The 9th Hour (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 1)

by Claire Stibbe

  “Why are you doing this?” she said.

  “They’ve got my brother. I’m sure you understand. All going well, this could be a game-changer for you. We’re so near the finishing line. Here’s some good news. We’re going out to see your Temeke today. Won’t he be pleased to see you.”

  He took the cellphone from his pocket and dialed the penitentiary pay phone in the men’s block. Ole told a rough voice to find Morgan. He heard back-noise, the clatter of doors, the buzz of an alarm. The raven had returned.

  “How did you get this number?” Morgan asked.

  “The same way I get every number.”

  “They found her head,” Morgan sobbed. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

  “If they found her head―”

  “It’s just games and words with you,” Morgan shouted.

  “I better not step on my tongue.” Ole chuckled. “Be patient. You’ll be outside soon smelling the good fresh air. So you saw the detective?”

  “Yesterday. He’s too fond of his own ass to do all the dirty work. Brought someone else with him. Norwegian. Made me look like a fool.”

  Ole hadn’t accounted for that. “Partner? What was he like?”

  “Malin. Her name’s Malin.”

  Ole sounded the name in his mind, keeping it locked tight in his memory. He knew a Malin once at school. Pulled her long hair so tightly around his fist in the bathrooms, she screamed bloody murder. That was when he was eleven. “Was she trying to identify with you?”

  “No.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Small, dark.”

  Ole gave a chuckle. “Just how we like them.”

  “This one’s different. She’s like a rat with a nasty bite.”

  “Rats can be exterminated.”

  “She knows the Norse legends, knows a lot of things.”

  “Got an accent?”

  “No.”

  “See, they’re lying. So when’s the Brit and his fancy woman coming back?”

  “Today. This afternoon.”

  Ole couldn’t believe his luck. Highway 14 was a racetrack of possibilities. “What excellent timing.”

  “How did she die?”

  Ole thought of Patti, eyes bulging, body twitching. “Rather well.” He tapped the screen and ended the call. He didn’t want to talk any more.

  They would trace the cell phone all the way to the arroyo on the west side. To the Williams’ house. That’s where he found his new cell phone. Maisie Williams. Her purse had been right inside the sliding patio doors.

  He could almost hear the whisper of a sharpie across a white board at the police station, officers writing lists, spinning out his profile. It would lean more toward an organized offender, good social skills, educated, unusual intelligence, probably into pornography. Attacks planned… a regular night owl. Ole burned everything in the woods. Except Patti. Unlike all the others, he wasn’t able to burn her at all.

  The new girl moaned and lifted her head. She looked around, shackles rattling against the chains.

  “I scared you, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Do you remember where you are?”

  She began to moan. It was the drugs. They always gave a victim a nasty headache on the first day.

  “I can make you a cup of tea. All you have to do is ask. You can ask, can’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. Just let her head drop on the couch, face turned away from him.

  “No point in being scared. You have me.”

  He watched her flinch when she touched him, felt the shudder of flesh under his fingers. Wanted to squeeze the breath out of those lungs because it wasn’t him she wanted. She recoiled at the sound of his voice, began sobbing into the cushion.

  “What if you have a baby in that belly?” he whispered. “What would you do then?”

  She stopped crying and looked at him sideways, watching his hands, his eyes, his mouth. Tears fell from two beautiful eyes and he wanted her then because she was so vulnerable. “What would you do?” he said again.

  “I would love it,” she murmured.

  Would she? He doubted it. The child would be torn from that belly and discarded. “Get up,” he said. “It’s time for a shower.”

  It was also time for some fun, time to find that dope-smoking detective and his Norwegian partner. Becky would enjoy the ride, the chase, the kill. And she would see her Temeke crushed under a mound of twisted metal.

  Time to get Morgan out of jail.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Malin savagely slammed the car onto the frontage road until they reached the racetrack which most Albuquerque residents sensibly referred to as I-25.

  “Clocking seventy-five, Marl,” Temeke warned. “State cops get a little snarky around seventy-four.”

  She barely reduced her speed, probably desperate to get to PNM and home again. Working double shifts like the rest of them and who were the rest of them? Half the squad were down with the flu and the other half pretended a glut of illnesses Temeke had never even heard of.

  Sarge was on family leave. It wouldn’t take his mind off Becky, but it would certainly get his mind off Temeke. The car was quiet without the constant drone of Sarge’s voice over the radio. Until the silence was broken with another voice.

  “Got a description on the partial remains.” Captain Fowler crackled over the radio. “Patti Lucero of 5341 Live Oak Lane. Last seen on Thursday, November 27th outside Cibola High in the parking lot. Aged seventeen, dark hair, 127 pounds, five feet five inches tall.”

  “Any surveillance videos?”

  “Too grainy.”

  So there were videos. It had been three weeks since Patti was last seen. “Any chance we can get NASA to clear up the video.”

  “I’m working on it. Two things, her mother didn’t know Patti had a boyfriend. Didn’t even know where she was living. The doctor found no fingerprints on the remains in the box. No other blood samples besides hers. Oh, and guess who’s fingerprints were on the bone you sent over on Tuesday?” Fowler paused for extra clout. “Yours.”

  Temeke shook his head at the sound of laughter coming through the radio. “You’ve got eyes sharper than a spectroscope, Captain. Course they’re mine.”

  “The doctor confirmed ballistic trauma to the femur. Same as those found on the body of Bonner Levinson. He also found the leftovers of meat and fries in her teeth. Since there wasn’t a stomach to do a contents check, he was quite pleased to know that was her last meal. It gave me the creeps. I had a burger for lunch yesterday.”

  “If you get kidnapped and decapitated, we’ll know there’s a connection. What else?”

  “Nothing much on your pants. But DNA came back on that strand of blond hair found on the victim. It belongs to Morgan Eriksen.”

  Temeke turned off the radio, sick to the stomach. “That’s not possible,” he murmured, turning to Malin. “Not unless our killer was wearing Morgan’s clothes. Let’s say Patti had a burger and chips, that says this girl had a good appetite for someone that’s been kidnapped.”

  “She was in love with him. Didn’t think he was going to kill her.”

  “After a gunshot wound?”

  “I’d still be hungry in that many hours. Probably want to build myself up so I could put up a good fight.”

  “Maybe. But burger and fries is fast food. Food on the go. Food in the car. It’s not like a home cooked meal of steak and baked potato.”

  “So you’re saying they were driving around.”

  “I think that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Temeke pulled out a cigarette and sucked on it for a while. “We know Eriksen’s inside so he can’t have done it. Even if the fridge in the barn kept those heads nice and fresh. No maggots, no real time of death. Patti’s head was left in a nice warm house, getting moldier by the minute. A little easier to read wouldn’t you say? Not like he can run back to the Shelby Ranch and burn them. He’d only get himself wrapped up in crime scene tape.”

  “Who’s he?”

  Temeke
was lulled briefly by the metrical beat of the windshield wipers. “The man in the passport. The man that calls Morgan from time to time on stolen phones. The man they call Ole Eriksen.”

  “But we know Morgan doesn’t have any brothers.”

  “Morgan doesn’t. Ole does.”

  Malin’s head twisted around and Temeke could feel those steely eyes trained on him as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “According to his files, Ole never committed any crimes in Norway. That’s why he wasn’t showing up in the database. Morgan Eriksen wasn’t there in Patti’s case. But he saw what happened to the others. He knows the drill.”

  “And Becky’s number nine.” Malin glanced up at the rearview mirror.

  The wind whistled, driving sand and snow across the road. Temeke’s nose began to twitch, testing the air. He heard the loud boom and felt the car lurch forward, rushing along the highway at a speed way beyond the Explorer’s capacity.

  “It’s the cop car,” Malin shouted over grinding metal, trying to straighten the steering wheel.

  Like a bullet rushing past a man’s ear, the car overtook and roared into first place. It hung there for a while and then accelerated over the brow of a hill, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  “You OK?” Temeke said. He saw Malin nod before picking up the handset and calling it in.

  It was a Camaro SS Coupe with at least four hundred horsepower and window tints darker than state requirements. There was no license plate. No car number. Nada.

  “I’ve heard of undercover. But this is underhand,” he said over a ghastly rattling in the rear. He looked through the wing mirror and saw the bumper dangling by a thread and scraping along the tarmac. “No need to rush. He’ll be waiting over the next hill.”

  And he was, hanging by a hard shoulder some seventy feet ahead and revving up a fog.

  “Go slow. We don’t want three large hacks to jump out of that tiny trunk with an armful of semi-automatics.”

  Temeke’s cell phone rattled on the console beside him. The caller ID flashed with the name Maisie Williams. He tapped the speakerphone icon and an unfamiliar voice claimed the air. “Speak two names, Detective. A raven needs a name.”

  “Who is this?” Temeke snapped a look at Malin.

  “You tell me.” There was a hint of amusement in that gravelly voice, a hint of an accent.

  Temeke took his time to answer. I mean, why not? He was still half-dazed from that big old thud and his neck had almost snapped off its stem. “How about Memory and Thought?”

  “Very good,” the voice replied. “The last detective I spoke to was too ignorant to know it. But then you know what I do with ignorant people.”

  Temeke remembered what had happened to his predecessor, tried not to think of that dead cat either. They were fifty feet from the Camaro now. Near enough.

  “I pulled him from his car, Detective. You should have seen his eyes.”

  “Nobody called it in for three days.”

  “Nobody knew where he was.”

  Temeke pressed the phone to his chest and whispered, “It’s the daft bugger in that Camaro. How’d he get hold of Maisie William’s phone?”

  “Are you smart, Detective?” the voice said.

  “Smart as any man.” Temeke flapped a hand at Malin and indicated for her to pull over.

  “Of course you’re wondering how I got hold of Maisie William’s cell phone. Better take it up with your surveillance team. Looks like they’re not doing their job.”

  Temeke had visions of a well-dressed man, late thirties, nicely gelled hair and smelling of aftershave. He let him rant on while he lit a cigarette and then realized Malin was giving him a wide-eyed glare. He opened the window and flicked it at a large clump of melting snow.

  “Smart men don’t find themselves in places like this. Smart men aren’t lead investigators of cases they can’t solve. And you won’t solve this case, detective. It’s out of your reach. So call off your dogs, there’s a sport.”

  “I’d like to stare you in the eye and ask you why.”

  “Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. And yes, I am the daft old bugger in the Camaro.”

  Temeke took a measured breath. He was suddenly sick of all these foreigners. They should all go home, he thought, and then realized that was a bit ripe coming from him.

  “What’s your price?” he said, knowing there was one.

  “Morgan Eriksen for Becky Moran.”

  Temeke listened to the engine humming over the radio, wishing he could haul-ass up the hard shoulder and stuff the muzzle of his gun through the Camaro window.

  “You mean her remains,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Her body.”

  “I never leave bodies. Just the head. Living heads. Dark heads. In her case, she has both.”

  Temeke had a feeling in his gut, a sense Becky was in the car with him. “Put her on.”

  He heard the sluggish voice. “Temeke… Temeke…”

  “Becky―”

  “If you follow me,” the man grunted, “I’ll kill her. And that’s a fact. You’ve got nothing. No evidence. No chance. Winner takes all.”

  “If I could tell you how many criminals I’ve met in the last twenty-four years claiming I had no chance, your claws would curl.”

  “Sarcasm cuts both ways. And you have so much of it. The blood samples aren’t mine. The DNA doesn’t match any crime stain profile.”

  “So we found out. Cleaner ways don’t win wars, Mr… . you never did give me your name.”

  “That’s why I asked you if you were smart. You’re a legendary lawman. I’d like to meet you in the flesh.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Temeke said with a smile. He could hear a girl whimpering in the background, making his heart race faster than it was meant to.

  “Another time perhaps. I’m guessing you’ll go back to the drawing board. You never know. You might have missed something.”

  The death rattle of the dial tone was drowned by the surge of tires over gravel. The Camaro surged off like a missile and was lost behind the next rise.

  Temeke called it in, shouted at Fowler to alert all units. He put a restraining hand on Malin’s arm, told her to slow down. “He was using Maisie William’s cell phone. If he didn’t take it from her purse, he must have taken it from the house. Either way, he’s getting too close.”

  “You mean he broke in?”

  Temeke felt himself nod, felt himself shiver. Darryl was in danger and so were his girls.

  “He said there were other heads out there, sir. Living heads. Dark heads. He told us to call off the dogs, sir. There’s something out there in the woods. Something we missed.”

  “He doesn’t mean a row of severed heads singing nursery rhymes in a freezer. He means young girls he’s been stalking.”

  “Dark, sir. A girl he should have taken in the first place.”

  Temeke watched her, read the expression in her eyes, heard the tremor in her voice. He knew what she was thinking.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was a gray day. One of those days when the clouds were pale overhead and the streets were slick with rain. Ole felt wired. He had been feeling it for days. When there was a change in the weather, a change in the light, it was like a stirring in the blood that wouldn’t go away.

  Sometimes he sensed Odin in the wind. But for the last five days, he hadn’t sensed him at all. Something was different. He needed to go back to the woods. He needed to see Loki.

  He had to get out. Couldn’t stand the smell of the house, the darkness behind the blinds where only one light burned in the kitchen. He felt like he was floating under the surface of water, hands pushing up against a thick wall of ice.

  Swiping the screen of his new cellphone, he hit the contacts button. There was a number for Temeke. Just as he expected.

  “Remember me? We spoke yesterday,” Ole said with a smile in his voice. “I hadn’t heard from you. Thought I should follow up.”

  “I’m glad you did,�
� detective Temeke said, “because I was beginning to wonder if you’d acquired another phone. It’s a bugger trying to trace someone without a phone. Or a valid number.”

  Ole wondered at the sarcasm, wondered if it should cost Becky a finger. He’d already tightened those shackles with a screwdriver, only the right one was full of dried blood and needed to be scraped clean. They were different to the ones Patti had. These were screw shackles instead of a twist pin. There was no way she could get out of these. “There are three cabins near the Shelby ranch. One is still standing. Make sure you leave Morgan by the fire.”

  “Does he want a cup of tea? Or shall I make it a beer?”

  Ole felt a wave of heat, mind racing to understand the response. “Just you and Morgan, Detective. Or Becky dies. Capitch?”

  “No, it’s capiche, son. That’s how they pronounce it over here. Italian, you know. Anyway, nip along to the cabin and bring Morgan alone. I got it.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, see. Tomorrow’s Sunday. The Sabbath. Nobody works on Sunday.”

  “Are you Jewish, Detective?”

  “No, but quite suddenly I wish I was.”

  “Then you know the Sabbath begins on Friday and ends on Saturday night.”

  “Since you put a dent in the Explorer,” the detective said, “the car’s in the shop. Like I say, mechanics don’t work on Sunday. I could go on foot, only it might take a week or two.”

  Ole wondered if the detective was hard of hearing or just plain stupid. The warning buzzer was going off in his brain and it was beginning to give him a headache. He’d been on the phone for a minute and a half. Time to ring off.

  He put the screwdriver on the window sill and stretched his aching fingers. The girl lay on the bed, cheek swollen and bruised. It happened when she cracked her head against the window yesterday. When he rammed the Camaro into the Explorer. Should have seen her face when she heard the detective’s voice. Should have heard her scream when he pulled away.