by Alex P. Berg
“Fine.”
I joined them, reaching out and touching Biggie’s free hand. It felt cold and stiff. “Okay. So he’s a stiff. He’s dead. We already established that.”
Shay cocked her head at me. “He only died…what? An hour ago, Daggers?”
“Roughly, unless I passed out after my fall for a lot longer than I’ve been led to believe. What are you getting at?”
“That’s awfully fast for rigor mortis to set in,” said Cairny. “Normally it takes in the range of two to six hours to start, with the eyelids, neck, and jaw first to be affected. For his fingers to already be stiffened within an hour is highly abnormal, to say the least.”
“Well, we’ve already concluded the blade was likely poisoned,” I said. “Aren’t there poisons that cause paralysis?”
“Of course,” said Cairny. “Hemlock. Nightshade. Larkspur. All of those can cause paralysis of the nervous system. But rigor mortis isn’t caused by that. It’s caused by a depletion of oxygen in the muscles. Which isn’t to say there couldn’t be drugs that speed up that depletion process—although none immediately come to mind.”
“So the guy died too fast, and his muscles locked up even faster,” said Quinto. “It’s like time sped up around him or something.”
Rodgers snorted. “Alright. It’s official. Daggers, you’ve been made obsolete. Quinto can provide all the crazy theories going forward.”
“I still suspect a chemical compound is more likely to blame,” said Cairny. “But it’s odd, I’ll give you that.”
I eyed Biggie’s stiffened arm. “You checked his pockets for identification?”
“We did,” said Quinto. “He’s not carrying a thing on him. Not even change.”
Like Topples, Biggie wore a plain, long sleeve shirt and pants. His left hand gripped the handle of the blade. I wished it was the other way around.
Carefully, making sure not to touch the blade, I worked the cuff of Biggie’s sleeve up his left arm. The same tattoo with three straight lines and bunched half-circles presented itself.
I grunted. “Well, we still have no idea what that means, but at least it’s a pattern. Should help us down the line.”
Cairny, Shay, and I stood. I stared at Biggie’s corpse some more, wondering how I could feel sympathy for a man who’d nearly succeeded in killing me. It wasn’t a new sensation. I’d been forced to end someone’s life a couple times in my years on the force, and each time it left me hollow for days. I think it just meant I was a decent person on the inside.
“Alright,” said Captain Knox. “I think I’ve already made it clear to everyone, but getting to the bottom of whoever tried to murder Detective Daggers is our number one priority. You’re all assigned to the case. Cairny and Detective Quinto. On behalf of all of us, I apologize for the untimely nature of the assault. This was supposed to be your night, so please go home and enjoy what’s left of it as best you can. I’ll see the both of you bright and early in the morning.
“Detective Daggers. I’d suggest you spend the evening at Detective Steele’s place tonight, and beyond that I’d encourage you to grab whatever things you might need from your apartment before you leave. CSU will be here shortly, and I’m going to ensure they stay as long as necessary to pry every last speck of evidence from the walls that might help us figure out who’s behind this. It could be a day or a week, so plan accordingly. I’m also going to send a police detail to keep watch over your apartment, Detective Steele. Don’t either of you dare complain. It’s a safety precaution both of you should recognize as prudent, whether you like it or not.
“Detective Rodgers. That leaves you. As much as I hate to ask, I’ll need your help overseeing our brothers and sisters in arms, at least until CSU arrives and we get the bodies loaded for transport to the precinct. I imagine it won’t take more than an hour.”
“My pleasure, Captain,” he said. “Anything for Daggers.”
I think he meant it. It was nice to know my friends had my back.
“The rest of you are free to go,” said Knox. “But everyone? Be careful. We don’t know why the attackers targeted Detective Daggers. Better to take a few extra precautions than to end up dead. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
Quinto nodded, and he and Cairny headed for the door.
Shay put a hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay? Physically, I mean. We can stop by a clinic on the way to my place, if you like.”
I smiled. “A good night’s rest and I’ll be fine. Let me grab a few things from my room and we can be on our way.”
8
The front double doors thudded shut behind us, blocking out the early morning sun as Shay and I stepped into the precinct.
Shay glanced at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Would you please stop asking me that?” I said. “I’ve told you more times than I can count that I’m fine.”
Shay smiled. “Yes, but you’re a known liar.”
I sighed. “I’m not lying. Last night, maybe a little, but not anymore. What previously manifested as a thousand small aches and pains has deadened into a nice full-body soreness. I’ve been through worse, trust me.”
It was true. A night’s sleep at Shay’s place with her warm body at my side had cured more ills than the mightiest salve could’ve. I thought it might’ve been weird having a beat cop hanging around outside the door, but I slept sounder than a baby lamb swaddled in silk. Shay’d been forced to wake me as the clock approached eight.
“I’m just saying, if you needed more time to recover, I have no doubt the Captain would oblige you. You did fall three stories onto pavement less than twelve hours ago.”
I snorted. “You think I’d take a breather on this case over tender ribs and a balky ankle? We’re the same in that regard. It’s not as if you’re not making any sacrifices.”
Shay glanced at her simple white sundress, knowing full well what I meant. “I think keeping you alive takes precedence over helping my mother prepare for the graduation bash. Besides, it’s not as if I’m abandoning them entirely. I’m still planning to attend the ceremony at noon.”
“I know,” I said. “And like I told you, you’re welcome to spend the morning with them if you’d like, too.”
“I’d rather be here with you.”
“Of course you would. Look at me. I’m irresistible, even when beat up.”
Shay smoothed the shoulders of my leather jacket, which of course I’d snagged before leaving my apartment the night prior. Despite the summer heat, I felt better with it and Daisy protecting me.
“I know you’re joking,” said Shay, cracking a smile. “But you’re right, you know.”
“Aren’t I always?” I gestured toward the end of the pit. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”
We headed toward our desks. Word must’ve gotten around, because everyone I passed acknowledged me in some way, either with a solemn nod or a friendly greeting or even the occasional “We’ll get ‘em, Daggers.” Quinto and Rodgers weren’t at their desks, but the Captain was at hers. She waved us in as she saw us walk past her office windows.
“Morning, Captain.” I paused at the door. “Want me to close this?”
“No point. Everyone already knows, as you might’ve surmised from the gauntlet of officers you passed through on your way.”
I took a seat, and Shay did the same. The empty mug on Knox’s desk gave the impression that she’d been at her post a while already, and given her efforts last night with Rodgers, who knew how long she’d slept. Not that her demeanor gave that information away. She looked taut as a violin string, in a good way. Focused.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Don’t go all soft on me,” I said. “I get enough of that from Steele. I’m here to work. That and drink second rate coffee.” I already missed Mitch and his cart.
“Glad to hear it.” Knox shifted her gaze to Steele. “What about you, Detective?”
“Don�
�t get the wrong impression, Captain. I dressed this way so I could head straight to my brother’s graduation ceremony when the time comes.”
“I figured that out,” said Knox. “It’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Captain?”
Knox gave me a nod. “We all know about your relationship with Detective Daggers. Perhaps Captain Armstrong didn’t know or didn’t approve while he was here, but it doesn’t matter to me. It does make things more complicated, though. He’s become more than your partner. From personal experience, I’ve found it’s easier to weather situations where you yourself are in danger over those where someone you care about is.”
Shay’s gaze didn’t waver, and her answer came back forceful but controlled. “I’m as committed to solving this case as anyone in the department, Captain.”
Knox nodded. I liked that she didn’t ask either of us twice. It was a sign of respect.
“Let me fill you in on the state of affairs,” she said. “The CSU team arrived shortly after you left last night. The report I received this morning shows they spent three and a half hours there last night, and I imagine they’ve been there for an hour already today.”
“They find anything?” I asked.
“I’ll inform you as soon as I know,” said the Captain. “In the meantime, it’s a game of wait and see. Detective Rodgers and I ensured the bodies were transported back here for study. I suspect Coroner Moonshadow is cutting into them as we speak. One of them, anyway. I requested an assist from the Grant Street Precinct, and they obliged by sending an additional coroner over. He and Cairny are tag-teaming the corpses.”
I shed the unsavory mental image created by her turn of phrase. “The tox screens will take at least a day to go through, I’m guessing.”
“At least,” said Knox. “We’ll try to expedite them, but there are physical and chemical limitations.”
“If Cairny’s in, I’m assuming Quinto is, too,” said Shay.
“Not to mention Rodgers, but don’t feel bad. As promised, we headed home within the hour last night. He and Detective Quinto are consulting with Detective Lamont from the gang unit upstairs. Hopefully he’ll be able to provide leads on likely gang activity. For all I know, his team may have been on the trail of a suspicious group for some time. If so, I’ll have a word with Lamont about the frequency of our communications, but for now I know as much as you do. Which leaves the two of you.”
The Captain paused and stared at us.
I filled the void. “Where do you want us to start, Captain?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s why you’re here and not already investigating the next lead. I’m open to suggestions.”
I glanced at Steele. “Well…if I were investigating someone else’s murder, I’d start by retracing the victim’s steps, see what they were involved in leading up to the crime. In this case, I already know what I was up to, not to mention where I was, which makes the task trivial. But it might not be a bad idea to delve a little further into it. I sensed I was being followed even though I didn’t lay eyes on Topples and Biggie until they jumped me. Could be someone else saw them before I did. Not that I enjoy canvassing street corners, but it could be worth a shot. Do we have sketches of the deceased yet?”
“Boatreng is downstairs as we speak,” said Knox. “I imagine he has a copy of each ready. If not I’ll lean on him until he does. Any other ideas?”
“We could follow the poison trail,” said Shay. “Cairny already provided possibilities for the makeup of the concoction applied to the blade. We could locate known suppliers.”
Knox gave her head the barest of shakes. “That’s guesswork until we have the results of the tox screen. I’d rather wait until we know the cause of death for certain. Anything else?”
“One other suggestion,” I said. “Something more targeted than canvassing the entire path from Steele’s apartment to mine. We hit tattoo shops. Show our sketches of the criminals. Maybe someone will recognize them.”
Knox chewed the inside of her lip. “That one seems the most promising so far. Any better suggestions?”
Shay and I exchanged glances. She shrugged.
“Good enough for me,” said the Captain. “Now get moving. I want the bastard responsible for this locked up before nightfall.”
9
The door jingled as I pushed it open. A mix of scents greeted me as I stepped into the darkened shop: spicy day-old takeout, rubbing alcohol, and an ‘herbal incense’ that may not have been of the legal variety. The blinds across the front windows blocked a good portion of the midmorning sun, and what they didn’t diffused into the smoky haze that hovered over the shop’s worn wooden floor.
Yeah. Incense, my ass.
“You know, you could at least try not to look like you want to tear someone’s head off.” Shay stood beside me, having followed me into the shop.
“What if I do want to tear someone’s head off?”
“Not the tattoo artist’s we’re here to talk to, hopefully.”
I unclenched my jaw. “Sorry. Can’t blame me, though. I’m starting to think we should’ve canvassed the streets after all.”
“You know what they say,” said Steele. “Third time’s the charm.”
“Only problem is this is our fifth tattoo parlor.”
The sign above the door had read Thicker Than Water, which I gave a three out of five in terms of pun creativity. Sure, skin bled when tattooed, but the liquid most important to the process was the dye. I’d much preferred the name of the second shop we’d set foot in, Inked, Inc.
I took a look around. A quartet of leather barber’s chairs populated the corners of the shop, each of them showing cracks in the seats, backing, and headrests. Cabinets loaded with bottles of ink, racks of sharp needles, and hand tools needed to insert ink under the patron’s skin stood behind each station, but it was the artwork on the walls that caught my eye.
Each station had several pieces of art hung around it, no doubt representative of the individual artist’s style. Based on the displayed pieces, one did traditional tribal designs, another ventured more into realistic depictions of animals and nature, though only in black and gray, the third focused purely on abstract, color works, and the last did something altogether unique. A quirky style of characters with oversized heads, exaggerated body dimensions, and the flair of a children’s book illustrator. Hopefully the designs weren’t actually intended for children…
A piece of furniture at the back end of the shop—more than a hostess stand but not quite a desk—stood a few feet in front of a bead curtain. The incense wafted over from that direction.
Shay approached the counter. Failing to find a bell, she knocked on the side of the stand and called out. “Hello? Anyone here?”
I heard coughing from the back, then the sound of something clattering to the ground. Footsteps followed.
A hand brushed the beads aside. A guy with long matted hair, sleepy eyes, and a braided goatee walked through. He wore baggy canvas pants, a colorful knit hat, and a vest over his bare chest. He brought with him a wave of fresh smoke.
I coughed, too, but probably not for the same reasons our host had.
The tattoo bum eyed the pair of us, but mostly Shay. “Welcome. My name’s Dwayne. Sorry it took me a moment to come out. Didn’t hear you at first.”
“Really?” said Shay. “It’s a small shop. That’s the whole point of the door chime.”
Dwayne blinked. “Uh…right. So what can I do for you? You’ve got sort of a yin and yang thing going on. Maybe a skull for the tough guy and a more delicate piece for you? A bird or a butterfly? Or are only one of you getting inked today?”
I took a wild guess that Dwayne specialized in the abstract color work, but who knows? Maybe he was the brains behind the swollen-headed marionette babies.
“Neither. We’re here looking for someone. Two someones, actually.” I reached into my coat and produced the sketches I�
��d received from Boatreng. I unfolded them and held them out.
Dwayne looked at them blankly. “Sorry. Those guys don’t work here. You must have the wrong shop.”
“We didn’t expect them to work here,” said Shay. “We were hoping they might be clients of yours.”
Dwayne blinked again. I wondered if the habit was more chemically-induced or a product of his mental capacity. “Who did you say you were?”
“We didn’t. Detectives Daggers and Steele. New Welwic PD. Homicide division.”
“Whoa.” Dwayne took another look at the sketches. “These guys are dead?”
I swallowed hard, recalling my role in that. “You catch on quick.”
“Ever seen them around the shop?” asked Shay.
“Sorry,” said Dwayne with a shrug. “Should I have?”
“Maybe,” said Shay. “They had matching ink on the inside of their left forearms. A series of three lines, tight at the bottom, spreading out toward the wrist, with some bubbles or semicircles at the end.”
Dopey Dwayne gave us a blank look.
I rummaged in my jacket, producing another piece of paper. Dwayne wasn’t the first employee to look as if we’d described an engineering diagram instead of a tattoo.
“This,” I said, holding the sketch forward.
Dwayne snorted. “Really? You think someone would come by Thicker than Water for that? Come on, man. We’re artists. We take pride in our work. This isn’t some two bit poke shop. That looks like the kind of thing someone got in a prison.”
“We’re not implying you couldn’t do better than this. The wall art speaks for itself.” And not necessarily in a good way, I thought. “But you run a business here, right? I’m sure people come in all the time asking for tattoos that aren’t you or your shop mates’ specialty.”
“They do,” said Dwayne. “And we turn them down. Because we have standards.”
I glanced at the empty chairs. There seemed to be a clear inverse correlation between standards and business.
