Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

  “Oh, Beatrice,” She looked up with a start as the fringe of her long red hair fell over her blue eyes. “Yes, doctor?” Her voice was slightly bouncy, with the tone of a young teenager.

  “Listen, I will not be available as of tomorrow, so could you cancel my appointments for the week? Thank you.” He gazed at her from head to toe.

  “Nothing the matter, I hope, doc,” she said, the gum in her mouth clinging between the upper and lower molars.

  “No, no, just consulting on a little case for the police, that is all.”

  He was back in his office. At last, he thought, newspapers, press; he would be back up there again.

  The caretaker , a friendly, plump woman with large brown-rimmed glasses, had let Tooms and Tony into Karen’s apartment. The place was large with lots of windows, and the white walls enhanced the natural light in the sitting area, and as they looked round there appeared to be a kitchen next to this space with only a breakfast bar to separate the two. As they went through Karen’s belongings it became apparent to them that she had little social life: pretty much everything she had appeared to be work-orientated.

  Tony went through her fridge while Tooms checked her mail; they both came up empty.

  “This girl was super clean, I mean the fridge is laid out in some sort of order, even the stuff in her cupboards is labelled where it should go, nah, this is freaky, bro,” Tony said, shutting the fridge and joining Tooms in the sitting area.

  “Why is it whenever we come to a victim’s home we try and find some dirty secrets in their life, or something to try to make sense and explain the bad things that happened to them?” Tony continued, going through her sock drawer. He found nothing.

  “Human nature, bro,” Tooms replied. “We can’t really accept bad things happen to good people, there is no social justice in it, but if bad things happen to bad people, well that’s all right. Unfortunately we know that aint always the way it works and it sucks.”

  “Yeh, I guess you’re right. I got nothing, just her diary and planner, let’s get back.”

  The two friends left for the precinct, leaving CSU to check for any more evidence about the girl.

  Charlene Walters had had a long day at the club, the wives’ meeting had gone on forever. The society ladies meeting only met once a month and it was a chance for her to get out of the house for a bit. She had mingled but it was time to go, so she said her farewells and made for the door.

  The grey suit she wore clung to her body. Even though she was in her late fifties she had the looks and body of a hot forty-year-old, and she knew it.

  A young twenty-something guy brought round her car; she observed him closely as he got out and held the door of the Mercedes for her, and she slid into the driver’s seat of the sports car, pressed a hundred into his hand, and winked. He shut the door and she sped off into the distance. As he opened the folded note her business card fell out, and he picked it up and stuck it into his vest pocket with a grin.

  It was a long drive from the Hamptons; however, it could not be helped, it was that or stay home with him. And it was a beautiful night, the stars shone like diamonds in the dark of the heavens, shards of light smudged across the windshield as she sped past the streetlights guiding her path towards the city. As Charlene got into Manhattan, she was aware it was not as late as she thought and decided to do a little stop-off.

  The park house was almost empty but she still decided to park as she always did, near to an exit or elevator and close to another expensive car if at all possible; she found the perfect spot next to a black 911.

  The new Porsche’ paintwork glinted in the light as she stopped and put on some lipstick. Fluffing her short brown hair Charlene exited the vehicle.

  Looking round she saw a couple of people here and there, parking or getting ready to depart. Pressing the small transmitter on her key, the lights flashed and the horn emitted a meep meep to confirm the operation of securing her car. Charlene opened her brown leather bag and placed the keys in it; reaching inside she pulled out a compact, and a stick of lipstick. She removed the cover and twisted the lower part of the stick, exposing the deep red lipstick’s business end. With her other hand she flicked open the compact and stared into the mirror. Charlene stopped for a brief moment, staring at her own reflection, but all she saw was a sad middle-aged woman. A car sped past, shocking her back to reality. She regarded her face once more, then shrugged at the reflection and smiled. After freshening up her make-up, she put the lipstick and compact back into the bag, then closed the flap using the gold-coloured crossed CC buckle. As she approached the elevator in silence and pressed the call button, Charlene watched quietly as the small round disks above the sliding doors illuminated, showing which floor the elevator was on. The light held position on the floor below, as her foot tapped impatiently on the hard concrete.

  She smiled as the light went out and she could hear the faint rumble of the heavy metal box that was heading upwards through the shaft towards her. Just as the elevator approached, her bag gave off a faint tune as her cell phone played the theme from the musical Cats. As she looked down to answer it, the elevator’s door slid open and a bright stream of light shone out. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the blinding torchlight. A powerful hand reached out and dragged her in. As the doors closed and the elevator made its way upwards, a terrified scream filled the shaft, then abruptly it stopped.

  Tooms and Tony had returned from their trip to ‘I haven’t seen anything and I don’t know anything’ land that was Karen’s apartment block.

  “What’s up, guys?” asked McCall, who was busy looking to see where John Steel was.

  “Well, as usual, nobody knew her apart from some guy in 4c who said, and I quote: ‘she was really smoking’,” Tooms replied, putting down the notepad he was reading from, and his voice carried an ‘I’m not surprised’ tone.

  “Nobody saw her and she lived in a block with over thirty people in it. Apart from that she was clean living, quiet, always paid her rent on time.” He put the pad into the pocket of his thick unyielding brown leather jacket.

  “We didn’t find pictures of family or anything, no boyfriend pictures, nothing.” Tony added, sitting at his desk as he started to dial a number on the desk’s phone while McCall worked on the white board, which was now covered with photos and scribbles.

  She spun the whole thing round, revealing three long black strips, one on top of the other. Each strip had several vertical lines coming off at the top of the base lines: this was her timeline board for each of the victims.

  “McCall, you may need another stripe. We got us another one.” The Captain had a worn tone in his voice, he was tired of not having a single clue or anything to work on. This guy was good, and the knowledge of it was getting to him.

  McCall didn’t try and find Steel—in fact she didn’t want him around her; yes, fine, he had saved her from Jabba and his gang but something about him was wrong, something was not quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but he made her nervous.

  The detectives made their way to a dirty alleyway near the meatpacking district; the press was all over the area, reporters tripping over each other to get a glimpse or an interview. As she pushed forwards, microphones were thrust into her face as requests from the press for any information and comments such as ‘was this one connected to the other killings?’ She sighed with incredulity at how quickly the media people had got there.

  Moving through the hordes of police she found herself with the ME, Tina, who was kneeling holding a clipboard looking over the remains of what appeared to have been a woman.

  “Is it the same guy?” McCall asked her friend, afraid of the answer.

  “Well, hi to you too!” Tina snapped at her without turning round.

  “What? Oh sorry Tina, Hi” McCall quickly apologized, with a ‘naughty puppy’ look on her face. “But is it the same guy?”

  “Well, our vic has had both arms removed and she has no blood present in her body
, but until I get her back to the lab I can’t say for sure, although it has all the hallmarks of our boy, but till then...” Tina suddenly looked worried as she noticed something.

  “Strange thing, is this fresh?”

  McCall looked puzzled. “What do you mean, fresh?”

  The M.E stood up and called for the waiting orderlies to take the body away. “The others were at least a couple of days old, but this was done recently and quickly.”

  A chill went down McCall’s spine.

  “You figure that he’s stepping it up?” Tina nodded.

  McCall waited for CSU to do their sweep of the area, taking photos and searching for fibers and prints. Once they were finished, the female detective and her team went in. Tony stopped at the entrance and looked around.

  “Where’s Steel?” he asked.

  The others stopped and looked up and down the street to find no trace of the most recent addition to their team.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care.” McCall’s look was stern, she didn’t have time to babysit: if Steel wanted to be there he would have made the effort.

  “Screw him, that brother smells like trouble if you ask me,” Tooms’s voice bellowed. He didn’t give a damn about this John Steel, the case was his priority. The team made their way into the alleyway taking it inch by inch, searching for pieces to the puzzle.

  Each of them had spent at least an hour scouring through drains, under boxes, in fact anywhere a clue might be. Tony was doing door-to-door interviews to try and find someone who may have seen anything unusual in the last few hours, but turned up nothing.

  “God, sometimes I hate this city,” Tony grumbled. “I can’t believe nobody saw anything.”

  “Hey, that’s New York, man, if it don’t concern nobody, no one is interested.” Tooms had had enough, they all had. The case was burning them out, and the sooner it was finished with the better, but McCall had a bad feeling about this one. This was trouble.

  “OK,” she told them. “We can’t do any more here, so let’s head back to the station and pick it up from there.” The others nodded and they moved off. It’s going to be a long night, thought McCall, great, that was all she needed.

  High above them a figure knelt on the edge of a rooftop, his gaze following them to their vehicles as they made their exit. He stood up and his coat took to the breeze like some mythical bird, his shape silhouetted by the moon that shone brightly creating a long shadow on the rooftop. A cloud crept across the sky, briefly blacking out the moon, causing everything to go dark. In those seconds he was gone, as if he’d been carried off by the darkness.

  ELEVEN

  The next morning at the station there was an air of panic as the news of yet another killing spread through the precinct, and it wouldn’t be long before the newspapers and TV stations had the grim information plastered all over the place, instilling panic throughout the city, a panic that the Captain was trying to avoid.

  The team searched through missing persons records, and took calls from possible witnesses as well as doing their best to fend off the press.

  McCall spied Steel heading for her as he got out of the elevator. She braced herself for the inevitable question of

  ‘Why did you not tell me about the latest death?’. But if he wanted to be included, she reasoned, he had to be there all the time, not just when it suited him. He arrived at her desk and sat down without a word.

  “OK,” she felt the urge to apologize.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t come and find you, but when it all kicked off we had to leave quickly.” The speech was quick and speedy, as if what she had to say was too embarrassing to say slowly.

  “No problem,” he said. “In your position I would have done the same, if I want to be included on this case I have to be here all the time, and not just when it suits me.”

  She looked at him with a look of utter disbelief. Had he just read her mind? Confusion had knocked her off balance, as she stumbled through a quick briefing on what they had just found. He just smiled and handed her a coffee he had just bought from a coffee shop nearby.

  “Thanks.” Shocked by his kind gesture, she took a sip of the coffee, and a burst of aromatic goodness flushed through her system. Oh my God, that’s good, she thought, but did not wish to let on.

  “So what have you been up to—?” she stopped herself in mid-sentence, not wanting to go on.

  “Do you really want to know or are you just saying that?” he asked.

  “Not really.” Her eyes shot back to the paperwork as he smiled to himself.

  “Well, you may want to know someone has just filed a missing person’s report which may fit your vic’s description.”

  Her gaze shot up to his face. “Where? When?” He pointed to Tony, who was approaching quickly with a slip of paper.

  “You won’t believe what I just got,” the other detective said smugly.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, looking at Steel, who was busy sipping his cappuccino.

  TWELVE

  The Walters’ residence was a penthouse in a massive complex of old stone and large arched windows, a monument to bygone days. The view of Central Park was breathtaking through the large windows of the lounge area. All over the place, marble floors glistened with the touch of the midday sun. McCall looked in awe at the fine furniture everywhere, most of which was probably the same age as the building, if not older. A pretty girl who appeared to be in her late twenties had let them in; her maid’s uniform was a black-and-white all-in-one short dress, the lacy white collar fluffed up around her neck. Her long blonde hair was styled into a bun then crowned with a small white maid’s tiara.

  “Mr Walters, the police are here to see you,” she said, as she ushered them into the large sitting area. Benjamin Walters was sitting on an old heavy-looking chesterfield armchair, its dark leather encrusted with shining brass studs.

  “Please come in, sit down,” he said, rising from his own chair, his hands pointing to the long sofa of the same design. They all sat, and he waved at the girl, asking her to bring them some coffee.

  “I’m Detective McCall and this is Detective Steel,” McCall began.

  “We are here because you reported your wife missing.” Her concern was genuine, fuelled by the very real possibility that she could be the next victim.

  “Yes, she left for a damned wives’ meeting in the Hamptons yesterday and has not been seen since,” Benjamin Walters muttered in a strained voice.

  “I phoned the club to see if she could have stayed over but they said she left early.” He broke down, sobbing into his hand.

  Ignoring him, Steel got up and walked to a marble mantelpiece which surrounded a spectacular fireplace, lifting up a silver-framed photograph that showed Mr Walters and the victim. Steel showed it to the female detective, and she nodded in response.

  “Excuse me, sir, is this your wife?” The English officer said.

  Walters looked confused at first at the question, then he realized why Steel had asked it.

  “Oh my God, is she the latest victim of this killer that’s been in the papers? What will I do now? She was my whole life!”

  The coffee had arrived and the girl placed it down onto the large coffee table between Walters and the officers. She carefully poured coffee into the antique bone-china cups. It was the kind of valuable chinaware that most people would keep in a glass cabinet, hardly something to be actually used. But what was money to this guy?

  “We can’t be sure of anything, sir,” McCall said tactfully, “but we’d be grateful if you could come downtown and identify a body...”

  He nodded, with his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry to ask, Mr Walters,” she said gently, “But where were you around the time your wife went missing?” This was the question she always hated to ask a loved one, but sometimes it hit the right chord.

  Walters composed himself and picked up the cup and saucer from the dark wooden antique table.

  “I was out at my cl
ub. I was there until midnight. We had a port tasting on that evening so our driver had to bring me back.” He sipped the steaming liquid.

  “And which club would that be, sir?” She took her notebook out, ready to write down any new information.

  “The Harvard club, it’s on West 44th.” His hands shook slightly.

  “When did you see your wife last?”

  “Around midday, just before she left for the club.”

  “And when were you expecting her back” asked McCall, watching as Steel circled the room looking at photographs on the walls and shelves. She wondered if he was even paying attention to her questioning, or if he cared whether he was here or not.

  “It’s hard to say, I never really expect her back when she has been to the club.” He placed the cup and saucer back onto the table. “You see, it depends what sort of day she has had.”

  McCall looked puzzled and Steel turned slightly, clearly surprised at his response.

  “What do you mean?” Steel exclaimed, turning back to look at a rather colourful Rembrandt painting on the wall.

  “If she has had a good day she will stay until late, sometimes may have to stay over. And if she has had a bad day, well, she normally shops.” A lonely look fell upon his weary face. He was not particularly old, but it seemed as if something had worn him down, making his features careworn and weary.

  “Did she drive herself or was she taken to the club?”

  “No, she took her car; it’s a black Mercedes SLK.” His mind shifted, a faraway look came into his eyes, and then, with a start, he was back again.

  “I bought it for her birthday last year and she goes everywhere in the damn thing.” Bitterness swept over his face, causing the wrinkles in his skin to crease further.