Hold Me in the Dark

by Newbury, Helena

  He looked away and I flushed.

  “Okay,” said Doctor Liedner. “So. Daniel Grier.” She led us around the corner and I caught my breath. He was lying right there on the table. Just... there. Not a photo, an actual man who used to be alive and now wasn’t. I found I was staring at his bare chest, waiting for it to move. Don’t freak out.

  Calahan and Doctor Liedner moved around the table as if there was nothing wrong. “Very rare to see blood loss like this,” said Dr. Liedner. “It takes real work. He tested positive for anti-clotting agents: your killer managed to keep the blood flow going until almost all of it was gone.”

  “What about the actual murder?” asked Calahan. “I couldn’t see a wound that would have killed him.”

  “That’s because there wasn’t one,” said Doctor Liedner. “Based on the state of the heart and other organs, he died from the blood loss.”

  Calahan and I looked at each other. “He didn’t kill him and then drain the body of blood,” said Calahan. “He drained the body of blood and that killed him.” Both of us frowned. It felt important, but neither of us could figure out why. “How’d the killer keep him still?” asked Calahan.

  “He tested positive for tubocurarine too. It’s a muscle relaxant. Causes paralysis. With the right dose, you could keep someone still but able to breathe on their own. The blood loss wouldn’t be painful. They’d drift off to sleep and finally their heart would stop.”

  “Peaceful,” I thought. Then realized I’d said it out loud. I flushed. “I mean—”

  “No, you’re right,” said Doctor Liedner. “Not the worst way to go.”

  “What else can you tell us?” asked Calahan.

  Doctor Liedner lifted one of the body’s arms and—there was something about the way it moved. The way the fingers stayed curled up and stiff. The room seemed to sway and my ears filled with cotton wool as I went woozy. Easy, I thought, you’re almost through it….

  “Abrasions on the wrists,” Doctor Liedner was saying. “My guess would be zip ties. Ankles are the same. And there’s a needle mark on the neck.”

  Calahan leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, his shoulders and biceps stretching his suit. “So our killer picks the lock at Grier’s apartment, injects Grier with something to knock him out fast, then zip ties him. Puts him in the trunk of his car, takes him across town to the apartment in Harlem, doses him with anti-clotting agents and muscle relaxant and finally bleeds him.”

  Hearing it all laid out like that made me worse. The thought of all the blood draining from him, clear tubes filling with red…. My vision went dark at the edges.

  “Which side of the neck is the needle mark?” asked Calahan suddenly.

  “Right side,” said Doctor Liedner. So matter of fact, as if she was talking about which tail light was busted on her car. “So your killer’s likely right-handed. Look—” And she—

  Daniel Grier was a little overweight and he had rolls of fat around his neck. And Doctor Liedner was prying those rolls apart with her gloved fingers, the flesh gray and lifeless and cold—

  The room went dark.

  12

  Calahan

  I RAN OVER to her, but she was gone, slumped in her chair in a dead faint.

  Idiot! I knew better than this. I knew this almost always happened on a first autopsy. Hell, it happened to me! And Yolanda wasn’t even a cop. Why did I drag her down here?

  Because I hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. I cursed. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I thanked Doctor Liedner, grabbed Yolanda’s chair and pushed it through the hallways and outside. Only when we were out in the sunlight and the breeze did I kneel down beside her and gently cradle her cheek with my hand. I tried not to think about how soft her skin was, how good it felt against my palm.

  “Yolanda?” I asked gently. “Yolanda?”

  Her eyes stayed shut, but her lips parted a little. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Blush-pink and silken. If I just extended my thumb a little, I could brush it across them—

  I gritted my teeth and kept my thumb where it damn well was. “Yolanda?”

  Her eyes opened. I looked down into all that beautiful forest green and had to swallow before I could speak. Christ, I was like a teenager around this woman. “Hey!” I said lamely.

  She looked confused. Then she went red. “Did I faint?”

  “Just... lightly,” I told her. I was trying to speak through a huge surge of relief. I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been. “Happens to everyone, their first time. It’s my fault. Should have been watching for it.”

  “Everyone?” she asked. “Even you?”

  “I went down like a felled tree. Broke my nose on the exam table.”

  She was still blushing, but she laughed. And that drew her attention to my palm, still pressed against her cheek.

  I stared at her.

  She stared at me.

  I forced myself to draw my hand away. But I swore that, for half a second, she followed it with her cheek, pressing against it as if she was reluctant, too.

  Now that we were out of the morgue and back above ground, my phone started to buzz with all the messages I’d missed. One was from Carrie, wanting an update on the case before the end of the day. I sighed. “I’ve got to go brief my boss on how we’re doing,” I told her. “You should come along.”

  “Me?!” Yolanda’s eyes went wide.

  “If she has questions about the equations, I’m not going to be able to answer them.” Yolanda still looked horrified. “Look, I know hackers don’t like the FBI, but no one’s going to arrest you. It’ll be fine. You can meet the people I work with.” Now she looked physically ill. “Yolanda, what’s the matter? They’re good people, you’ll like them.”

  “Nothing’s the matter. I’m sure they’re great.” She sighed. “Fine.”

  I frowned. Why was she so reluctant? “Okay. Thanks.” I nodded towards Central Park. “We can cut through the park. And you should grab something to eat, you haven’t eaten all day.”

  She wheeled herself in silence for a few minutes. Her eyes were everywhere, suspicious and wary. She didn’t like it out here on the street and I felt lousy for bringing her out here. But I liked the idea of her trapped in that penthouse even less.

  “Do I get to know your real name, now?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t just keep calling you Yolanda.”

  “Everyone calls me Yolanda.”

  “Online. What about offline?”

  She frowned at me, then looked away. My chest contracted. There is no offline. I was the first person she’d spoken to face-to-face in... weeks? Months?

  When we got into the park, with its wide paths and greenery, she seemed to relax a little. The sun was going down, but it was still comfortably warm. We picked up a couple of burgers and cokes from one of the cafes and stopped to eat them. The burgers were amazing, the meat hot and juicy and the cheese melted into gooey perfection. A string quartet was playing nearby and it was blissfully peaceful.

  And then Yolanda took this enormous bite of her burger. I mean huge, like a third of the burger just vanished. And it was just such a surprise, to see someone so delicate wolf down—

  “What?” mumbled Yolanda.

  I shook my head. Nothing.

  She swallowed. “You’re grinning at me,” she said reproachfully.

  I realized I was, but I couldn’t help it. She’d just looked so cute. And being there with her just made me—

  Happy.

  The warm glow had crept up on me, but as soon as I realized what it was, it was like a freezing gray ocean thundered down, sluicing it away, drowning me. Happy? After what I did, I thought I deserved to be happy?! I shouldn’t even be here! She should be here, laughing and singing and lighting up the world, and I should be—

  I turned away from Yolanda, unable to speak. I wanted to yell, to smash, to destroy. And the thing I wanted to destroy most was myself. I took three shuddering breaths,
forcing myself calm.

  “We should get going,” I muttered.

  When I turned around, those beautiful green eyes were full of concern. But she nodded.

  We finished our food and moved on, not talking. We were almost across the park when a group of female joggers passed us going the other way, pushing baby strollers. Yolanda’s hands went loose on the wheels and she slowed to a stop, her eyes following them, her face forlorn. My chest ached. This is why she doesn’t go outside. Everyone’s a reminder that she’ll never stand or walk or run….

  And then the last woman in the group ran past, and her kid looked towards us and gurgled happily... and Yolanda suddenly pressed her lips together, sucked in a big gulp of air and looked away. And then she was gone, racing off ahead of me towards the exit of the park.

  I was a moron. It hadn’t been about the running. Is that what she thought, that she could never...?

  I had to run to catch up. God, she could really move in that thing. By the time I caught her, she was waiting at the crosswalk that led across to the FBI building. I arrived beside her breathless and worried. “Yolanda!”

  Her head snapped around and she glared at me. “What?” she snapped.

  I stopped. There were no words. And even if there were, even if I knew them, she didn’t want to hear them. The last thing she wanted was my sympathy. “You got mustard,” I said at last. “There.” And I pointed to the corner of my mouth.

  She glared at me... and then nodded. “Thanks,” she muttered. And wiped at the mustard we both knew wasn’t there.

  As we crossed the street, my sadness turned to anger. I wasn’t angry at her, I was pissed at whatever had happened to her, to take away her brother and leave her like this.

  I was still scowling when we reached the FBI building. But when I pushed through the doors, I felt myself calm. Stepping into the lobby always feels like coming home. Even when I have a shitty day at work, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I held the doors for Yolanda. “Welcome to the FBI.”

  I realized something: I’m proud of what I do. I just don’t usually have anyone to share it with.

  She rolled slowly in, looking down at the big FBI seal on the floor and then up at the flag hanging overhead. I took her up in the elevator to my floor, eager to introduce her to everyone. As soon as the doors opened, I saw Stan Hooney. Hooney’s a great guy. “Hey!” I called.

  Hooney turned and beamed. “Hey! You want a coffee? I’m heading to the break room.”

  “Always. You know how I take it. Thanks.”

  Hooney kept his eyes on me. “Does, uh... does she want one?” And he jerked his head towards Yolanda as if she wasn’t capable of speech.

  I just stared at Hooney. Wait, did he really just—

  Yolanda spoke up. “Yes, thank you. Black, no sugar, please.”

  Hooney blinked as if surprised and hurried off.

  Okay, that was weird. I didn’t know what to say to Yolanda. But before I could do anything, other people were surrounding us, wanting to say hi. I introduced Yolanda but it was like they couldn’t make eye contact with her. The guys, who would normally be all over any woman as hot as her, went awkward and embarrassed. And the women…. They all know I’ve been single for a long time. If I walk into the office with an attractive woman, immediately they’re either warning her off me or saying what a cute couple we’d make. But with Yolanda, that didn’t happen. It was as if she was sexless, as if making the normal jokes would somehow be in bad taste.

  I got more and more angry. This was my home, my family. How did I never see this before?

  I looked at Yolanda. She didn’t look mad, so much as tired. It slowly sank in. She knew it would be like this. This was normal, for her. No wonder she stayed in the safety of her apartment. And then I went and dragged her out of it. I wanted to apologize, but I had no idea what to say.

  “Calahan!” The yell filled the room: hell, they probably heard it in the lobby. Carrie Blake, my boss. Everyone froze, then scuttled off to their work, glad it wasn’t them she was summoning.

  I hurried over to where Carrie was standing and Yolanda hurried alongside me. She wasn’t in trouble, but Carrie’s voice has that effect on people.

  Carrie was brandishing a piece of paper. “That kidnapping case you worked, up in the Catskills? According to the NYPD, they found an encrypted laptop when they raided the kidnapper’s home. You left with it and less than an hour later, it’s miraculously decrypted. Please tell me there’s an explanation that doesn’t involve you breaking the law!”

  Dammit, I knew that was going to come back to haunt me. All three of us stared at each other in silence. Seconds ticked by. I opened my mouth to admit it, knowing that Carrie might finally fire me, this time—

  “It was me,” said Yolanda. She looked Carrie straight in the eye without flinching. “Agent Calahan visited me on another matter and he had the laptop with him. I took it without his knowledge and got past the decryption for... fun. Because I like a challenge. I assumed it was Agent Calahan’s laptop, I had no idea it was a piece of evidence.”

  I stared at Yolanda in horror. Carrie crossed her arms and glared at her.

  Yolanda just stared back, refusing to buckle. So Carrie turned her frown on me.

  “Happened just like she said,” I told her.

  “So it was all a happy accident,” said Carrie sarcastically. “Nobody broke the law. How convenient.” She studied Yolanda, Then she looked at me. And suddenly, her eyes softened,

  I felt my face going hot. Carrie doesn’t miss much.

  Carrie moved a little closer to Yolanda. “I take it you’re the mathematician who’s going to help us with the Grier murder?”

  Yolanda nodded.

  “Thank you,” said Carrie. “We appreciate it.” She asked Yolanda what she’d learned about the equations so far, nodding soberly as she listened to the answers. When they’d finished, she turned to me. “Agent Calahan? A word?”

  She took me a few paces away, our backs turned to Yolanda. “I like her,” Carrie whispered, trying not to smile. “Don’t fuck it up.” And she walked off.

  I turned back to Yolanda. “You didn’t have to do that,” I told her.

  “She was ready to fire you.”

  “She’s always ready to fire me.” But Yolanda was right. I’d been breaking the rules more and more, recently. I was on thin ice. I took a deep breath. “Thanks. Thanks for covering for me. And... I’m sorry. About how people treated you.”

  She looked away and nodded, embarrassed. Then she looked towards Carrie’s retreating back. “I like her,” she said.

  Alison Brooks, one of my fellow field agents, emerged from an interview room. A stout black guy in a suit followed her out and I saw the family resemblance even before Alison introduced us. “Mr. Grier,” she said, “this is Special Agent Calahan. He’s leading the investigation into your brother’s death.”

  I saw Yolanda’s face fall. It was the first time she’d met grieving relatives and I knew exactly how she felt because I still remembered my first time. Suddenly, it all becomes real. You understand the gaping hole the death has torn in their lives.

  I shook hands with the man. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He clasped my hand in both of his. “Danny was a good man, Never hurt nobody his whole life.” His voice was a rich South Carolina bass but I could hear the tremble underneath: the poor guy was close to losing it. “You going to find out who did this?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Yolanda lean forward a little in her chair, her eyes fierce. Meeting this guy had made it personal for her. She wanted my answer, too.

  I nodded firmly. “Yes. Yes I am.”

  He gave a quick nod and turned towards the exit, tears in his eyes. Another guy followed him out of the room: a brother, from the age. Then another. And another. I was just turning to talk to Alison when another two emerged. I looked at Alison, amazed.

  “Daniel was the youngest of seven brothers,” she told me. “I know
, right? They all flew in together so we could interview them. It’s a close-knit family, they’re in pieces.”

  The best way I can describe Alison is: she’s like a cat. Not the playing-with-yarn, curl up on your lap kind. The stalking panther kind, graceful and deadly. She’s younger than me, and I sort of mentored her a little when she was getting started.

  “Did you get anything useful from them?” Yolanda asked her.

  “The sum total of jack shit,” said Alison. “Daniel Grier was a good, honest man. Everybody liked him. No debts, no drugs, no mistresses... and it sure as hell wasn’t one of his brothers, there’s not one of them that wasn’t close to crying, in there.”

  I gestured towards a map of New York on the far side of the room: follow me. Yolanda arrived first, overtaking me and skidding to a halt beside the map. I arrived next. Alison took her time, not so much walking as prowling, and her eyes were on Yolanda the whole time. Appraising her. Assessing her. What was that all about? Alison can be a little cold with strangers but she’s usually friendly towards people I know.

  Yolanda looked up and caught the tail end of Alison’s stare, and she shrank back a little in her chair. Dammit! What’s going on? I needed these two to work together!

  I quickly pointed to a red pin on the map. “Grier was abducted here, in Morningside Heights.” I swept an angry line across the map with my finger. “Then the killer drove him ten blocks, to Harlem, just so he could kill him there. Why? Why not just kill him where he was?” I rubbed at my stubble and glanced at Yolanda. “And I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the death being painless. This doesn’t feel like a normal murder. There’s no... hate.”

  Alison and Yolanda both shook their heads, as confused as I was.

  I sighed. “Let’s get you home, so you can get to work,” I said to Yolanda. “Because if there’s any way this makes sense... it’s locked up inside those equations.”