by Tim McBain
Luck must have anticipated what was about to happen, because suddenly his hand was on her arm. Before she got a word out, he tipped his head close to hers and muttered.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He stood, and she followed suit, reaching into her pocket to add a few extra bills on the table for the waitress. If the woman was that observant with all her customers, Darger expected she often left her shift well-compensated in tips.
Back outside, they passed through a cloud of smoke from the crowd of nicotine addicts gathered beside the door. Detective Luck slid one jacket sleeve over his arm and then the other. The van beeped twice as it unlocked.
“Sorry about that. Probably would have picked somewhere else if I’d been thinking.”
“I guess at least now when we read in the paper about Sierra Peters’ body being found with no head, we won’t have to wonder where the leak came from,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat and pulling the seatbelt over her chest.
“Come on, Porto runs his mouth a lot, but he knows not to talk to the press.”
“He doesn’t have to. This isn’t just local business anymore. And the tabloids are sneaky as hell. And clever. If I were one of their snake-tongued reporters, the first thing I’d do is sniff out this bar, and anywhere else I could find cops hanging out en masse, downing liquid truth by the pitcher full.”
“Ah, I see. This goes right with your dumb country boy theory from earlier.”
She’d walked right into it, she supposed, but what the hell? If he wanted this fight, he could have it.
“That is total bullshit, and you know it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve had three murders in your jurisdiction in over a decade. I was merely stating a fact, and it’s a fact the killer could easily know and think he’s taking advantage of. It doesn’t mean you’re not a good detective. Maybe you’re the greatest detective in the world, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve never investigated a murder.”
Detective Luck stared at her, his features tinted red from the glow of the stop light above them. When the signal changed to green, he looked away, and the car lurched forward.
Seconds ticked by. Through the windshield, Darger studied the wet smear of the various light reflections on the road. Red from the taillights of an idling car in the parking lot. Blue from the neon sign of a pizzeria. Green from another traffic signal.
Luck sighed and muttered something under his breath.
“What?” she asked.
“I said, ‘You’re right.’ OK?”
“Oh,” Darger answered. She readjusted in her seat, feeling a little awkward now. She hadn’t expected that.
“Maybe I didn’t like how you said it. Didn’t like thinking that, I don’t know, you and Agent Loshak look down on us or something.”
“We don’t,” she said, but he waved her off.
“I know. I guess… I guess I was shooting the messenger. Just because I don’t like it, doesn’t make it not true.”
The tires of the van sloshed through a puddle.
“I really don’t. Look down on you, I mean,” she said, then added. “I suppose I could have said it more… diplomatically. I was a little nervous, to be honest.”
“Nervous? About what?”
She couldn’t believe she was admitting this.
“I didn’t think I’d be alone there. I assumed Loshak would show. And I’ve never done this before either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this is my first time profiling for a serial murder investigation. I was in Crisis Negotiation. Still am, technically.”
“Oh,” Luck said, and nothing more was spoken until they reached the motel.
He put the van in Park but left it running. Cop habit.
“You really mean what you said about having a service for her?”
“Yes. Why?”
He shook his head.
“Took me by surprise is all. Not the usual way of doing business for the FBI, is it?”
“Maybe it isn’t about business. Maybe, after all is said and done, after the media and the lawyers and the fucking people like us are finished picking over her carcass like a bunch of crows, maybe I can look back and think that at the very least, she went out with a shred of dignity.”
There was more emotion in her voice than she’d intended, a scratch at the back of her throat that threatened to turn into something more. She swallowed.
“You think that I’m too much of a stuck-up FBI bitch to give a rat’s ass about some poor trailer trash?”
The words came out before she could stop them. Venom meant to counteract any vulnerability she may have shown. The Jameson must have hit her a little harder than she’d thought after all.
Luck’s eyebrows pitched ever-so-slightly upward.
“I never called you a bitch.”
“Ah, but then I am stuck-up?” she said, and the corner of her mouth turned into a smirk.
Maybe Luck wasn’t so bad. It was smart, what he’d done. Turning to humor instead of taking the bait she’d left for another round of arguments. And she was doubly grateful that he’d ignored the fact that she’d been on the verge of tears. No, he wasn’t so bad at all.
She undid her seatbelt, watching the grin still spreading over his face.
Before her brain was able to analyze what the rest of her was doing, Darger had leaned across the console, grabbed a fistful of Luck’s jacket, and pulled him closer. He smelled like the fall, a pleasant blend of cedar and juniper and maybe a touch of wood smoke. His lips were soft, and his mouth was warm, and good God, almighty. What was in that drink?
When she broke away, Luck somehow managed to look less confused than she did, despite the fact that she’d been the one to initiate it.
Her mouth was still ahead of her thinking, because then she said, “I’d invite you up, but Loshak’s right next door, so things could get awkward.”
“Why, Agent Darger… I never put out on a first date,” he said in a lilting southern drawl.
A tingle of heat spread over her cheeks. She’d only meant that it might be uncomfortable to have to explain things if they should bump into Loshak, but she realized immediately that it sounded like she’d been suggesting that not only would they be having sex, but it would be the kind of sex one might hear through the walls.
She wasn’t sure if his joke made her feel better or worse. At least it was dark enough that he couldn’t see her blush.
“You think that was a date?”
“Wasn’t it?”
She thought he was teasing but wasn’t sure.
“OK. I’m going now. Otherwise I might try to see if I can fit both feet in my mouth at the same time,” she said, climbing out of the van.
She didn’t bother turning on the lights after unlocking her door. The deadbolt snicked into place, and she kicked off her shoes. It was two steps to the closest bed, and she threw herself across it, barely making an effort to pull the blankets up.
Thanks largely to the whiskey, she fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 36
Loshak left his car at the gas station and began the two-and-a-half block trek on foot. The night air was heavy after the rain, and the chill swirled into his chest with every breath. He found himself a little lightheaded by the time he crossed the first intersection. Not a good sign.
He knew he was pushing himself too hard again. Out in the cold walking like this when he should probably be in bed. He just couldn’t see it that way. Couldn’t live that way. When he was honest with himself, he knew he wasn’t getting better in any case. Not anytime soon. He could feel it. So he may as well do his job and worry about his health later.
He needed to get out there, be among the police working this case. It was part of his process.
The wind picked up, frigid air battering at his face, blowing through his jacket. At least he had the two hot cups of coffee to keep his hands warm along the way.
The Burger King appeared up ahead
. Off to the right. The building offered no evidence of life, and the sign was dark, but something about seeing it seemed to steady his head anyway. Seemed to steel his resolve.
It was another half a block before he could pick out the blue mustang among the cars in the lot across the street. He couldn’t quite make out the shapes of the people inside it, though he knew they were there.
His gut started to ache again. A sharp pain in the upper abdominal region that radiated into the muscles in his back when it really got going like it was now. Jesus, it hurt. His body flexed out of instinct, as though his torso could cup itself into a c-shape to escape the pain. He had to fight the urge. He didn’t want the others to see how he was suffering.
He lifted a coffee cup in his hand as he approached the sports car, tipped it slightly in what he hoped looked like a greeting. His teeth grit, jaw muscles clenching tight in agony. He could make out the shadows within as he got close, but there was something eerie about the way he couldn’t read the expressions on either face until he was right on top of the car.
The man in the passenger seat reached into the backseat to pop the door open, and Loshak swung it open with his elbow. He leaned in, handed off the coffees, and climbed into the backseat of the mustang. They introduced themselves, and he knew right away that he’d be able to keep the names straight as Novotny was the one with the huge nose. Nose-votny.
“Thanks for having me tonight, guys,” he said, closing the door and settling into his seat.
“Thanks for the coffee, Offic— uh, Agent,” McAdoo said.
He popped the triangular opening in the coffee lid and held it just shy of his mouth. Steam coiled out of the mouth hole.
“You can call me Loshak. Pretty much everyone does.”
Both of the officers nodded.
They sat quiet, all eyes drifting to the fast food establishment across the street. Nothing moved out there.
“Not a creature was stirring,” Novotny said. “Not even a Whopper, Jr.”
McAdoo clucked out a laugh at that. Perhaps out of courtesy.
Loshak fidgeted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. He doubted he’d accomplish it, but he tried anyway.
“Can I ask you something?” Novotny said, eyes finding Loshak’s in the rearview mirror. He retracted the toothpick from his mouth as he waited for an answer.
“Sure.”
“Why come out here and watch the Burger King with us? What is there to gain from it?”
Loshak hesitated a moment before he answered.
“Right. Let me try to lay it out. My job — profiling subjects — is part science, but another part of it is art, I think. I guess that’s the nature of anything psychological to some degree. We’re not working out a math problem with a finite solution. We’re trying to predict the behavior of a human being — an erratic proposition in normal circumstances, let alone when we’re dealing with one exhibiting such abnormal characteristics. It’s never black and white. There’s always room for interpretation. Years of experience allow for a kind of inductive reasoning that combines all the known variables and tells you the most probable explanation. From there, you might need to make an intuitive leap or two to get really specific. And I find intuition sometimes needs external stimulus to pull its trigger. So I like coming out for things like this. Observing. Talking with the officers doing the real job. You can learn a lot just by being present and paying attention. And you never know what might pull that trigger.”
They were quiet.
“That make sense?”
“Yeah,” Novotny said. “Yeah, it makes a lot of sense.”
He jabbed the toothpick between his incisors.
“So you think he’ll come back here,” McAdoo said, his delivery somewhere between making a statement and asking a question. “To the scene, I mean. You, uh, think he’ll come back.”
“This guy has been fantasizing about committing these acts for a long time,” Loshak said. “And coming back to the scene allows him to relive that fantasy. It dredges up all the same feelings. That’s what he’s doing it all for. To serve this violent fantasy life that has gotten out of control. Do I know for sure that he’ll come back? No. But the odds are that he feels a compulsion to do so, even if he suspects we might be watching.”
He winced a little, the pain in his gut flaring as he finished. He saw a flash of recognition on McAdoo’s face, but he met the portly officer’s gaze, and the man said nothing.
“Without much forensic evidence to work with, I think this is our best chance. You guys are our best chance.”
“Where does this guy rank?” Novotny said. “You’ve worked a lot of these kinds of cases. How does this sicko compare to the rest?”
Loshak took a deep breath, a little surprised that his stomach didn’t deliver a jolt of pain at the apex of his chest’s expansion.
“He’s smart. Smarter than most. He’s someone who knows how to hide in the open, how to conceal the darkness when people are around. And dumping the bodies in the open like he does? That’s very aggressive. Very territorial. It’s not a normal combination. Usually the more brazen types lack a certain amount of sophistication. They solve problems with blunt force, you know? No finesse. Their thinking lacks nuance, lacks self-awareness. I don’t think this guy suffers that problem. At all.”
They fell quiet for a long while, once again staring at the shadows draping the Burger King in grayscale.
“So what you’re saying,” Novotny said, “is that he’s going to be a pain in the ass to catch.”
Loshak laughed a little at that.
“Yeah, pretty much. But you know, you just work the case hard. You work every angle over and over. And somehow, some way, something shakes loose. Either of you guys ever read about the Joel Rifkin case in New York?”
Novotny tilted his head to one side.
“A little,” he said.
“Well, he got caught because he was driving without plates. There was a high-speed chase that ended with him crashing into a telephone pole. The officers who made the stop noticed a foul odor coming from the bed of his truck and found the corpse of his last victim stored there, a 22-year-old prostitute. And a serial murder case I worked in Colorado hinged on a cop having a feeling about an SUV rolling through a stop sign. He was on his lunch break and thought about letting it go, but something made him flip the lights on. A feeling he couldn’t explain. He probably saved lives by doing that.”
Everyone held quiet for a moment as a Dodge Ram drove by, seeming to slow for a split second as it passed by the Burger King. Probably some gawker hoping to see police tape strung up around bags of gore, Loshak thought.
“So you’re saying you think this guy will make some dumb ass mistake like that?” McAdoo said.
Loshak grimaced again and remembered to conceal it, hoping no one noticed.
“I’m saying we’ll get him. One way or another.”
They were silent again, and Loshak felt the need to go on.
“Doing this job, you see the worst of humanity. People do unimaginable things to each other. Rape. Murder. And worse. I once worked a case where a guy slashed holes in women and raped the wounds while they bled out.”
He sucked his teeth, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the memories of the case or the pain in his abdomen.
“But you also see the best of humanity. The absolute best. Because there are people who dedicate their lives to stopping the violence. They suffer greatly for it, but they do it anyway. Someone has to.”
After a second, McAdoo spoke up.
“So what do you think that means about people? When you look at the best and the worst together, I mean.”
Loshak thought about it.
“I think we’re all connected, you know? What we see as good and bad, it’s all part of human behavior. And it’s on us to untangle what it means. Not only about the criminals but about ourselves. Because the guys who do these things, as awful as their behavior is, they’re still human beings. They behave like mo
nsters, but they’re not. Not all the way.
“I read once about this idea that all of the universe was born out of a collective consciousness. Like one great soul, right? Another plane that’s just energy. Just consciousness. Here on the physical plane, we all have our little shard of the great soul in our skulls. That’s the divine spark that makes us all who we are, you know? But the pieces can feel that they’re apart from the whole, that they’re sealed off from everyone by a layer of flesh and bone. We can feel that something in our lives is missing. That we are somehow incomplete. And that creates the tension in us that drives us to endless conflict. Drives some of us to the worst kinds of madness.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I could believe something like that.”
Chapter 37
It wasn’t until she awoke the next morning and replayed the events of the prior evening that she truly felt the depths of her disgrace.
Oh God. Had she really kissed him? And then half-heartedly invited him to bed?
Setting aside the fact that it was completely unprofessional, she barely knew Luck. She had no idea how she felt about him, or he about her, for that matter. They’d only met two days ago. And not only had she practically thrown herself at him, but he’d turned her down.
Well, maybe she did know how he felt, in that case.
That was fine. It was all fine. She’d just never look him in the eye again, not for the rest of the investigation. Or anyone else he might tell. Oh, and wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge against the stuck-up FBI bitch?
Her electric toothbrush whirred, producing a thick foam she spat into the sink. Now, now, she thought to herself. That wasn’t really fair. He’d apologized after all. Or come as close to apologizing as most cops probably ever came. He’d admitted a fault, at least. That was something.
Under the heat of the shower, Darger reminded herself that this was why she didn’t drink whiskey. The hangover was worse than the drunkenness. It made her paranoid and petulant, and while she knew she’d made an ass of herself, she had no idea how much.
