The Hunting of Malin

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  Jade’s greasy grin spread like oil on water, slipping through Roscoe’s stubble and pooling in the dimples in his cheeks. “Hello, Lisa. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Chapter32

  SEVEN MONTHS LATER

  Pushing a small rectangular box across the shiny desktop, Malin wavered before removing the lid. A soft gasp broke the tension in the air and, for a moment, nothing happened. Then, using gloved hands, Helen pulled an emerald necklace from the purple velvet like a fragile newborn, lifting it into the air for a closer inspection. Sunshine streamed through a bay window, catching the diamonds encircling a pear-shaped emerald in the middle. White and green specks danced across her doughy cheeks, falling into her mouth and spinning around the walls.

  “Where on Earth did you ever find it?” she whispered, marveling at the heirloom that once belonged to a queen on her mother’s side of the family.

  Malin and Holden traded a smug glance from behind a large desk in the middle of the office they began leasing last month. Sparsely decorated, it had a kitchenette, a full bath, and, most importantly, beloved heat.

  Holden shifted uneasily in the studded wingback towering over him, squeaking against the leather. “We traced it to a pawn shop across town,” he said, straightening a black vest thrown over a white thermal. This was the part he hated the most. The lying. “Looks like the work of some meth heads who’ve been working the area the last few weeks.”

  Helen finetuned her saggy eyes. “Did you catch them?”

  “We did. They were at a nearby apartment.” Malin twisted the rings on her fingers in the matching chair next to Holden, happy to be of service. “Detective Brolin will be in touch with you after reviewing some of the store’s video.”

  “So, what exactly led you to this pawn shop?”

  “We canvass all the shops in the area for stolen items,” Holden told her, the sunshine wilting outside the windows, turning the room a gloomy shade of gray. “It’s tedious work but usually turns up something.” He felt bad for lying but what was he supposed to say? That after purging herself of something sinister, Malin used her newfound powers of insight to track down the necklace at a drug dealer’s pad in the hood? The same drug dealer who found himself staring down the barrel of Holden’s new Ruger LCR? No, they had to keep the truth a secret or risk losing their new practice. Even Malin didn’t know the whole story. She still thought she was psychic, which, to a degree she probably always was – proving that by finding Brolin’s wedding ring in his garage, a feat the detective would not stop questioning. But, for whatever reason, she was stronger now. Clearer. In the wake of that horrifying night in Mortimer Woods, things came easily to her and they used that to their advantage, not knowing in the long run what the price may be for such a powerful weapon.

  “Well, I can never thank you enough.” Helen slid an envelope across the desk and patted it with her hand. “You two have done what the police could not and I thank you from the bottom of my family’s heart.” Boxing the necklace up and stowing it in her purse, she rose to her feet, relief coloring the roses on her cheeks.

  “It was our pleasure to help.” Malin walked her to the door, wondering when something would come back and bite her in the ass. This was too easy. Too good.

  “Wait!”

  Helen turned back to Holden, penciled-in eyebrows lifting into her forehead as snow began to fall outside the glass door behind her.

  He stood up behind the desk. “This is more than double the invoice,” he said, leafing through the bills tucked inside the envelope. “We can’t accept this.”

  A warm smile shaped her cherry lips, tightening her eyes. “That’s sweet of you to say, dear, but you obviously have no idea what you’ve done for my family.” Her misty gaze jerked to Malin. “Now, you go and buy this beautiful young woman something pretty and you’ll be one step ahead of the game, Mr. Freemont.”

  Malin spread a sheepish smile and blushed, fingers self-consciously drawing to the spider-shaped scar on her left cheek. The one that didn’t heal like the others. The one she didn’t remember getting.

  With a coy wink, Helen turned on short black heels and let Malin hold the cold front door. Snow flittered inside and feathered frost ate away at the Freemont & Waterhouse Private Investigations etched into the glass. Bidding her a fond farewell, Malin pushed hard on the door, fighting the icy fingers of Old Man Winter.

  Collapsing into his chair, Holden shook his head and counted the hundred dollar bills inside the envelope again. There were thirty-five of them in all. Thirty-five hundred dollars for an emerald necklace that took two hours to locate and one bullet to get back. Malin was getting good. Something changed inside her that night and he wasn’t complaining.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Rising from the chair, he came around the desk. “I wish I would’ve met you a long time ago,” he replied, fanning himself with the bills. “We haven’t even been doing this for two months yet and we’ve already made bank!”

  Biting back a smile, she folded her arms over a gray turtleneck sweater that went well with her skinny jeans and new boots. “Yeah, I guess riding my coattails has it perks, huh?”

  Flashing her a devilish grin, he threw the money into the air and snapped her against him. They stared into one another’s eyes with greenbacks seesawing around them like snowflakes. Lips meeting in a gentle kiss, Malin melted in his arms, reduced to a puddle of glowing energy bright enough to power the entire town. A moan escaped her when his hand slithered up her sweater. Shutting her eyes, she chased her breath and reached down between them. He stiffened when the door banged open and a UPS guy stopped in his snowy tracks, his eyes and the January wind gravitating to the money on the floor.

  “Oh, my God!” Malin spun around and straightened her sweater while Holden took a seat behind the desk and pulled a case file into his lap. “You scared me,” she gasped, helping the driver shut the door.

  Forcing it shut, he shook snow from his coat with a shoebox-sized package tucked beneath one arm. “Looks like I’m just in time for the party,” he said, drawing a handheld computer from a leg-holster.

  “Sorry, Max,” she replied, taking the computer and signing the screen. “He watched Magic Mike last night and just made it rain up in here.”

  His eyes darted to Holden. “That explains it.”

  Holden shook his head at him. “That’s not what happened. I slipped on some melting snow and dropped the money,” he said, retrieving some bills from under the desk. “And, for the record, I watched Game of Thrones last night.”

  “But speaking of parties!” Malin handed the computer back to Max. “Girl’s night officially begins in T-10 minutes. Now, who’s excited?”

  Grinning, Max traded her the package for the computer. “I’ll have to ask my wife and get back to ya on that.”

  Holden wagged a finger at him. “Smart man. I had a Harley,” he said, pausing for a second. “Once.”

  Max clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Poor bastard.”

  Holden laughed and waved him off while Malin fought to shut the door behind him. Crossing the room, she grabbed a boxcutter from a small table over in the corner.

  “I’m so excited for tonight,” she said, cutting into the box. “I feel like I haven’t seen Rox in ages.”

  Holden’s back tightened. Seeing that instrument in her hand brought back a flood of painful memories, many of which Malin would never recall. No, her misdeeds would remain he and Luna’s secret burden to bear, one they would take to their graves. There was no point in telling Malin the truth. It would ruin her emotionally and, possibly, send her to prison for the rest of her life when it wasn’t her fault. It was that…thing’s fault.

  Jade.

  Whatever it was, it slipped into Roscoe like an old coat and Malin didn’t need to know the specifics. Holden massaged the mostly healed bullet hole in his shoulder, blurring a gray couch against the wall into a fuzzy rectangle. If only he’d picked Lisa’s place that night, she would
n’t be known as victim number four today. That one was on him and it was a heavy crown of thorns to wear.

  Shortly after Roscoe’s incarceration, Malin dragged Holden to visit him one cold and cloudy afternoon and it was a mistake giving that thing another chance to get inside their heads. But one thing was clear: whatever was living inside of him was just as stuck as he was now. It wasn’t going anywhere and Holden prayed it wouldn’t have the strength to make another jump. Not to a guard or an inmate or the fucking lunch lady in a blue cap. Not that it really mattered. Like Luna said, those things were everywhere. One could be standing next to you at the pumps or behind you at the supermarket. Or lying beside you in bed, watching you sleep. The war was here alright and whenever Holden watched the news, that thing’s words quivered inside his head.

  Don’t you ever wonder what gets into people?

  Snorting, he came around the desk and started gathering loose bills. All the time, he thought. All the fucking time.

  “Are you okay?”

  Looking up, he found Malin staring down at him with their new stationary and business cards in her hands. Rising to his feet. he slapped a pile of cold hard cash onto the desk and pressed his lips together. “I was just thinking,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Summer will be here before we know it and you would look hot in a new ski boat.” His cocky grin surfaced, the one she had come to know and love.

  “Why, if I didn’t know any better Holden Freemont I might think you were trying to impress me.”

  Taking the office supplies from her and setting them on the desk, he coiled an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “If I wanted to impress you, I’d just do this,” he said, tipping her back and kissing her softly. Butterflies launched and stars streaked the back of her eyelids. Breaking for air, he bobbed his brow at her. “See what I mean?”

  Malin gave him a tight smile. “That was nice.”

  His grin turned to dust. “Just nice?”

  Clearly pleased by his reaction, she pulled him to her and kissed him hard, his warm lips giving her the tingles all over again. She never thought it could be this good, but, apparently, sometimes you have to hit rock-bottom to reach new heights. They say it’s always darkest before the dawn, and the blacker the night, the brighter the light on the other side. It can happen to anyone. Or your hatred can break you like a branch in the woods. Drawing apart, Malin stared up into Holden’s eyes for a long moment, not wanting to miss a second of it. “I love you, handsome.”

  “And I love you back, doll.”

  Her face sobered. “I feel bad being happy.”

  “Don’t.” He massaged her shoulders. “We worked hard to get here and you deserve this.”

  “We deserve this.”

  Smiling, he kissed her again and the office door blew open, breaking free of the elbow hinge at the top and banging loudly against the wall. Their heads snapped around to see Roxanna barge inside amidst a cloud of swirling snowflakes.

  Grunting, she threw her weight against the frosted door and forced it shut, silencing the howling wind. She turned to face them and blew out a plume of white breath. “Your door is broken.”

  “Great,” Holden grumbled, adjusting his vest.

  “But then, since you’re psychic, you probably already knew that.”

  Crossing the office, Malin smiled at her. “Ha-ha,” she said, grabbing a coat from a rack in the corner. “Hi, Rox.”

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  Malin looked down. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Nothing, you look great.” Roxanna pulled straight hair from her coat, letting it run over her shoulders in streams of honey. “Now, let’s go find me a new man!” Her eyebrows went up. “And you’re driving.”

  Throwing her coat on, Malin pulled her hair out. “I can’t wait to put the top down this summer. I haven’t had it down one time yet.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Roxanna said, examining the new stationary on the desk. “The troubles that come with owning a used Mustang.”

  “Hey, call me if you need a ride home. I’ll be out tracking down a stolen treasure map.”

  Setting the stationary down, Roxanna frowned at Holden. “Seriously?”

  “Apparently, it was written by some zombie pirates in the eighteenth century.”

  “You wish.” Malin kissed him on the lips. “Don’t wait up, handsome,” she said, voice turning to a whisper. “I’ll try not to wake you when I get home.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” he whispered back, giving her a wink.

  “Let’s do this thing, Foxxy Roxxy.”

  “Girl, you just read my…” Roxanna’s words slipped into a scream when the door banged open and nearly cracked her in the face.

  A paper-thin man filled the doorway, icy air ruffling the wool coat hanging between his long legs. Ducking, he stepped inside and easily shut the door, muzzling the cold and catching his frosty breath.

  Backpedaling, Malin clasped a hand over her beating heart. “Can we help you?”

  The man removed a paperboy hat and ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’m sorry to barge in unannounced,” he sniffled, trying to shake off the cold.

  Holden went around and stood behind the large desk in the middle of the room, nonchalantly scooping the envelope of money into a drawer.

  The man’s bloodshot eyes jerked between Holden and Malin, snow dusting his shoulders like dandruff. “You’re the two who stopped the Carhartt Killer, yeah?” he asked, wringing his hat in his bony hands.

  Holden and Malin looked at each other, lips pulling down at the corners.

  “We are,” Holden replied, adjusting the gun on his hip and gesturing to one of the two smaller chairs in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  The tall man acted like he didn’t hear and wiped his long nose with the hat, breath rushing out in white waves. “My name is Jacob Winston and I need your help.”

  Roxanna rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, pulling her phone from a red purse and diving in with both thumbs.

  Malin joined Holden at his side behind the desk and remained standing as well. “What happened, Jacob?” she asked, guessing the poor sap’s wife ran off with another man and he wanted to track her down and make one last plea for her return. Malin didn’t need to be a psychic to see it. It was written all over his gaunt face.

  Hesitating, he glanced at Roxanna and grew quiet. Looking up from her phone after a moment of silence, Roxanna’s eyebrows dipped.

  “Rox, can you give us a minute?” Malin asked, smiling thinly and nodding to the kitchenette around the corner.

  “Oh no,” Roxanna said, violently shaking her head. “You remember that promise you made after lying to me about Roscoe? From now on, I’m in the loop at all times.” Her eyes slid to Jacob and narrowed in a threatening manner.

  Malin sighed, shoulders dropping. “Tell us what happened, Mr. Winston?”

  Jacob turned back to her and let his eyes fall to a small statue of Sherlock Holmes perched upon the desk. “It’s my eight-year-old daughter, Cassandra,” he said in a weak voice, staring at the bronze pipe cradled in the inspector’s hand. “Three days ago, she killed her older brother on our family farm.”

  Lowering the cellphone, Roxanna’s face turned as gray as the daylight pushing through the windows. “Excuse me?”

  He swallowed dryly and looked up to meet Malin’s stunned stare head on, nostrils glistening. “And I made it look like a farming accident for the police.”

  Blood rushed in Malin’s ears, leaving an elongated whooshing sound tilting about her head. “What! Why would you do something like that?”

  “Because it wasn’t Cassie’s fault!” Jacob slapped the hat against a leg and lowered his voice. “She’s got that same look in her eyes as that Roscoe fella on TV, the one you put behind bars for murdering them girls.”

  Holden glanced at Malin, noticing how her body tensed at the mention of her dear friend’s name. Sometimes she still cried a
t night, refusing to believe Roscoe was capable of such horrid atrocities, spouting the same defensive things family and friends always said of the most recent mass shooter or bomber. Maybe they weren’t capable…but whatever slid into their skin was a different story.

  Jacob’s hollow eyes drifted out the bay window and got lost in the falling snow. The furnace kicked on loudly in their ears, laying a dull hum down over the room. “My wife and I know what they aren’t saying about him,” he said, glancing at Roxanna. “We know what he is.” Stepping closer to the desk, his boots tracked snow across the carpet. “The things I’ve seen over the past two weeks…” He pressed his lips into a thin, grim line as heat began to pour from the vents. “Something has taken up inside our Cassie, something…inhuman.” Jacob twisted the hat and spoke in a gravelly whisper. “Will you help us get it out?” His Adam’s apple bounced up and down a lengthy neck. “I already lost one child and I don’t plan on losing another.”

  Malin discreetly wiped at a teardrop running from the corner of an eye, the hair going up on her arms. This wasn’t what she signed up for. She signed up for finding stolen necklaces and cheating lovers and the real mother of a nineteen-year-old adopted girl named Maya. Not cases that would take her back to Mortimer Woods or the lake. That ghastly nightmare would never sleep but she could at least try to keep it in the rearview mirror. “What makes you think we could…”

  “Because you’ve already done it.” Jacob’s eyes tightened, nose running like a faucet. “And if not you, then who?”

  Malin’s wheels spun in the snowstorm whirling about inside her head, unable to find any traction. “Sir, you have a child involved here and we’re probably not the best…”

  “Please!” he begged, setting his jaw. “My child is the exact reason you should take this case. She isn’t safe. None of us are!”

  Malin stared at him with her skin crawling, like hundreds of baby spiders just hatched inside her ears and set out to explore. Roxanna sat perfectly still with a cellphone stuck in her hands, eyes bouncing between them.