Brooklyn Blood

by M. Z. Kelly

  I spent a few minutes more with the paperwork before setting it aside and thinking we had our work cut out for us on both cases. I was headed for bed when my phone rang. My pulse quickened when I saw the call was from Sam Crawford.

  “Sorry I haven’t been in touch,” Sam said, after we exchanged greetings. “I was assigned a new partner at work. Things have been a bit hectic, and the days have slipped away from me.”

  I did my best to sound nonchalant. “No worries. I know how that can happen.”

  After a pause, he said, “I heard about the girl who was murdered in the cemetery. It sounds like it was a bad scene.”

  “It was. From what I know, she was a working girl who ran across the wrong person and paid the ultimate price.”

  We chatted about Remy Powell for a couple minutes before he changed the subject. “I’d like...I was thinking maybe I could make good on that promise to follow up on your mother’s disappearance.”

  Thinking he’d made the offer just to be polite, I let him off the hook. “It’s really not necessary. I don’t think I’ll ever know what happened to her.”

  “Maybe not, but...there’s some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

  What he’d said piqued my interest. “Okay. I’m free this coming weekend if you’d like to stop by.”

  “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could have dinner and talk. There’s a steakhouse called Bennington’s a few blocks over from the...from where you live. I could meet you there at eight on Saturday night, if that works.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I hesitated before responding. It wasn’t like I had any other plans. Maybe I was unconsciously sending him a message that I might be busy.

  I finally said, “That sounds nice. I’ll see you Saturday night.”

  After ending the call, I got ready for bed, but was unable to sleep. I spent a long time thinking about Sam’s call. I realized that I hadn’t had a real date in months. It occurred to me that maybe his real interest had as much to do with what he’d found out about my mother as it did with me. I decided I wouldn’t know for sure until Saturday night and tried my best to put him out of my mind.

  My thoughts then drifted to Remy Powell and Sophia Puig. They were, in very different ways, both victims of men who were vicious and cruel. The stark images of Remy, wearing an angel costume and suspended above the graveyard again skittered through my mind. I remembered the wounded, empty expression on Sophia Puig’s face, the fear that the boxer might make good on his promises to kill her and her daughter.

  I realized that maybe the connection I felt to the two women was because of the losses I’d suffered in my own life. I’d never known my father, and my mother had abandoned me as a child. I’d done my best not to let those facts define my life, but I now understood they had. I’d spent much of my life alone and lost, struggling both to make sense of my life and to find a relationship to make up for those losses.

  As I brushed the tears from my eyes, and sleep finally tugged at the corners of my mind, the stark reality of my life settled in like a dark fog seeping into my consciousness. I felt empty and alone, and wondered if I’d spend a lifetime struggling with the losses that had consumed my life.

  TWELVE

  Mary wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and huddled in the corner of the basement. She was alone here, in the house where the disciples were staying, awaiting her fate. She brushed her hand against the tattoo on her arm, wishing she could make it disappear. It was wishful thinking. She had been branded a traitor. The death sentence had been handed down, and she knew the disciples would be coming for her soon.

  The basement room where she was held prisoner didn’t have windows. Mary wasn’t sure if it was day or night. She’d been given a sandwich a couple hours earlier, so she thought it might be day. She did her best to push away the images of the members of the Strand.

  Sleep eluded her, and her thoughts drifted to her mother and father. Her parents had divorced when she was eight. She remembered her mother breaking the news to her one night while tucking her into bed.

  “Daddy and I are no longer going to be married,” she had said. Her mother was in her thirties at the time and pretty, with long blonde hair that Mary thought was beautiful. “Do you understand what that means?”

  Mary shook her head, feeling her tears welling up.

  “It means that we no longer love one another and won’t be living together.” Her mother brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I’ll be leaving tonight.”

  “What...? What about me? Where will I go?”

  “You’re going to be staying with Daddy. When...” Her mother paused, pushing down her emotions. “...when I get settled, and summer comes, I’ll send for you.”

  Mary’s tears came harder, her voice choking up. “But I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Shh. It’s already decided.” Her mother reached over and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”

  Mary hadn’t seen her mother since that night. She’d asked her father about her several times, but all he would say is that she was living in another state. Maybe she would never see her again.

  Footsteps!

  Mary moved her blanket away and sat up, hearing the lock on the door being released. Someone was moving down the stairway. Maybe it was the disciples, coming to kill her.

  Seconds later, two men stood at the bottom of the landing, looking in her direction. She immediately recognized Adam, but she’d never seen the other man before. They came over to her and stopped.

  Adam leaned forward and spoke, his voice low and determined. “You have failed me, Mary. Do you understand what that means?”

  “I...I’m not sure...”

  “This man is the Executioner. He will explain everything.”

  Adam turned and left, leaving her alone with the other man. Mary had done her best not to look at him until now. His eyes were dark and empty, his face expressionless. Her heart was beating out of her chest as he pulled a chair over and sat in front of her.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” the man asked, in a voice that was surprisingly calm.

  Mary nodded. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Yes, when the time comes.” An odd half-smile found his lips for the first time. “Do you know what is meant by a good death?”

  Mary took a breath, feeling confused by the conversation. She shook her head.

  The Executioner went on. “It’s a transaction, the last one you will make in this life. You have a chance for redemption, Mary. You must atone for your sins and, in return, you will receive a swift end, and the promise of salvation.”

  “I...I don’t know what you mean.”

  His strange smile was still there. “Are you sorry?”

  She met her dark eyes. “For what?”

  “For not carrying out the will of Adam.”

  “Oh...I guess so.” Her gaze fell away from her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say that you’re sorry and you regret your failings.”

  Mary found his dark eyes again. He was asking her to say that she was sorry for not killing the girl. It seemed ridiculous. “I...I’m not sure how to answer.”

  “You’re not sorry, are you?”

  She took a breath. “I’m...not...” She heard the resolve in her voice as she continued. “No. I’m not sorry.”

  The smile on the Executor’s face slipped away. He stood. “So be it.” He turned to leave.

  “What will happen now?”

  The man stopped and turned back to her. “You will die.”

  “But...” Her voice trembled. “...how?”

  His dark, empty eyes fixed on her. “You’re asking me how you will die?”

  Mary held her breath, nodding.

  The man’s dark eyes bore into her. “You will suffer for your sins and lack of atonement. You will be burned alive.”

  THIRTEEN

  I had a splitting headache by the time Max and I got to the precinct the next morning. I’d gotten about three
hours of restless sleep that was constantly interrupted by the scraping sounds coming from Thorndike’s inner sanctum. I would have investigated, but I was too tired, or too worried about what I might find. The only good thing about our day was that it was a Friday, and I’d have the weekend to recuperate.

  After enduring a morning listening to Lieutenant Dimwit’s lecture on stop-and-frisk policies, Max and I found that someone had left some bagels and a container of Starbucks coffee in the breakroom. My head was still pounding, so I took a couple ibuprofen and settled in for carbs and coffee.

  Laverne Piper came in from the squad room a couple minutes later. We were forced to endure her caterwaul behind us as she lit into someone she had on the phone.

  “Yeah, well, you got a little dick and an even smaller brain,” she said, then ended the call. She came over and dug her red nails into the box of bagels.

  “Problems with the opposite sex?” Max asked her.

  Laverne was about forty and did her best to look ten years younger, but failed miserably. She wore a ton of makeup to try and hide splotchy aging skin, and black clothing to conceal her ever-expanding hips. Max and I had some history with her and her best friend, Penny Kurtz. Both women had taken delight in our reassignment to Blue and claimed they had a bigwig on the inside who would help reduce their time in the precinct.

  “All problems begin and end with men,” Laverne said to Max. “It’s just a matter of sorting out the details.”

  “Can’t say that I disagree with that,” Max said, finding common ground with her, something that was decidedly uncommon.

  Laverne chewed, regarded both of us. “I heard you two had a murder in your back yard.”

  “It was pretty bad,” I said, just to make conversation.

  “I heard they got a suspect in custody.”

  She now had my interest. “Do you know who he is?”

  She shrugged. “Andy Jenkins said he’s some homeless guy that sometimes camps out in the cemetery. They took him in last night.”

  “You know Jenkins?” Max asked her.

  “He’s the little prick I just hung up on, the cheating asshole.”

  “Do you have a name?” I asked. “On the suspect they arrested, I mean.”

  She stared blankly at me. “Now why would I have a name for some transient?” She held on my eyes. “And why are you guys so interested, anyway?”

  “Like you said, it happened in our back yard,” Max said, after glancing at me. “We just wanna make sure it’s safe there.”

  Laverne didn’t respond right away, giving me the impression she was skeptical of our motives. She finally said, “You know as well as I do that cesspool boneyard you call home will never be safe.” She chuckled and stood with a mouthful of bagel. “You ask me, it’s the perfect place for you two.”

  When she was gone, and we were alone, I said to Max, “What do you think?”

  Max exhaled. “I think I hate Laverne.” She brushed her dark bangs off her forehead. “I’ll call my friend, Rosie, in Records. See what she can find out about the homeless guy they arrested.”

  ***

  Our afternoon was spent with a couple Narcotics detectives who had spent twenty-plus years busting everyone from small time marijuana users to heroin traffickers. They brought along samples of their work and passed it around the room like we were rookie cops who had never seen dope before.

  Max grew so tired of the war stories, drug samples, and paraphernalia that, at one point, she pulled a wad of gum out of her mouth, stuck it on a piece of paper, and passed it around the room, telling everyone that it was white tar heroin.

  We both sat back and tried to keep straight faces as Carmine and Laverne poked at the gum with a pen and said they’d taken down dozens of suspects in possession of similar substances.

  “Guess they musta busted a lot of gum chewers over the years,” Max said, recalling the afternoon’s events, as she drove us to Millhone’s Bar after work that evening.

  I chuckled. “Yeah, and now I know why they call it dope.” After some more chit chat, I asked her if she’d heard from her friend in the department’s records bureau.

  “Rosie said they popped a guy named Carl Sutter, who was camping on the outskirts of the cemetery. He had Remy’s purse in his bedroll.”

  “Does he have any prior record?”

  “Just a couple of minor drug arrests and petty theft.”

  “Was there any other evidence he was involved in the homicide?”

  Max shook her head. “He probably stumbled across the scene after the murder and took the purse, but had nothing to do with what happened.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time somebody was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with no alibi.”

  “He’ll probably end up with a worthless public defender, plead out, and go down for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  I sighed. “It sounds like we’re back to where we started.”

  Millhone’s Bar was one of those neighborhood watering holes that I knew, from the look of the place, had probably been around since the original homes on the street were built. It smelled of beer, sweat, and Lysol when we walked through the front door. Max and I took seats at a table and ordered beers from an older waitress.

  When our drinks arrived, Max said to her, “Is Dick around tonight?”

  The waitress, who was probably pushing sixty, held on her eyes. “You cops?”

  Max smiled. “Is it that obvious?” The server nodded, but didn’t smile, as Max went on. “Just want to ask him about an old customer.”

  “He’s in the back. I’ll tell him.”

  Dick Vernon came out of the back room a couple minutes later, exchanged introductions with us, and took a seat at our table. He was probably in his seventies, slight of build, and bald.

  Dick’s blue eyes became downcast. “Remy was a sweet kid. It’s a damn shame.”

  Max swirled the beer in her glass. “How’d you know we were here ‘bout her?”

  “I heard about what happened at Funk’s. Figured it was just a matter of time until someone came around asking me what I knew about her mother.”

  “I take it no one else has talked to you until now?” I said.

  He shook his head. “What took you so long?”

  I exchanged a glance with Max, then told him, “We’re not officially assigned to Remy’s case, but we’ve taken a personal interest in what happened. We’d appreciate it if you would keep this conversation confidential in case someone else comes around.”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “It never happened.”

  “Tell us ‘bout Remy and her mama,” Max said.

  He looked away, lost in thought, before he answered. “It’s been almost a decade since Marianne—that’s Remy’s mother—tended bar for me. She went to school while working nights here. She eventually took a job as a bookkeeper somewhere, don’t remember exactly where. I lost track of her after she left.”

  “Was Marianne married or involved with anyone when you knew her?” I asked.

  “There was a guy she was seeing for a while, but it didn’t last. Her main concern was taking care of Remy.” His eyes became unfocused. “She was a beautiful child...” He blinked a couple times and didn’t go on.

  “Do you think Marianne could still live in the neighborhood? The last address we have is over on Baker Street.”

  He shook his head. “I ran into Remy on the street about a year ago. I knew things had gone bad for her when I saw the way she was dressed. I asked about her mother. She said her mom didn’t approve of her lifestyle, and they hadn’t spoken in a couple years.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame what happens to people.”

  “Does the name Darnell Howser mean anything to you? We heard he ran some girls over on Lexington where Remy worked.”

  “Heard the name, but that’s about all. Someone like him wouldn’t be welcome in here.”

  Max looked at me, then back at him. “Anything else you can tell us, either ‘bout what happened to Re
my or to her mama?”

  He took a long time to answer, apparently sifting through past conversations he’d had with Marianne Powell. He finally said, “I heard a rumor. I thought it was crazy at the time, so didn’t pay any attention to it.” He shook his head. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Max said. “We don’t got anything else to go on.”

  “Some guy who was in here a few weeks back said something about a cult that was doing stuff in graveyards. I asked him what kind of stuff he was talking about. All he said was that it was bad. Whatever that means.”

  “What makes you think what he said has anything to do with Remy?”

  “I saw on the news what was written on that grave marker where Remy was killed, something about the angel of death. The guy said the cult members were doing the devil’s work.”

  ***

  After leaving the bar, Max and I went by Marianne Powell’s last known address on Baker Street. We learned the current occupants had been there a couple years and didn’t know anything about the prior tenant. We got home a little after nine and met with Amy in our living room. Over drinks, we told her about the arrest of Carl Sutton for Remy’s murder, and what Dick Vernon had told us.

  “It sounds like Sutton is the fall guy,” Amy said. “All the more reason for us to get to the bottom of what happened.”

  “It feels a little like we’re already circling the drain on this case,” I said, sipping my wine and feeling grateful that my headache was finally gone. “Unless there really is some kind of crazy cult at work.”

  Amy looked at Max. “You getting any more vibes lately?”

  Max’s heavy shoulders lifted, then sagged as she huffed out a breath. “I didn’t wanna say nothin’ till now. I’ve been getting some more bad stuff. I think what Dick said ‘bout a cult being at work could be true.”