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

  Sad, really.

  But now, those users had played their part. The way had been pointed, the actors had memorized their parts, and nothing would stop the show from taking place.

  Even the improvisation of those whose roles could not be handed to them had been devised with precision. All those who would serve as sacrifices to the hungry god of hedonistic pleasure.

  And at the same time, the one who stood above even the Headminister would approve. The Master’s goals would be accomplished while the gods and goddesses of pleasure cavorted together in divine approval of this culmination.

  It was a design of exquisite intricacy. Such lovely depravity. Such elegant debauchery. The profane taken to such an extreme that it became elevated to the highest heights of the heavens.

  Licking lips quivering with desire unsated, the Headminister moved toward the next target. The radiant Mala, the paragon of virtue unsullied.

  That would not last long.

  The thought of that pillar of morality begging for every debased act to be performed upon her was almost too much to be borne. It would happen.

  She would beg.

  The Headminister would make sure of it.

  * * *

  As Mala began to leave the DSHS building, a thought struck her.

  In her efforts to discover information without getting caught, she had missed one salient point. She now possessed that information.

  Her fear screamed at her to get out now while she still could. A sense of urgency propelled her forward, toward the exit and the bright light of day that represented freedom. Safety. Get out, get out, get out.

  But was that really the best course of action here?

  This was a public building, government owned. And while it was clear to Mala that the Darker Side of Yin had infiltrated at least one of the employees here, that didn’t mean that it was a hotbed of sexual depravity, murder and mayhem.

  What was stopping her from finding Templeton right now? Finding him and confronting him with the evidence she had found?

  Even as the thought occurred to her, her feet began heading toward the foster care wing of the building. The place she had been avoiding like the Ebola virus.

  She passed through a doorway that led toward Templeton’s office, a part of her brain comparing that entryway to a gaping mouth prepared to swallow her whole. What was it about this place that inspired such fear in her?

  Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. For so long, this place had represented her own insecurities in regards to becoming Janey’s mother.

  Not only had Templeton challenged her during every point of the adoption proceedings, but even the process itself tapped into those fears. Someone looking over your shoulder, second-guessing your every decision as a guardian, judging your ability to parent a young child.

  And Mala knew she was making mistakes. That was half the problem.

  As a child psychologist, she understood well the damage well-intentioned parents could cause in their offspring. The fears and neuroses that could take a lifetime of therapy to work through.

  No child was immune. No parent perfectly without blemish.

  That thought should free her. She knew just how bad it could get, and the mistakes she had made with Janey didn’t come anywhere close. At least not in her view.

  Which sounded an awful lot like some of the deluded parents with whom she’d spoken over the years. And the claim that at least the child was loved wasn’t much better.

  Here was something that she knew for certain.

  She was a better alternative than Richard Templeton.

  Moving through the familiar hallways, Mala took a right turn and then a left, headed toward Templeton’s office. After as many visits as she’d made to this place, the layout had burned itself into her very bones.

  As she stepped out into the large area that contained the grey canvas-covered walls of office cubicles for the lower-level employees, Mala spotted the figure of Regina Cross. The woman seemed lost in her own thoughts as she moved through the space, and Mala decided not to interrupt her.

  Right as she made that decision, Ms. Cross lifted her head, and recognition dawned on her face. Crossing the intervening space, Regina stretched out a hand in greeting, taking Mala’s in her own.

  “Dr. Charan, I didn’t expect to see you here today. Is there any word on Caitlyn?”

  Mala shook her head, not trusting herself to speak about that subject. The thought of Janey out there without her continued to be a burr made up of razors, slicing into the sole of her foot as she walked.

  “Oh,” the supervisor muttered in apparent disappointment. “Well. Did you have an appointment with Templeton that he didn’t tell me about?”

  The clear disapproval in her tone directed toward her underling comforted Mala. No matter the outcome of her conversation with that beady-eyed little weasel of a social worker, Mala’s relationship with his boss appeared to be not only intact, but improving on a daily basis.

  “No,” Mala replied, “I don’t have an appointment, but I would like to speak with him on an unrelated topic.”

  Regina frowned. “I’m so sorry that you’ve wasted your time. He left about an hour or two ago, complaining of a sick stomach.”

  That was upsetting. The link between the victims and Richard Templeton wasn’t strong enough to merit a warrant, if past experience was any indicator. But now that she had gotten over her irrational fear of confronting him here, it seemed far preferable to talking with him at his home.

  “It’s fairly urgent,” Mala continued. “Is there any way I might be able to get his contact information?”

  Her frown deepening, Regina seemed to mull that over. “That goes against policy. We don’t give out our counselor’s private details, especially to foster parents.” Then her expression turned wry as she looked back at Mala. “Plus, I get the distinct impression that you two don’t really get along.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Mala confirmed. “But this has nothing to do with my foster care situation. I’m here as a consultant of the Seattle PD.”

  Regina raised her eyebrows. “What reason could you possibly have to speak to Richard in regards to your position as a consultant.”

  Mala realized that she would need to exercise caution in answering. While Regina Cross had shown signs of recognizing Templeton’s malice in his dealings with Mala’s case, the woman was still his colleague. Accusing him of involvement in a spate of serial killings did not seem like the way to move forward in this situation.

  “You’ve heard about the latest murders in the city?” Mala asked.

  Regina shook her head, apparently not in response to the question, but as a reaction to the atrocity. Clucking her tongue, the woman made a gesture as if she were brushing away even the mention of it.

  “That’s the case you’re working on?” she asked.

  Mala nodded. “At least two of the victims were part of the foster care system. And they were cases that had been assigned to Mr. Templeton.” Before Regina could leap to any assumptions on her own, Mala continued. “I just wanted to get more information from him regarding those two individuals.”

  Regina’s face cleared. “I see. It’s still an uncomfortable request, but as long as you understand that a professional distance must be maintained after this…”

  She reached over to the nearest desk to grab a Post It. Scribbling the information down, she handed it to Mala.

  “Hard to believe that something like that could be related to anything we do,” she sighed. “But then again, so many leave the system and get lost. It’s a shame we can’t do more for them.”

  It was a thought that had occurred to Mala more than once. Eighteen years old wasn’t even old enough to drink. How could the state or anyone else believe that abandoning a child at that age was a good idea.

  But then again, where should the cutoff be? Certainly there were no viable options for adoption at that age. It was hard enough to get a two-year-old adopted out
. An eighteen-year-old wouldn’t have a gnat’s chance in a hurricane.

  Folding up the Post It, Mala nodded her agreement as well as her goodbye to Regina. The woman turned and strode back down the hallway toward her office, shutting the door behind her.

  Mala now possessed the contact information of someone who was at the very least a person of interest. But something still kept her here.

  Richard’s office was right beside her. The door was a mere two feet away from where she was standing. What would keep Mala from searching through his stuff?

  It was a public space, in a government building. The expectation of privacy was as close to nil as Mala could envision. And even if that weren’t the case, she could always plead innocent. It wasn’t like the police department had trained her on proper protocol when collecting evidence.

  Just a quick glance around the office. A brief look through his things. More than likely, there wouldn’t be anything there, anyway, so what could it hurt?

  Before she was even positive she had made her choice, her hand was on the knob and was turning to the right. The door creaked as it opened, the sound making Mala cringe in response.

  And there, framed in the doorway, was the last person in the world Mala would have expected. Janey turned and caught sight of her, then rushed forward, her arms outstretched, one hand clutching her ratty old bear.

  And behind her, off to the side, was an older woman. She looked to be in her late 60s to early 70s, with white hair and a sharp pair of eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing.

  That was a thought for later. Turning her attention back to Janey, Mala scooped up her girl in a huge embrace, feeling the sweet pressure of her small arms pressing against her sides and back.

  Janey was back where she should be, at least for the moment.

  After a long space in which Mala didn’t want to do anything but keep a hold of her little girl, Janey pulled back a bit to look Mala in the face. In her small features, Janey saw concern. This was not a reunion that had taken place because Janey had planned it.

  “What are you doing here?” Mala whispered, well aware that there would be no response from Janey.

  That didn’t mean that an answer wouldn’t be forthcoming, however.

  Janey glanced behind her. From across the room, the old woman who had been standing by the little girl’s side made a sound somewhere in between a cough and a clearing of her throat.

  “You must be this little one’s… um… mother?” the woman asked, her tone tentative.

  “Foster mother,” Mala clarified. “Trying to adopt.”

  “Good,” the woman said. “That’s good.”

  Mala felt a squeeze on her arm, and looked down to see Janey meeting her gaze. The solemnity that had been there earlier was still present, but the look Janey turned on the other woman was filled with respect, and… if Mala wasn’t missing her guess… trust.

  “You must have found my Janey,” Mala managed, “and then decided to bring her here to make sure she was taken care of.”

  The woman made a noncommittal sound in her throat. “Sounds like something I shoulda done. But that’s not quite how it went down. She dragged me here.”

  Mala couldn’t help but smile at that. It sounded just like something Janey would do. And that said more about the woman standing in front of her than pretty much anything else could.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Janey’s friend appeared uncomfortable. She cleared her throat again and began speaking.

  “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me,” she said, her voice echoing with the husk of old age. “I sure as hell have a lot for you.”

  Mala stared at the wizened but kindly face of this diminutive figure in front of her. There were so many questions, she didn’t even know where to begin.

  So rather than start with those questions, Mala chose to do something else entirely. Coming up to standing once more, she moved across the office and took the elderly woman’s hands in her own.

  “Thank you,” she said, the words catching in her throat as she spoke. “It’s not enough, but… thank you.”

  The woman’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away, wiping at her eyes. “Now, now, enough of that. I’m an old woman. Not fair to go pulling that kind of stuff on me at my age.”

  Mala didn’t let go of her hands. This woman had taken care of Janey when Mala hadn’t been allowed or able to.

  That was a debt she could never repay.

  But at least she could show a proper amount of gratitude right now.

  Mala had now found Janey. All that remained was to find Carly and take down a serial killer.

  No problem.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Okay, so I officially hate this place,” Trey muttered as they entered through the front doors of the DSHS.

  The only memories he had of this building were bad. Every time he had come here to date, it had been because something had gone wrong with Mala and Janey. Usually something involving that punk Richard Templeton.

  But right now they were after something else.

  A phone call had come in from the Singh’s. That had not been a fun conversation to have. At least they had already received the news about their daughter.

  But one piece of information that had been forthcoming was that Deborah, too, had been in the foster care system. The Singh’s had adopted her.

  That meant that every victim that had been identified to date had a link back to this agency. Coincidences of that magnitude didn’t happen every day. Darc could probably calculate the odds for him, but Trey didn’t want to bug the guy. He’d been acting a little strange since… well, since he’d broken down sobbing like a baby.

  Trey shuddered at the thought. Most of the time he was more than fine with big emotions. Maggie had them, Mala had thrown them out there from time to time. Heck, even Trey liked the occasional cry.

  But something about his big, bald partner letting loose like that had been disturbing. Like the Rock of Gibraltar just up and dissolving into the sea or something.

  He knew he shouldn’t feel that way, but hey… that’s how he felt. And Trey wasn’t much good at hiding what was going on under the hood. His feelings were gonna come out one way or another.

  But that was all in the past. Darc marched along right in front of Trey, his movements almost mechanical in their precision. There was no need to have a sparkling personality when you were like the smartest guy on the planet.

  They came up to a receptionist, a young woman who looked up at them with eyes that seemed filled with nervousness. What was that all about?

  Trey pulled out his detective’s badge. “We just need to take a look at some files that you should have here somewhere. For these names.”

  Placing the list down in front of the woman, Trey noticed that she barely even looked at the names before her head popped back up. That look of nervousness also appeared to have multiplied by a factor of about ten in that short period of time.

  “There was already someone here about that,” the girl said. “It was only two names at that point, but--”

  “Was it a woman?” Darc asked, cutting her off without seeming to even recognize how abrupt he was acting. “About this height? Darker skin?”

  “Yeeessss,” she answered, dragging out the word.

  “Show us what you showed her,” he said without inflection. “Now.”

  Something about Darc’s almost inhuman insistence seemed to get through to the girl. She stood and led them to a room that was filled with filing cabinets. Walking over to one of them, she opened it up and pulled out the files in question.

  Darc scanned the documents and then took off running.

  Trey looked at the young woman and shrugged. “Sorry. He does that sometimes.”

  Then he was off and running after his partner, a part of him thrilled to be once more speeding along behind Darc right after the tall detective had done something socially inappropriate.

  Good times.

  Because wh
en Darc was tearing around like this, things started happening.

  Trey just hoped that this time it wouldn’t end with a naked crazy person attack.

  * * *

  Mala couldn’t stop touching Janey.

  Every few moments, she would pause in her search to come back to Janey’s side. She would give the girl a quick squeeze, run her fingers through Janey’s hair… sometimes just brush against her as if by mistake.

  The time had come to head over to Richard Templeton’s house, but Mala couldn’t bring herself to leave his office. She had ransacked the place and found nothing, which wasn’t a huge shock. But it wasn’t the lack of evidence here that gave her pause.

  Mala didn’t want to leave Janey.

  Her responsibility in this situation stared her in the face. Janey had to go back to the state. Mala knew it, and from the look on Janey’s face, she knew it as well.

  Janey hadn’t reconnected with Mala for a reason. Her drawing back at the courthouse had been clear. She hadn’t wanted them to come and find her. Their encounter here had clearly been an accident, however happy.

  In a way, Mala couldn’t be more proud of that little girl. She had managed to make her way through Seattle, tracking down heaven knew what clues to arrive here. And while Mala didn’t know or trust this Lula woman, Janey clearly did.

  She’d found help in unexpected places, and was now here, against all odds to the contrary. There was something so remarkable about this little girl.

  In another sense, Mala wanted to shake her. Not only had she gone out into the world on her own, but she had met a perfect stranger and had enough interactions with her to convince the woman to come here to the DSHS.

  Which, in its own way, made Mala somewhat suspicious of Lula. And what was up with that name? It had to be fake, right?

  She opened her mouth to say something, not sure of exactly what would come out of her mouth, when the door burst open. Whirling around, Mala was sure she would be facing either Templeton himself, or worse, Regina Cross. That would spell disaster for her newfound connection with the woman.

  Instead, there stood Darc, his expression blank in a way that only this man could project. His demeanor and presence strengthened her, buoyed her up, while at the same time there was a twinge of something deeper. A sense of loss for the dying sensitivity of this man who had once wept in her arms.