by Patti Larsen
Gerri’s gaze snapped to the back of the dingy bar, her finger tapping the hang up button instead. “Fuck you, Pierce,” she said, focusing on Oz who huddled in a booth, alone. Gerri ignored the filthy floor, the pair of ancient skanks who smelled worse than an old tank of gas, the bartender’s dark stare. She didn’t let the stink of smoke bother her, the grime coating the tables or the way the handful of bikers in the place followed her stride with predator’s eyes.
Oz looked up when Gerri was about half way to his seat. She knew he was going to run. He’d done it twice already. She thought she had it covered. But she didn’t count on her stupid ass partner.
Jackson picked up his stride and got in her way. She was already reaching for her gun when Oz burst from the booth’s edge and took off a flat-out race for the back of the bar. Jackson turned in response, running into the side of a table, tangling himself in a chair before falling into Gerri.
Fucking dog and pony show. She pushed him off and tore off after Oz, knowing he already had enough of a head start this might not work out the way she hoped.
Damn, she didn’t want to have to shoot anyone today.
“Stop, police!” The necessary identification shouted at the top of her considerably loud voice, Gerri’s cowboy boots thudded on the filthy floor as she crashed through the doors into the back of the bar. She caught sight of Oz fleeing into sunlight, past the startled cook who shouted at her in German, a language she knew just enough to know he thought she was a guy and her mother was a dog. She ignored him and kept running.
Gerri was already squinting in anticipation of the light change as she slammed open the outside door and leaped out of the dank kitchen into the alley. Her gun whipped around, just in case Oz decided to set an ambush, but the flicker of motion at the other end of the alley had her running again. Wind pounded in and out of her lungs, her long legs pumping, gun swinging in her hand. She loved the chase, loved it so much she was almost laughing by the time she reached the end of the alley and crossed the street, closing the distance between her and Oz.
He looked back over his shoulder, panic on his face, saw her tightening the gap. He took a sharp right, into another alley way, behind a garage. Gerri poured on the speed, blood pumping, all of her focus on the chase, the hunt. This was her element, the rundown, the closing of prey. How many track and field meets had she won, how many rugby touchdowns, all thanks to the push of the tingle in her gut.
She’d take him down and tear him apart with her bare hands.
Gerri skidded around the corner, spotted Oz up ahead, pushed herself harder still. Her stride lengthened out even more, the jarring hit of each step sending sizzles of pleasure through her. Fifteen feet. She smelled his fear. Ten feet. He needed to work out more from the whistling sound his lungs made as he fought for air. Five feet. Her eyes traced the tattoos on the back of his shaved head, spotted the symbol with the curved edges, the pointed bottom.
Gerri hit him hard between the shoulders, throwing herself at him. Oz tripped, landing with an audible thud on the pavement with her on his back, her gun digging into his spine as she recovered quickly, so fast it made her grin.
“I said,” she panted, smiled with her teeth bared, “stop. Police.”
Oz struggled under her, but she was already grabbing his wrists, her cuffs out, tightening them just that little bit extra to show him how much she cared. Oz finally collapsed, gasping for breath. Gerri holstered her gun and finished cuffing him, glancing back over her shoulder at the sound of swearing and running feet.
Jackson looked about as good as Oz did. He came to a halt, hands on his knees, winded and wasted from just that short run. Pathetic.
“Go get the car,” Gerri said, crouching to search Oz’s pockets. She ignored the glare her partner shot her.
“Keys?” She chuckled to herself. Looked up. Loved that he had to ask.
She tossed them to him, even as she knew he’d make her pay. But that was okay. She was looking forward to it. For now, she had her captured prey to consider. And he had a whole lot of talking to do.
***
INT. – 9th PRECINCT INTERROGATION - AFTERNOON
Gerri stood on the other side of the glass, staring at Oz seated at the beat-up desk in the interrogation room. She liked to let her suspects sit and stew a bit while she watched them squirm. He was certainly obliging, unable, it seemed to her, to find a comfortable position, hands jerking occasionally at the cuffs still holding his wrists. But, he wasn’t a nervous pacer, so she didn’t get to watch him move around the room. And nor did he seem overly agitated for someone she was about to question for murder. A quick glance at the rap sheet she’d already read thoroughly explained his lack of stress.
Career criminal, starting with a sealed record back in juvie she didn’t have to read. Because his life of crime continued on a similar vein the moment he turned eighteen. Though he was very good at escaping prosecution, charges of break and entering, petty theft, grand theft auto, drug possession and worse escalated up to assault and sexual assault.
Whoever this guy had watching over him, whatever angel—or devil—kept him from being tossed in prison more often, she was about to see if she could break his winning streak with a slam dunk of her own.
The door to the observation room opened and the captain entered. Gerri smothered her surprise with a nod to him.
“I hear we’re missing a body,” he said, voice low, though Oz wouldn’t hear them from the other side of the glass.
“I’m sure it’s a mix up,” Gerri said.
The captain grunted. “The paperwork is missing, too, Meyers. Just thought you should know.”
Gerri wanted to shout her frustration as soon as she absorbed what he said. No coincidence, then, Ray’s autopsy report was gone with Aisling. “Does that mean we’re dumping the case?” Not that she would. Not this time. She’d been here before, with another dead body gone and no evidence a crime even happened.
The captain didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back on her. Were his shoulders slumped? And why was he telling her this, and not ordering her to stand down? He paused at the door while she struggled with disbelief. Bodies and paperwork only vanished when someone with power wanted them gone. She gritted her teeth and thought of Missy’s mangled little form when the captain spoke again.
“Get this asshole,” he said. “No reasonable doubt. If he did it—body or not—I want him off my streets.”
Gerri didn’t comment, just let the captain go, her stomach on slow roil. It had to be Feds involved. They’d come into her precinct in Boston, in their black suits with their uncompromising stares and lack of humor or humanity. Cleared out every last scrap of paper to do with Missy’s murder, right down to digging up her body, her tearful mother told Gerri the next morning. Took her out of the ground and never brought her back.
The only case Gerri never solved, because, like now, there was no case. Just a mother missing her daughter they both knew was dead despite the attempt at cover up and official story to the contrary. Another child gone missing though Gerri had held her cold, stiff hand personally. In her heart, she knew who did it. But the senator was untouchable and Missy was just a poor black girl from the wrong side of town. Gerri’s hands had been tied so tight she couldn’t move.
The door opened again, Jackson joining her this time. Gerri was in the middle of trying to pry her jaws apart from an angry clench, only to have her teeth grind all over again.
“I want in on the interrogation.” Jackson really needed to get over his macho act. She was so tired of it.
“And I want peace on earth and a Ferrari.” Gerri pushed past him. “Stay out of the way, Pierce.”
Gerri didn’t expect him to listen. And, when he followed her out into the hall and stood right next to her as she reached for the other door, she sighed inwardly. Surely the captain would understand. A stray bullet. A little blood. She’d make it look like an accident.
What she really needed was a drink and a long, hot soak after a
n hour at the gym lifting enough weight to make her want to collapse. She’d reward herself later. Right now, she had a murderer to collar.
Jackson wasn’t taking no for an answer, so she chose to ignore him. There was only one chair in the room, across from where Oz sat. Gerri let Jackson take it. She wanted to be mobile, to be able to get in Oz's face if she needed to. Let her partner sit there and be a good boy. Gerri had her own methods.
She smelled Oz’s fear, the moment she entered, sucked it in like a drug. Okay, the chase was great. The hunt, the capture. But this, this was her favorite part. The hunt was over. She had her man. Now, all she had to do was dissect him.
Oh, and he was guilty, it was all over him, in the way he stared at her in sullen silence, how he held his body, hunched forward, to protect himself from her attack. He knew she knew. It was only a matter of time before she dug out the truth he was hiding behind all those tattoos.
As much as it freaked her out, Gerri opened up her sixth sense as wide as she could, embracing the secret edge she had over scum like him, and sat on the edge of the table, her back to Jackson, blocking his view. She smiled at Oz, dark and grim, while her partner slid his chair over. She could sense the hate in Jackson, filed it away for later. So, not just arrogance or anger, but true, bitter hate for her. She didn’t care why. This wasn’t about him.
No, this was about Oz and the way he stared at her with a trapped look in his hazel eyes. How he felt like a predator in his own right who knew his day as prey had finally come. But, there was more, under all of his own hate, under the ink and the screwed-up ideology.
“Tell me why you killed Aisling,” she said.
Oz twitched, looked away. “I didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t touch her.”
Two things registered immediately. He was lying. But, bigger, brighter, more sparkly to Gerri’s enhanced senses. This skinhead fag hater just called a transsexual “her”.
Now, that was interesting.
Ask him about when they met. The whisper guided her.It always guided her, like a voice inside her head. Only this one didn’t tell her she was ugly or worthless or sucked at her job. This one helped and she always listened.
She repeated the question. Oz’s eyes met hers, a guilty flicker.
“Never met her,” he grunted.
Liar. “You threatened to kill her about a year ago.” Gerri tossed the report onto the table in front of him. He didn’t even look at it. “She said you and your friends told her you were going to kill her. After you,” she flipped the cover open and read directly from the page, a trick Joe taught her, “‘raped her boy ass.’” Gerri dropped the report in his lap, one finger pushing it until the pages fluttered onto his thighs. “Except, you never did. So, what happened, Oswald?” She prodded him as the voice whispered and whispered, “afraid of a little queer?”
He lunged backward, but she expected it, felt the buildup of his rage. Oz threw himself out of the chair, spun away from her. Jackson half-rose, hand on his gun, but Gerri shook her head, scowling at him not to be an asshole.
“Get tired of tormenting the queer, is that it, Oz?” Gerri rose from her seat, followed him as he went to the corner. “No way someone like you and your buddies just let go of this. Your hate won’t let you.”
He shook his head, staring at the floor, hands fisted. She almost had him. His secret would be her secret. She felt him cracking as she moved closer, the strain too much for him. Maybe he wasn’t such a tough guy after all.
“You don’t know shit,” he said.
“I know enough.” She cursed to herself, wishing she had a photo of Aisling’s dead body to shove in his face. Then again, maybe he’d get off on seeing his handiwork. Gerri’s presence, her words, would have to do the job. “I know you hated her and you couldn’t stand it so you followed her and you killed her.” Gerri leaned in, lips next to Oz’s ear. “Stabbed her thirty two times, all in her fake chest. Over and over.” Don’t think about her missing heart. Don’t.
Oz’s wail wasn’t what Gerri expect and, when she pulled away and saw the tears on his face, as his emotions broke, she realized her mistake.
Just before the big, tattooed biker fell to his knees and sobbed. “I didn’t hate her,” he said. “I loved her.”
“Well holy shit.” Jackson laughed out loud, but Gerri ignored him, and so did Oz. She crouched next to her suspect, felt his grief and finally understood. It wasn’t guilt it was hiding—not for killing her. He had guilt a-plenty, sure. But about her, not for what he’d done.
“She knew I was gay.” Oz snuffled, falling back against the wall, his cuffed wrists over his knees. Gerri nodded for him to go on. “I don’t know how she knew. She called me out one night, when I was alone.” He ducked his head, shoulders shaking. “I couldn’t, you get me?” He met Gerri’s eyes, his full of pain. “I had to pretend. The guys, they would never understand.” They'd likely kill him. “But she was amazing.” Oz’s face lit up a moment, the man he could have been shining through. “She taught me it was okay, that I wasn’t a freak. That love wasn’t just a lie your mom told you about to make you forget your dad is a fucking asshole.” He wiped at his running nose with the side of one glove. “I joined the Divinities because I knew I couldn’t accept what I was. I hoped maybe they could make me a man. But Ays, she taught me I was worried about the wrong things.” Oz’s head snapped back, hitting the wall behind him with a solid thud. “I should have just left them. She said we could run away together. Why didn’t I say yes?” He slumped further down the wall, his tough exterior cracked wide open, heart laid bare. “I was too much of a coward. And now, she’s dead.”
Gerri exhaled softly, letting his grief sink further in, allowing him to settle. She heard Jackson move, gestured with sharp anger for him to be still and silent. He must have understood because the quiet remained unbroken until Gerri was ready to ask her next question.
“Who killed her, Oz? Who would want to hurt Aisling?” His gang? Maybe, if they found out about him.
“I don’t know.” His jaw bunched, throat working as his big hands fisted on his knees. “But I’ll kill the motherfucker.”
“Any of your crew?” She couldn’t lose him now to anger. Not yet.
But, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I gave her up a year ago. There’s no way. I kept my distance, to protect her.” His eyes met Gerri’s. “You let me know when you find out. I’ll take care of it for you.”
“And this symbol?” She pulled out her phone, brought up the image of the symbols she’d kept. Pointed to the familiar swirls and sharp edges of the mark they’d found on Aisling’s chest, along with five others Kinsey still hadn’t fully translated for her. Thinking of her friend just pissed her off. She pushed away Kinsey’s silence and focused.
“Dunno,” Oz said. “Just a gang thing. I’m not a boss or nothing. I just wear the colors and do the job.” His head hung one last time. “But, you can ask the church guy. I think he knows about it.”
Church guy? “Reverend Sterling?” What the hell did he have to do with a biker gang?
“Yeah, that guy.” Oz’s face darkened, his animal returning. “The bosses had me do a few jobs for him. That was when I met Aisling.”
Now, what would an upright member of the clergy be doing working with a gang of thugs? Gerri knew there was something about that guy she didn’t like. And though her gut told her the minister wasn’t guilty of murder, he was hiding.
Time to find out what.
Gerri stood, went to the door, jerking Jackson’s sleeve to pull him along with her. She paused as Oz spoke from his place on the floor.
“Do you think they’d let me go to the funeral?” So pathetic, his broken heart, the little boy in him who never had a chance to grow and love himself. Gerri couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, that there would be no funeral without a body. No case report meant no murder, at least for her to investigate. Not that she would let it stop her.
“Of course,” she said. Let him have that co
mfort. Jackson rolled his eyes at her, but, to his credit, stayed quiet until she closed the door behind them. Instead of saying anything, her partner just snickered and walked away.
His back was nice and broad. Easy shot.
She would have done it, too. Except her murder plans were interrupted. Panting and red faced, with her laptop bag bouncing against her hip, Kinsey burst from the exit stairwell and came hurrying toward her.
Gerri didn’t need her sixth sense to know this had to be trouble.
***
INT. – 9th PRECINCT - AFTERNOON
Kinsey avoided the glare Jackson gave her as he spun around and strode back to Gerri, eyeing her over the detective’s shoulder. She instead stayed focused on Gerri. From the irritation flashing over the redhead’s face, Kinsey knew she’d have cleanup to do later, apologies to make. Right now, she had more important things to tell her.
“Here.” She shoved the slip of paper into Gerri’s hands, holding the Bible up to get her meaning across. “Look.”
Gerri looked down, eyes widening at the neat row of six symbols drawn with child-like cartoonishness on the slip of white paper. The edges were torn, not cut, uneven, as though someone had been doodling on a page meant for something else and wanted to keep it. When Gerri’s eyes rose again, they settled on the Bible.
“You found it in there?” She was reaching for her pocket, pulling out a glove, as Jackson stepped around her with a snarl on his face.
“Tell me you didn’t let the civvy handle evidence.” He snatched the book from Kinsey’s hands, ignoring Gerri’s glove. “Too late now, Meyers.”
Gerri’s face darkened. “It wasn’t evidence of murder,” she said, though she looked troubled when she met Kinsey’s eyes. “At the time.”
Kinsey winced, deflating. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Gerri waved it off before Jackson could comment. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “But it confirms what we already know. The preacher is involved, maybe up to his stiff, white asshole. Whether he ordered the murder or did the deed himself, the Bible and the connection to the Divinities is enough I want time in the confessional with Reverend Sterling.” She half turned to her partner, even while striding off. “Clean up that mess in interrogation, why don’t you.” Gerri grabbed Kinsey’s arm on the way by, hauling her along, while Jackson scowled at her, hands dropping to his sides.
