Case: 0 (Annalise Storm Chronicles Book 1)

by May Freighter

  17

  Incriminating Evidence

  Without Mavel, the apartment felt empty. Annalise kept glancing in the direction of the potted plants outside. Taking her steaming mug of coffee in hand, she wandered over to the balcony.

  She rested her back against the railing and closed her eyes, letting the cool evening breeze brush its fingers through her hair. Her stray locks bobbed against her neck and, in silence, she enjoyed the massaging effect it gave. Too many things had gone wrong since this ‘simple’ case began. What she believed to be a job she could do with ease resulted in a complicated spiralling staircase of elements that didn’t add up. Not only that, but Mavel’s life depended on her findings, and she couldn’t pinpoint the location of her lead suspect.

  Annalise sipped her drink and cringed. The coffee in her hand tasted too bitter. Mavel used to make it for her. She had always watched him, so why couldn’t she reproduce the same taste?

  Setting her mug on the railing, she bent over and touched the flower petals of the orange and purple petunias in the navy pot. Their stalks stood strong and proud—something she couldn’t do right now even if her spine got replaced with a metal rod. Her support—the man she spent most of her life with—was gone. Like in bad fairy tales, one moment he was there to look after her, and the next, she was alone, wondering if there were things she could have changed. If she had paid more attention to him, she could have stopped him from going to that party. She could have prevented all of this from happening.

  Her tears landed on the petals. Wiping them away, she retreated back into the apartment. In the hallway, she stopped abruptly. If Mavel killed Steinberg, there should be blood on his belongings. She could prove his innocence by bringing his clothes in for testing.

  Annalise edged closer to his room, feeling anticipation building with each uncertain step. After wiping her damp palms on her trousers, she opened his door.

  His room was dark, so she activated the lights with a clap. She scanned the bedroom. Everything had been neatly put away. Not a single piece of clothing or a digital tablet was out of place. Even the books, some of which were still in the rare printed form, were alphabetically arranged on his shelves.

  She took a tentative step inside. Had she stooped so low as to invade his private space to quench her anxiety? With her heart rate climbing, Annalise closed the distance between her and the wardrobe. She pushed the panel aside. The glass surface glided away, revealing Mavel’s clothes.

  Her fingers combed through the different shirts and sweaters he wore. The scent of his cologne drifted over from his clothes and warmed her heart, making this scenario more intimate. Her hand settled on the item she was searching for—the suit she remembered him wearing to the City Hall gathering. She grabbed hold of the hanger and pulled it out. As she did so, the clothes slid off and fell into a crumpled mess at her feet. Her heart missed a beat. Mavel would never leave his clothes in such a poor, dishevelled state.

  She gathered the jacket with care, but her hand froze over the shirt that slipped out of it. A giant red stain stood out like a sore thumb—blood. The shirt fell out of her hands. She stumbled backwards, hitting the wall with her backside.

  “This isn’t possible…” She would have seen the stain the previous night. None of this made any sense.

  Biting hard on her lip, she drew blood. The copper aftertaste made her panic rise. If she sent these in as evidence, Mavel would be executed. A lump formed in her throat. This couldn’t be real. Mavel wasn’t a killer!

  She stumbled out of the room and touched the panel by the front door, calling security of the Tower.

  “Yes, Ms Storm?” a security officer asked.

  “I need to see the access logs to my apartment since last night.”

  He went silent for a second. “Is something wrong?”

  Although he couldn’t see her, she forced a shaky smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wondered if my mother left a few things here today, that’s all.”

  “Understood. The log has been dispatched to your terminal. May I help you with anything else?”

  “No, that will be all.” Annalise ended the call. Wasting no time, she rushed to her room and activated her terminal. She opened the file and scanned the door access times until she found entries for today. At the back of her mind, she started counting. They returned from City Hall and left around 5 a.m. to go to the station after they heard the news report. She read the next line.

  “Error?” she said with a deep-set frown. “What the hell is going on?”

  She tapped her foot on the floor and dialled the security officer using her terminal.

  “Is there something else I can help you with, Ms Storm?”

  “There is an error in my log. What does that mean?”

  “I shall find out for you. Please wait a moment.”

  She sat there, listening to the radio music and staring at her terminal screen. The only thing that overpowered the sound of the noise coming from the speaker was the pulsating of her heartbeat in her head.

  A few minutes later, the officer cleared his throat, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It would seem some maintenance occurred today on your floor. The video data, as well as the logs, have been offline for almost an hour.”

  Shit. “Is there any way to find out who ordered the maintenance?”

  “Just a regular check-up, Ms Storm.”

  “Thank you.”

  She logged off in stunned silence. Someone was in my apartment and planted evidence against Mavel. The thought chilled her to the core as she glanced over her shoulder, studying her room with newfound interest. Nothing seemed out of place. Then again, Mavel’s room was in a pristine condition, too, until she discovered bloodied clothes in his wardrobe.

  At a time like this, there weren’t many people she could trust. Her parents would tell her to bring the evidence to the DPD and hope for the best. Her only friend, Monique Stratford, was out of Divinity on holiday. She had no choice. She needed to get rid of the evidence.

  Annalise stepped out of her room and the doorbell chimed. Dragging her feet, she inched closer to the panel. “Who is it?”

  “This is the DPD’s Crime Scene Unit. Please open the door, so we can collect the suspect’s items for analysis,” a man said with a droning voice.

  “One sec, let me…get dressed first,” she said in the calmest voice she could muster.

  Annalise pressed her back to the door. Her chest undulated to her rapid breathing. She needed to hide the evidence. The department wouldn’t care if it was planted or not. There was no solid proof of that. She sped to Mavel’s room, collected the pile of clothes on the floor, and arrived in the living room when the doorbell rang again.

  “Come on. Come on,” she chanted, bouncing on the spot and not knowing where to shove the suit. The doorbell rang a third time. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. With a drawn-out sigh, she rolled the suit into a large ball as she marched over to the door. She shrugged on a heavy winter coat and trapped the suit between the door handle and her hand.

  With a business-like smile, she welcomed her unwanted guests. “Aren’t you the busy bees, coming here at such a late hour?”

  The first man with a wiry brown beard whose voice she recognised from earlier said, “Please step aside, Detective.”

  “Oh, make yourselves at home.” She pulled the door open wide enough, so the hinges strained. The door handle touched the wall, trapping Mavel’s suit in place.

  Two men pushed past her and brought in a few silver suitcases which they set down on her living room sofa. She was about to complain when the bearded man approached her as he eyed the broken door she had leaning against the wall.

  “What happened to your door?” he asked.

  “Termites. Terrible things.”

  He stole another glance at it and added, “Alright then, which room did the suspect stay in?”

  She pointed to Mavel’s bedroom. “Fi
rst door on the left. Take your time. Obviously, none of us need sleep for tomorrow.”

  “We aren’t happy about this either,” he grumbled and followed his partner into the room.

  “I’m going out,” she shouted, quickly grabbed the ball of clothing, and tucked it under her coat.

  She rushed into the lift and mashed the car park button. Slower than usual, the doors caught up with her hasty commands. The lift started descending, and she let out the breath. A dull headache had settled in. She pressed her palm to her sweaty forehead and a hysterical laugh escaped her. An officer of the law—a detective—was running away with the evidence. Any normal pureblood would hand it over, no questions asked. Yet, here she was, lying to her colleagues and committing a crime.

  The doors slid open. She headed out only to remember her car was still parked at the City Hall. Annalise searched the car park for a hiding spot. There was a row of waste bins at the far end, but they had a security camera facing them. Her mother’s blue Jeep caught her attention.

  “Mother is going to kill me,” she mumbled, striding towards it. She let the scanner read her wrist comms. It beeped with authentication. Thankfully, Regina did not cross her off the permitted drivers list.

  The trunk was partially empty except for a few shopping bags with clothes and spare shoes her mother liked to keep on hand in case something happened. She lifted the grey rug and threw Mavel’s suit underneath it. Right now, this was the best hiding place. No one would dare to search Regina Storm’s car, not unless they wanted to lose their job.

  She locked the car. Her pounding heart took a while to calm, giving her some time to think of excuses on her way back.

  At the apartment, the bearded technician stood by the door, eyeing her return with suspicion. “Where did you go?”

  “For a walk. I didn’t think you wanted me to sit here while you tear my place apart.”

  He scratched his stubbly cheek. “I guess it is better that you left. It allowed us to get most of the job done.”

  His partner came out of her bedroom, holding her laundry basket.

  She glowered at him and yanked the basket out of his hands. “That’s not for your grubby hands to touch!”

  The tech stared at her with wide eyes and then at his partner.

  “My laundry has nothing to do with this case,” she snapped.

  “Leave it, Rogers,” the bearded tech ordered.

  Rogers scurried past her and entered Mavel’s room.

  “I can’t believe you’ve invaded my room. Get out of here!” she spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Once the job is complete, we will be on our way.”

  She mumbled a long array of curses under her breath and took off her coat. While he watched her every move, she plastered a smile on her face and ventured into the kitchen. The digital clock on her wall told her it was nearing midnight. With another sigh, she flicked the switch on the kettle and listened to the low chatter of the officers in the other room. So far, they hadn’t found anything suspicious. That was all she needed to know. She tuned them out and made a cup of coffee.

  Someone cleared their throat behind her five minutes later. “We have finished here.”

  “Then you can leave,” she called over her shoulder.

  Their heavy footsteps grew lighter until she heard her front door closing. With that one click, she slid down and rested her head on her knees. Her mind was too busy trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Whoever was trying to blame Mavel would find out their sabotage didn’t work sooner or later. And, when that time came, she had to be closer to the real suspect. Or perhaps, she was getting too close, and they wanted to divert the investigation?

  18

  Wake-up Call

  That night, her restless mind wouldn’t allow her to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, she took her mother’s car and drove straight to the Bronze District. The stars were slowly disappearing into the orange and purple hues when she parked in front of Mrs Fern’s house at 5:49 a.m.

  She debated whether she should go knocking on the door at that hour or not. Eventually, she chose against it. Terry had undergone more than enough stress. There was no need for Annalise to add more to her already full plate.

  Bored out of her mind, she observed the neighbourhood. Everything here seemed normal. The bushes had lost their shape since the last time someone had trimmed them, weeds grew on flowerbeds, and the pavement had developed cracks from lack of maintenance. Beyond that, the only thing separating this district from the Golden or Silver was the quality of the materials used to build these bungalows and lack of high-tech.

  Her eyelids felt heavy. With a yawn, she rested her head against the headrest.

  The next thing she knew, her wrist comms were beeping with an incoming call at 7:05 a.m. She checked who the call was from and rolled her neck to dissipate the built-up tension there.

  “Hopps?” she asked groggily.

  “Good morning, Storm.”

  She groaned when he didn’t say anything else. “If you just wanted to give me a wake-up call, I’m hanging up.”

  “Oh, give me a minute. I’m just sending you some files from the autopsy of James Steinberg. Also, can’t you act a little more like Rios and appreciate my talents?”

  “Does he search the whole of DPD for your tea as well?”

  “I see your point. I’ll get on with it.”

  She glanced at Terry’s home. It was quiet inside. Don’t the kids have school?

  “I’ve analysed the tissue samples from Steinberg. And, surprise-surprise or rather no surprise at all. Whatever killed Robert Fern was used to kill Mr Steinberg, too. Everything outside of the slight cell degeneration around the abdomen indicates a possessed modded attack. No matter how big my dark circles are, there is no trace evidence of any foreign chemicals in their blood samples.” He cleared his throat, his voice turning aggravated. “But, I did find a piece of him missing. Someone had cut out a chunk of Mr Steinberg’s thigh. I guess they wanted a trophy of some kind.” He blew out of breath. “By the way, I heard what happened. I am sorry about your partner. I’m sure he didn’t do it.”

  “At least, we agree on something.” She climbed out of the driver’s seat, stretching her legs.

  Hopps chuckled. “Yes, perhaps we do.” He paused and something crashed to the ground in his office. “Hey, where are you taking that?”

  “Hopps? What is going on?”

  “I have to deal with this,” he said. “Hey, put that down! I will call you back, Detective.” He disconnected the call.

  Annalise studied her reflection in the window and smoothed her bedhead. 7:17 a.m. was a decent enough time to call on someone, right? She strode to the front door and knocked. When no one responded, she rang the doorbell.

  Silence.

  Circling the building, she found the living room window with the blinds open. It wasn’t ethical to peek in, but Mrs Fern had to be at home on a Friday morning to prepare her kids for school.

  Blocking the reflection of the rising sun by surrounding her eyes with her hands, she peered inside. The living room was a mess. The chairs were lying on their sides, cushions were torn with feathers scattered every which way.

  Her breathing hitched as she reached for her gun. She activated her comms device and contacted Jamen who answered immediately.

  “Jamen, something’s happened at the Fern house in Bronze. Get down here.”

  “What happened? Do you need me to send a unit your way?”

  She peered into the living room once more, checking for movement. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I finish at this crime scene.”

  The call ended. Annalise edged closer to the front door. She checked the handle. It was unlocked. With a little push, it creaked open the rest of the way. Pointing her gun downwards, she entered the building, giving the living room another once-over. She checked the hallway and the first bedroom for movement. As she threaded closer to
Leila’s room, she heard a muffled whimper.

  Her heart jumped into her throat, and she rushed to the second bedroom.

  One, two, three… She opened the door. Her brain registered the disturbing scene as her eyes widened. Her gun almost slipped out of her hand.

  Terry was seated on the floor. Her red eyes were swollen with purple bruises and her hair was tousled as if someone had yanked it upwards. By the looks of it, her tears had long since dried. Her left arm was soaked in blood and bent at an unnatural angle, making Annalise cringe when she noticed that Terry’s ulna had snapped and tore through the skin. Her other arm was tied to the bed with rope while her legs were bound with duct tape.

  Averting her eyes, she found Terry’s two motionless daughters on her right. Their hands and legs were tied with the same tape used on their mother.

  “Oh God.” Annalise entered and knelt next to the first girl. She searched for the pulse on her neck.

  Nothing.

  The girl’s skin was cool to the touch, and she wasn’t breathing. Whatever happened here, took place the previous night. Annalise checked for a pulse on the second child’s wrist, finding nothing but another dead body. The girls were gone.

  Turning around, she met Terry’s gaze. Mrs Fern must have read her expression because she broke into hysterics. She pushed forwards, attempting to reach her children, even though her arm had a bone poking out of it.

  Annalise held her against the bedframe. “Please, don’t move. I’m going to take your restraints off.”

  Running to the kitchen, Annalise grabbed a knife and cut through the rope and duct tape on the woman’s body. Terry seemed to be in shock because her eyes didn’t leave her daughter’s corpses even when Annalise peeled back the tape from her face.

  “Who did this to you?” Annalise asked, grasping Terry’s shaking shoulders.

  Terry mumbled something.

  “I don’t understand you. Please, breathe and tell me who did this.”

  “Why didn’t they just kill me? My daughters…my precious daughters!”

  “They? Can you describe them?”