “You want to go dancing?”

  She stared at him. “You know,” she said slowly. “I think that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  “I was kidding,” he said. “Thought I was, at least.”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  If something was hunting her, even in a dream, let it dance to the music. She was sure as hell going to.

  seven

  Tina floated somewhere between bliss and terror. The backseat of the car was warm, and Zack’s arms were around her. It felt wonderful. She really liked him, though they hadn’t been dating that long; but while this wasn’t the first time they’d made out, she liked to think of herself as careful. Tonight matters were going farther than she’d ever let them go before, and certainly much farther than she’d planned to let them go for a long time to come. She knew she was on unfamiliar ground. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be there.