The 2nd Cycle of the Darc Murders Omnibus (the acclaimed series from #1 Police Procedural and Hard Boiled authors Carolyn McCray and Ben Hopkin)

by Carolyn McCray

  “Yeah. You know, indie music scene. Lots of hipsters and shit like that.”

  Darc understood something of the definition of hipster, and from what he could see, this young man fit the bill himself. Skinny jeans colored a bright turquoise, knit cap, large black-framed glasses without lenses. Perhaps there were other markers of which he was not aware.

  “Anyway, she was kinda wrapped up tight, if you know what I mean,” he said with an understanding nod from Trey. “But then all of a sudden she sort of went crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Darc’s partner asked. “Could you maybe be a bit more specific?”

  “Yeah. Like, she started feeling herself up and grinding against people out on the floor. Like, total club slut type, you know?”

  Trey’s face wrinkled up in what Darc could now tell was an expression of distaste. Opening his mouth up, more than likely to make some snide remark about the young man’s misogyny, Trey was interrupted by a shriek.

  The young woman, who had been standing off to the side of the group, charged at Trey, something metallic glinting in her hand. Still screaming, she swiped at Trey’s arm.

  Leaping back, Darc’s partner yelped in what appeared to be pain and surprise. There was a clatter as the woman dropped what she had been holding and bolted for the nearest exit.

  Darc took a fraction of an instant to assure himself that Trey’s injury was not grave, then rushed after the fleeing woman. She had already darted out the door, and by the time Darc arrived and pushed out into the alleyway, there was no sign of her.

  Trotting over to one end of the narrow street and then the other, Darc could find little trace of the woman’s escape. It seemed as if she had disappeared into thin air. Any evidence would be difficult if not impossible to extract from the many other signs of human traffic through the area.

  Could she have found an entrance to the Underground here? The bands of color within returned a verdict. Unlikely. More probable that she had moved fast enough to blend into the traffic passing on the main streets.

  Returning back into the club, Darc listened as the three bartenders argued over the fleeing suspect. None of them seemed to want to claim prior knowledge of her.

  “I thought she was with you,” the non-hipster who looked like a hipster said.

  “‘Naw, man. She was here already when I showed up.”

  Trey had stripped off his jacket and was examining his arm. There was a red mark there, but nothing else.

  “Butter knife, dude,” he said with a wry grin. “Crazy chick attacked me with a butter knife.”

  Odd.

  But then again, nothing about this case so far had been straightforward.

  In the past, murders accompanied with symbols had observed some sort of moral code. A desire to cleanse Seattle in some way.

  Yet this case seemed mired in the most depraved of instincts. While results had not yet come back from the crime lab, Darc suspected that the organic matter that had fluoresced under the black light was comprised of semen, or possibly vaginal secretions.

  And the staging of the body indicated something heretofore unseen. With evidence of possible sexual activity or molestation of the most extreme kind.

  The lines of light within were quiescent, with nothing more to contribute than what had already been offered. Even the silver links only pulsed with a vague sense of melancholy, apparently mourning the trauma experienced by the young woman.

  In short, Darc had no clue.

  * * *

  Whoever had written that song “Afternoon Delight” was an idiot.

  Trey pulled on his pants, only to have Maggie try to pull them off again. Did this woman know no shame? Were there no limits to her appetites or depths to her depravity?

  At least Darc had shown the good sense to drop Trey off at the apartment. Either it was his newfound emotional sensitivity at work, or it might just be his sense of self-preservation.

  Maggie and Trey were still staying with him, and Trey knew all about Darc’s super hearing. Made things super awkward when the missus wanted to get busy at night. Which lately had been pretty much every night, all night long.

  Yikes.

  One bright spot in all this had been the amount of time Darc was spending over at Mala’s place. That had taken some of the pressure off. Although Trey would be willing to swear that Maggie was louder when Darc was around. That couldn’t be true, could it?

  Then there was another tug, and Trey’s pants fell down around his ankles, taking his boxers along for the ride. This was getting ridiculous.

  “I’ve got nothing left!” he cried, yanking his belt buckle out of her grasp. “You have drained me dry, you life sucking vampire. You succubus!”

  “Oh come on. You love it,” Maggie drawled, giving him a look that would have made Nero’s face turn red. “You know you do.”

  There lay at least half the problem. Maggie had hit the nail square on the head.

  He did love it. So much. But he also felt like his ability to function as a detective was being compromised. And maybe not just as a detective, but as a human being.

  That, and he suspected that he might be severely dehydrated at this point.

  “I also have to work, woman,” he growled and then yelped as she grabbed his butt. “If I don’t, think of what will happen to the baby.”

  “Ah, the baby’ll be fine. You’ll just be a stay-at-home dad,” she said with an evil grin. “Wearing nothing but banana hammocks all day, and making sure the house is clean for Mama when I get home.”

  Trey thought about that for a minute. That might not be such a bad idea. Especially with Darc’s newfound emotional prowess. Wasn’t like his partner needed him to figure out the cases. He sighed.

  “Hey,” Maggie said, her tone changing. “What was that?”

  “That was my Trey Jr. and his traveling fruit basket,” he answered. “But I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

  “No,” she said, waving her hand at his bare front as he once more tried to pull up his pants. “I’m talking about whatever it was that just crossed through your brain. Your face fell, babe.”

  “Oh, that,” he muttered. “I was… I… I zipped myself in my pants,” Trey said with a sudden burst of inspiration.

  “Mm hmm,” Maggie answered, but Trey could see that she was still suspicious.

  Time to change the subject.

  “When are we going to go shopping for little Portia?”

  “You mean Olivia?” Maggie shot back.

  “Seriously? You want to name her after a little pig?”

  Maggie raised her eyebrow. “Trey. Have you been watching children’s programming?”

  Turning away from the demon woman on the bed who insisted on tormenting him, Trey acted like he was looking for something on his dresser. “Where was that…?”

  Maggie wasn’t fooled. “You have been, haven’t you?”

  Blushing, he turned back around and shrugged, trying not to look too sheepish. “I figured it would be good for me to see what’s out there. You know, help our Desdemona to pick good shows to watch.”

  “I’m impressed,” Mags responded after giving him an appraising look. “And which ones have you picked out for our Abigail?”

  “Abigail? Abby. I kinda like that one.” Then Trey realized something. “Wait a minute. How did you know that Olivia was a kid’s show?”

  “I’m a woman. I know everything.”

  True enough. Trey let out a deep breath. There really was no winning when it came to the fairer sex. He should know better.

  “Well, I thought Teletubbies and Yo Gabba Gabba were some kinda freaky drug trip. Like, if I were still working Vice, I’d totally bring the showrunners in for questioning kind of freaky.” Trey pursed his lips. “Gotta be honest with you. I’m still a fan of Sesame Street.”

  Maggie winked at him. “You’re going to do just fine, big boy.”

  Trey knew that look. He started backing toward the door of the bedroom.

  “Fine,” she ca
lled out after him. “Run away, you wuss. But at some point, you’re going to have to sleep. Well, you’ll have to try, at least.” Her cackling laugh followed him out into the living room.

  She really might be some kind of demon in human guise. Trey had begun to take that possibility seriously over the past couple of weeks.

  And then he heard her voice call out once more.

  “Oh, and we should probably set a date, lover boy.”

  “A date for what?” he called back, and then realized what she was referring to.

  In that moment, a better man than he would have fled. Unfortunately, Trey’s response to danger was to freeze and hope the predator would pass him by.

  No such luck.

  “Why, our wedding, of course.” There was a pause. “Unless you’re taking it back.”

  How could he take something back that he’d never put out there? One slip of the tongue while combating a homicidal maniac, and Maggie had his chestnuts roasting over the fire.

  Thing was, there was no question in his mind that he wanted to marry this amazing woman. But there were two things to consider here.

  One, how would Darc respond? The likelihood was that Darc would be all right. But he hadn’t been one hundred percent when he’d found out about Maggie’s pregnancy. And living with him had been… well, enough to say that it had been interesting. And by interesting, Trey meant painful.

  In the end, things would be fine. Trey just worried about what the whole middle part might look like while they were waiting to get to that end.

  The second and most important concern was that Trey wanted to make Maggie feel special. He’d already managed to royally screw up the proposal by calling her his wife when he was slicing and dicing the old M.E. to bits.

  He wanted to make sure that Maggie felt loved and appreciated. Amazing. Like the incredible woman that she was.

  But right now, Trey realized that he had left his fiancé hanging at the worst possible moment. He cleared his throat.

  “Um. Yeah. No. Totally. Set a date. Right.”

  Smooth, Trey. Real smooth.

  “We’ll talk tonight when I get back,” he finished, hoping he didn’t sound as lame as he felt.

  But Maggie’s response both reassured and worried him. “Well, we’ll do something. I’m not sure it’ll be talking.”

  Trey gulped and ran for the front door.

  * * *

  It happened right after Mala brought Janey home from Cat’s house. Mala had spent some time over there as well, drinking a glass of wine and engaging in some girl time before heading back.

  Both had laughed so hard that they’d nearly had an accident. Mala couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that much fun.

  Janey raced ahead to get to the door of their apartment, only to come smack up against a police officer. The man reached out and took Janey by the shoulders, holding her in place. What was going on? What was he doing here?

  And then, as the beefy cop moved to the side, the form of Richard Templeton emerged, like some kind of reptile creeping out from underneath a rock. Mala felt every muscle in her body tense in surprise and fear.

  Templeton. Police officer. Both outside her home.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on here. Even Janey seemed to understand, as she backed away from the two men. Templeton gave Mala a sad smile that reeked of insincerity.

  “I’m afraid that, after further review, the higher ups at DSHS have decided that Caitlyn needs to be taken into protective custody.”

  Even expecting what was coming, Mala felt Templeton’s statement like a blow to the gut. All of a sudden it felt as if the atmosphere had been sucked out of the hallway. She could make no response to the nasty man in front of her with his false sympathy and his self-satisfied sense of judgment.

  “An emergency trial will be held tomorrow to determine whether or not you retain custody of Caitlyn. You will want to be there, unless you don’t wish to dispute the current findings.”

  No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

  Mala wanted to scream, to lash out, to gouge out the eyes of this man in front of her. But her body was rooted to the floor. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

  And then, at the moment in which Mala became sure that Janey would be taken from her without her being able to even say goodbye, the little girl broke away from police officer and rushed over to Mala’s side.

  Instead of embracing her, which Mala had expected, Janey reached up and took her hand, tugging at it. The unexpected move forced Mala to look down at this little girl, who by all rights should be terrified.

  But Janey’s eyes were clear and bright. She smiled up at Mala with a surety and radiance that pierced through the immobility that had kept her silent and motionless. Mala took a long moment to look down into those brilliant eyes, pulling strength and confidence from her.

  This was not the way it was supposed to happen. Mala should be the one comforting Janey, letting her know that everything was going to be okay. Instead, this little one supported her, projecting a calm trust that everything was going to work out all right in the end.

  Mala knelt down and pulled Janey into a strong embrace, tears pushing their way out. But there she refused to break. Not only did she want to give back some of the encouragement Janey gave her, but she wasn’t about to let Templeton see her cry.

  As Mala glanced up at the officer above her, she noticed that his face appeared troubled. So at least she hadn’t been condemned by all.

  “You be good,” she whispered to Janey. “And you know what I mean by that.”

  “Separate them,” Richard snapped at the cop, all pretense of sappy compassion gone in that instant. “She could be urging the girl to meet her somewhere.”

  “Hey,” the officer said, stepping between the social worker and Mala with her girl. “How about you stop being such a dick and let them say goodbye.” Then he flicked a look over to Mala and Janey. “Sorry about my language.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mala asked, trying to give the man a smile. “I think you’re fantastic.”

  Richard raged behind the large man. “I could have you reported for this.”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Templeton,” the cop said with a wink at Mala. “My supervisor things you’re a dick too. And once again, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Somehow, the combination of Janey’s sense of calm and the officer’s unexpected support gave Mala the strength to stand and face Templeton. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and spoke with icy calm.

  “This is my daughter you’re taking right now. You can fight it all you want, but I know it and she knows it. And in doing this, you are hurting her.” She placed her hand on Janey’s shoulder, then gave her a gentle nudge toward the officer. “I comply with this because I respect the law. But this mistake will come back to haunt you.”

  “Is that a threat?” Richard hissed? “Did you hear her threaten me?” he screeched at the cop.

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  Mala waited until Templeton looked at her once more. “This is not a threat. This is a simple reality. When you, who is pledged to protect families, sets out to destroy one, that damage will come back upon you sevenfold.”

  “What is that? Some Biblical claptrap?”

  “No,” she replied as she opened her door and stepped inside her apartment. “That, Richard, is what’s called karma.”

  Then she shut the door, sank down into a heap on the ground and sobbed silently.

  CHAPTER 4

  Another body, another young woman brutally murdered, another incomprehensible set of glowing pictographs and symbols illuminating the body in a sickly blue light. Darc’s inner process tracked the spaces in between the symbols, recording minute details of the scene for later analyzing.

  Rather than situated in a public place, this offering had come to them from twenty minutes outside of Seattle proper, in Edmonds, just off the coast of Puget Sound. A bi
zarre little art gallery with the fitting name, Stunningly Strange Gallery.

  And now one of the displays within embodied that name fully.

  According to the owner, the gallery had been closed down most of the day in preparation for an upcoming show that night. But when the artist had arrived early that evening to oversee the placement of her pieces, they had found the body right where the show was to have been placed.

  Once again, Randall Bradford snapped photos with relish, vying for the best vantage point with Dr. Thomas Kelly. The eagerness with which both men seemed to work caused an answering pulse of silver light to fire inside of Darc’s mind. The links murmured of the strangeness of this dance in which the men were engaged.

  Off to the side, Trey sat next to the artist, one Mya Hutchens. Their conversation reached Darc’s sensitive ears, resonating in his skull.

  “I looked at some of your work,” Trey mentioned to the young woman, whose hair and eyebrows had been dyed a bright electric blue. “Freaky stuff.”

  That blue matched her eyes that exposed themselves when she tilted her head up from where it had hung between her knees. Even from across the room, Darc could see that she had been weeping.

  “You can look at that over there and call my art freaky?” Mya shot back.

  The artist’s collection was, as Trey had so eloquently stated, freaky. Each piece depicted a model placed in a provocative pose, but with some part of her body cut out.

  “Okay, point taken,” Trey conceded. “But you have to admit, the parallels are there, right? I’m not just making that up.”

  Mya glared. “My art is about the objectification of women. You know? How they’re cut apart for men’s pleasure?”

  Trey didn’t respond, but just looked over at the body. Before, Darc would not have been able to interpret that gesture. But now, with the throbbing silver light from the links within his mind, the meaning was clear.

  How was that different from what the body of this young woman was saying?

  The artist’s face blanched as she looked over at the victim. Then she glanced away, tears springing up in her eyes again.

  “That was someone actually cutting apart a woman for a man’s pleasure. Not the same thing. At all.”