The Hunting of Malin

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  The cool air felt as amazing as the place smelled. Folding her shades up, she searched the busy café, breathing in the robust blends of coffee mixing with the caffeinated chatter swirling in the air. Her heart was beating too fast from the brisk walk here, and the anticipation wasn’t helping. Stepping off to the side, she took a moment to compose herself and look around. The cellphone vibrated in her big black bag, tugging at her attention. Retrieving it, she checked the screen and brought it to an ear.

  “Oh, my God, Rox, I am so sorry I haven’t called you back,” she panted into the phone, scanning the throbbing crowd.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m…fine. Things’ve just been crazy and I’ve been job hunting, which requires multiple naps to accommodate the depression that goes along with it.”

  “I was afraid you took your own life,” Roxanna said bluntly.

  Laughter erupted at a table behind Malin. “Took my own life?” she said, plugging a finger in her open ear.

  “Girl, please tell me you’re not going to kill yourself over some stupid mall job. It’s not worth it.”

  “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because you’ve been acting weird! You never call me back. Just these stupid little texts like ‘Nice’ or ‘Ha!’ or ‘Ok’.” Roxanna pulled the phone from her mouth. “Excuse me, I am on the phone with another customer right now, ma’am. So please be patient and I’ll be right with you,” she said, sighing into the phone. “Bitches in this place drive me crazy. Like they’re the only people on the entire planet.”

  “Roxanna,” Malin said, stepping out of the way of a woman with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a huge cinnamon roll in the other. “I’ve just been scrambling to find a gig. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh no, uh-uh. Don’t you ‘sorry’ me, Malin Waterhouse, because when I text you that this place is falling apart without you, and you reply with a ‘nice’…you just told me to go fuck myself, so bitch please.”

  Malin exhaled a weary breath, rubbing the sweat from the back of her neck. “I’m sorry.”

  Roxanna got quiet. “Where are you anyway? It’s louder than hell.”

  “Smokey Row,” she replied, searching the faces. A waving hand across the narrow shop caught her eye, jerking her heart from its rhythm.

  “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” Roxanna paused, waiting for a reply that never came. “Hello?”

  More laughter burst from the table behind Malin, making her grimace. “I’m sorry, Rox, I can barely hear in this place; it’s packed. Can I call you back?”

  Roxanna laughed. “Call me back? Let me tell you something, girlfriend, I’ve got four customers waiting to buy a bunch of stuff that won’t fit them this time next year, so don’t go acting like you have more important…”

  “I’ll call you back; I’m sorry,” Malin blurted, hanging up and silencing Roxanna’s protest. Weaving through the bubbly crowd, she stopped at a booth against a window on the far side of the shop.

  “Hi,” she said, bravely returning his warm smile.

  “Hello.”

  Holden looked much hotter than her alcohol-infused pity-party two nights ago allowed her to recall. Some guys couldn’t pull off sneakers and jeans without looking like a character from The Big Bang Theory but Holden managed just fine. He gave her a cocky wink that made her cheeks flush. The gray vinyl squeaked beneath her as she slid into the booth.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, blowing a loose strand from her face.

  “Hope there’s some ice left in your mocha,” he replied, resting an arm along the back of the booth.

  Bracelets slid down her wrists as she freed her ponytail and let damp hair pour over her shoulders in oily rivers. Malin tried not to wonder how much time he spent at the gym to get his arms to stretch that plain white tee like that but it was a feeble attempt. He was ripped and doubt was prying its way into her mind with a crowbar. Holden was just a normal guy with a police background and Malin was unemployed with a story no one could believe. This was a mistake. “I didn’t think you would come.” She took a long pull from the straw, parched after the walk.

  “You sounded…stressed on the phone.” He took a drink from something iced as well, his green eyes glancing off the cleavage pouring from her top.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, kicking her Chucks off and curling her legs beneath her in the booth.

  “So? The suspense is killing me.”

  Malin didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer than she already had but what she was about to tell him suddenly seemed so preposterous she nearly got up and left. Just because he used to be a cop didn’t mean he had some upper hand in a battle against…

  “Malin?”

  Her eyes snapped back to him.

  “Tell me what happened. You said something about Roscoe being in trouble.”

  “He is,” she said, filling her lungs and starting with Saturday’s vision at her former place of employment, sparing no gruesome detail along the way. Saving the séance for last, she caught herself twisting her rings and forced her hand to the mocha. Holden stared at her without reply, looking at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. And maybe she had. Nothing was off the table at this point.

  “Wow.”

  “Tell me about it,” she muttered, finger combing her hair.

  “A séance, huh?” He bit back a grin, flipping Roscoe’s matte black Zippo open and shut. “That’s a new one.”

  Glancing at her watch, she drummed her fingers in a stripe of sunlight sneaking across the table. She knew how all of this sounded and his skepticism was fully expected, yet irritating at the same time. “My mom’s been doing them for years so, after I found the lighter, I figured we’d give it a shot.”

  “And you didn’t tell Brolin about the guy in the Carhartt?”

  She swatted at a circling fly. “Why would I tell him that? He’d think I was insane and lock me up.”

  Holden pulled a hand through his hair, the sweet-smelling cologne wafting from his neck triggering the want in her gut. “Brolin thinks everyone’s insane. Guy’s a total jerk off.”

  “Really? I couldn’t tell.” She shifted in the booth, vinyl squeaking. “So…can I get in trouble for that? For withholding information?”

  Smiling, he flicked the Zippo shut. “Not information from a dream, but you can for tampering with evidence.” He gestured with the lighter and slid it back across the table. “Where’s Amber’s necklace now?”

  “Roscoe has it.”

  “If you’re right and Amber hits the news, there’s going to be a public panic and the police are going to want to know about that necklace and the lighter.” He leaned back in the booth. “It could lead them right to the killer’s doorstep.”

  “And how do you propose I give them back without getting in trouble?” she asked, slipping the lighter in her purse.

  “Mail them with a short note. That way there’s no return address, no cameras and no witnesses.”

  Malin rubbed her temples and sighed. “I still can’t believe he did that.”

  “What? Removed the necklace from a murder scene or killed those girls?”

  “I can’t believe he killed anyone. Not yet.”

  Holden twisted his cup on the table, knitting his brow as he turned things over in his mind. “But, playing the devil’s advocate, one theory is that Roscoe is killing girls who resemble his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Yes. Maybe. No. After going to my mom’s, I don’t know what to think anymore. I mean, she’s talking about a…”

  His eyebrows rose into his forehead. “Evil spirit?”

  Malin lifted a heavy shoulder to an ear.

  “And you believe her?”

  “I didn’t used to, but you should’ve seen it, Holden. Something was in that room with us,” she said, glancing at a nearby table of chatty women and lowering her voice. “Something not of this world.”

  He stared blankly back. �
��I just got goose bumps.”

  “You?” Malin pulled her top over her shoulder and peeled back the bandage. “I got this.”

  Leaning closer, the color drained from his face. “Jesus,” he whispered. “You got that during the séance?”

  She nodded, putting the bandage back in place. “She said it wants me next.”

  “You? Why you?”

  Malin sipped her drink. She wasn’t going to break her neck trying to convince him of anything. If he wanted to help, great. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t blame him. This wasn’t his problem. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m even bothering you with this. Trust me, I know how it sounds but after these visions and the bodies and then the séance, I didn’t know where else to turn. I just thought that since you used to be a cop, and you kind of know Roscoe, you might…” She shook her head, dismissing the whole thing after realizing how silly it all sounded coming out of her mouth.

  “Tell me more about Roscoe and his ex.” Holden leaned both elbows on the table, making it wobble on its uneven legs. “What’s her name again?”

  “Lisa.”

  “Lisa. And how did it end between them?”

  “He caught her sleeping with some tattooed guy named Colt.”

  “Colt? He’s a horse?”

  An impish grin caught her lips by surprise. “Apparently, he is in bed.”

  “How?”

  Malin looked around the café before leaning in closer. “Well, I guess he likes to pin her legs behind her head and just…”

  “No, I mean how’d Roscoe catch her cheating?”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed with heat, gaze wandering to Holden’s strong hands. They were a man’s hands and she bet they would feel amazing against her skin. As soon as the thought sailed through her head she stiffened. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she’d called Holden because he used to be a cop, or because he was hotter than hell and she hadn’t been laid in forever. The subconscious has a mind of its own. “He went to her apartment one night and spied on her through the windows. Caught her red-handed.”

  “Wait… Roscoe was spying on her?”

  “There were clues leading up to it. It’s not like he just started pulling a peeping Tom for no reason. In fact, I’m the one who convinced him his suspicions were probably on target.” She paused for another drink, ice cubes rattling. “I know a cheater when I see one and Lisa is one.”

  Holden smiled and gestured with his hands. “Okay, but that aside, there’s no way Roscoe killed those two girls.”

  “How do you know? You barely even know him.”

  “Because I know a killer when I see one and Roscoe isn’t one.”

  She swatted at the pestering fly dizzily buzzing around her cup and couldn’t help but feel it followed her here from the lake – probably still had Amber Rowe’s blood on its little straw-like proboscis, depositing the poor girl’s DNA all over Malin’s mocha. Pushing the grisly thought from her mind, she pushed the cup away next. “Roscoe’s a great guy and I shouldn’t even be talking about him like this; I’m just…”

  “Speaking from your gut?”

  “It’s just that, after finding his lighter at the lake and seeing the cuts on his knuckles, and then the séance, something’s off. I can feel it.”

  Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he stared thoughtfully at her. “How long have you known him?”

  “Since grade school. We used to live on the same street growing up.”

  “And how long ago did he catch Lisa in the act?”

  “About three months ago,” she replied, pulling on her shirt. “I think Roscoe is secretly holding out hope they’ll get back together.”

  Holden pressed his lips into a meditative line, clearly enjoying this flash from his law enforcement past, asking questions like he’d got that promotion to detective instead of the severance package he received instead. “How long were they together?” he asked, eyes dropping to her chest, igniting a faint smile on Malin’s lips.

  “Around two years.”

  “And why didn’t you tell the police about the Carhartt guy again?”

  “Because we don’t know if he even exists.”

  Holden creased his brow. “But you’re two for two on finding bodies.”

  “I know, but...”

  “You should’ve mentioned it. It’s probably more than they’ve got to go on at this point. I would imagine they’re out chasing ghosts, and I’m sure they don’t even know about the necklace. Yet.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t tell them anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked around and spoke in a soft whisper. “If you solve the case, wouldn’t that help you get your job back?”

  He stared at her for a few seconds before tipping his head back and cracking up laughing.

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “This isn’t Magnum P.I., Malin.” His eyes ravaged her, glittering with an unmistakable heat, and the way he said her name sent an unbridled quiver running through her. “Maybe you should be the one working for the police department with your…skill set.”

  “No thanks.”

  “What makes you think I want my old job back anyway? Fuck the police.”

  She laughed. “What’re you NWA now?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He paused to wet his lips. “Do you ever have glimpses into the future? Or are they always of the past?”

  “They just started.”

  “But both visions were of incidents already occurred.”

  “Correct.”

  He looked her over while sucking on his straw and Malin wondered what he was thinking about. Wondered what those lips would feel like around her nipples. She cringed without showing it, mentally scolding herself for thinking such things in light of current events. What was wrong with her? It was disrespectful to those girls and now was not the time. Fighting the flush of heat between her legs, she focused on a ramekin of boring sugar packets on the table’s edge.

  “Either way, you need to call in a description of the Carhartt guy,” Holden said, tugging at her attention. “Use a fake voice.”

  “Fake voice?”

  He nodded back. “Let me hear your fake voice real quick.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t have a fake voice.”

  “Come on, doll, everyone has a fake voice. Let me hear yours.”

  “No!” she laughed, hiding behind a hand. “And quit calling me doll.”

  He laughed out loud, capping it off with a wheezing intake of air. “Well, when you get the chance, call it in, or, better yet, just include the information in an anonymous note when you mail the necklace and lighter to the cops. The fact of the matter is, you have to give them something and soon.” Leaning back into the booth, a somber look settled in his eyes. “I’m sure they’re getting worse tips than that.”

  “Okay, and then what?”

  He shrugged, stretching the white t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders. “Then we follow Roscoe.”

  Heart dropping, Malin arched an eyebrow at him. “We?”

  Chapter17

  Sinking down in the front seat of a 1974 Ford Bronco, Malin felt exposed and vulnerable to attack in the topless truck. She pushed her shades up the bridge of her nose and watched Roscoe’s apartment building down the street. With the front door in perfect view – and his Grand Am parked right outside – there was no chance he could get past them. Her nerves were on fire and she wished Holden had a hardtop because it felt like Roscoe could come bursting through that door at any second and catch them spying on him. She needed a disguise. The sun was sinking and it was only a matter of time before her sunglasses started making her look suspicious.

  “You mind?”

  Holden looked over and frowned, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Knock yourself out,” he said, turning back to the brown brick buildin
g.

  Malin pressed in the Bronco’s old school lighter and stole a lingering look at Holden’s strong profile, wondering what his story was and how he ended up in this car with her on this very night. She jumped when the lighter popped out, lit up and blew a stream to the bruising sky above. “So how long do we sit here?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Should I text him and see what he’s up to?”

  “Might not be a bad idea.” Holden took a drink of water and then offered her the bottle.

  Malin felt her insides warm. He must think she was okay to share his water with her like that so she took a long drink, tasting his lips on the plastic and wanting to taste them for real. Flesh on flesh. Passing the bottle back, their fingers brushed, sparking something hot inside. “I hope your girlfriend won’t get mad if she catches you hanging out with another woman.” As soon as the words left her mouth she felt like a school girl for even saying them. Thanks to Tor, her game was way off and it was going to be a long road back.

  Holden’s smug grin resurfaced, turning his green eyes into glittering jewels. “No girlfriend.”

  Butterflies launched. “No?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Smiling, he turned back to the apartment and leaned on the wheel. “Ex-wife.”

  “You were married?”

  “For a cup of coffee.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  He exhaled through his nose and turned to face her. “Turns out blonds do have more fun.”

  “Which means?”

  His fingers drummed against the wheel. “Angela cheated on me with some guy from her work.”

  “God!” Malin shook her head. “Is everybody a cheating dirt bag?”

  “It was my fault. After I lost the job, I sort of shut down for a while and she got tired of the cold shoulder.”

  “Does she live here in town?”

  “Unfortunately.” Holden tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Saw her at Target two weeks ago and had to hide behind a Justin Bieber cardboard cutout for like five minutes. Lady that worked there thought I was masturbating to it.”

  Laughter squirted from Malin’s nose. “No way!”