CrimeSeen2014.06.09

by Michaelbrent Collings

  He had loved to see Val. Had loved to see her face. Her smile.

  He dragged his mind away from that thought, from the vision that surfaced every time he thought of her. The blood. The unseeing terror.

  The black security tape that Tuyen had given him sat on the desk at one of the carrels. Evan sat down and pushed it into the VCR. The machine turned on automatically. He pressed rewind. He considered putting on the headphones, but decided against it. He didn’t remember there being any sound on the tape at Mystix, and if there was he’d just listen to it au naturel.

  “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

  The fact that he knew the voice didn’t keep Evan from jerking, even as he smiled. “Crap on a cracker, Geist!” he shouted. He spun to face the man behind him.

  Max Geist was in his mid-fifties. He’d been in the department forever, and on days when Evan felt like throwing in the towel and leaving the force for a more rewarding career as a sewage taster or someone who cleans skunk anuses, Geist was always there to remind him why they were there. To tell him gently that it wasn’t about budgets or politics or the bad guys who got away or the good ones they couldn’t help. It was about the people they did manage to protect. The little bits of justice they did bring to the world.

  Evan always felt like a hypocrite, like a worthless jerk next to Geist. But he always wanted to be better after talking to the captain. So instead of quitting he came in and signed the call sheet and sat at his desk and went to work.

  Tall and lean, with a hawkish nose and thin glasses that always looked like they were in danger of falling off, Geist looked more like a school teacher than a cop. But the captain’s dad had been a cop, Geist’s granddad had been one. It was in the man’s blood. He had been doomed to this destiny from birth.

  Now he smiled, a twinkle in his eyes that seemed to brighten the dim A/V room. Another reason that Evan loved the man. He was more than just a commanding officer, a boss, a mentor. He was a friend. “Sorry, White,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” And of course Evan could see that was exactly what he meant to do. Most cops – especially career cops – were possessed of senses of humor that veered toward the morbid. It was a defense mechanism, a way of coping with the breakdown of reality that picked away at them. So sneaking up on someone in a dark room wasn’t beyond even the captain.

  Hell, it especially wasn’t beyond the captain.

  Geist sat on the carrel table, squeezing his skinny backside into the space beside the VCR. “I read your report.”

  Evan’s throat constricted. His gaze fell away from Geist’s eyes.

  “Hey, kid,” said Geist, “I started this conversation with ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ So don’t get all guilty on me.”

  “I should have gone in with backup.”

  Geist snorted. “Gone in where? To some meeting with a crank-calling fruitcake who got your number?”

  Evan looked up. Did his best to drill into Geist, letting his guilt for the bar, for the fight, for… everything… show as clear as he could. Hoping that someone would call him out for it. Sometimes we need to be called out. “He knew about my wife,” he said.

  “So does anyone who can read the Times,” said the captain. He waved a dismissive hand. “Give yourself a break, kid.” He was quiet a moment, looking introspective for a second before adding, “Though taking Listings with you was probably a mistake.”

  Another voice came from the darkness of the room: “I heard that.”

  Evan jumped again, though not as high this time. He hoped. That mischievous twinkle in Geist’s eyes doubled, though, so Evan suspected he was fooling himself: he probably jumped higher this time.

  And in a way that was good. It was what he needed. He needed to be reminded that his friends didn’t care what had happened to him. Or that they did, but it didn’t change the way they felt about him. Their love for him.

  Geist grinned at Listings, who was coming toward them both. “I’m glad you heard it, Listings. It would have been wasted if you hadn’t.”

  “Is anyone else waiting in here?” said Evan, making a show of peering about what he could see of the room.

  Listings ignored the question. She was pushing a cart that had a newer-model TV/VCR combo ratchet-tied to it. “Newer” meant that it had probably been invented some time after Reagan’s presidency. One wheel squeaked on the cart.

  She nodded at the machine he was using. “That one’s crap, White,” she said.

  “They’re all crap. The department hasn’t had a working piece of equipment since before I got here.” Geist chuckled at that, and Evan added, “That includes you. Sir.”

  Listings nodded. “Welcome to the land of eternal budget cuts.” Then she jutted out her chin. “Still, this one’s less crappy.”

  Geist spoke again. “Evan, back to what we were talking about: other than taking Officer Detective Miss Rambo here, nothing tonight was your fault. Mostly.” He hopped off the carrel desk and clapped Evan on the back and then headed for the still-open door to the basement.

  “Did you read Listings’ report yet?” said Evan.

  Geist shook his head, an amused grin on his face. “I never read hers before daybreak. Too scary.” He put his hands to his ears. “Too much bad language for my sweet tender ears.”

  Geist turned away again. Again Evan’s words stopped him. He felt like a nervous parishioner, trying to get up the courage to confess to the priest. “Captain?” Geist paused at the door. “What if this is him?”

  Geist thought a moment before returning to the carrel. He wasn’t joking anymore: the smile was gone from his face, the twinkle had fled from his eyes. He knelt next to Evan, their faces level with one another. “I love you like a son. I’ve covered for you, taught you, helped you. But I’ve never lied to you.” He paused, and Evan saw a flash of something dark and a little scary in his friend’s eyes. “If this is the guy, then we’ll catch him. Or kill him.”

  Geist turned and strode away. Gone before Evan could say another word.

  Evan remained at his seat for another moment, just thinking about what the captain had said. Wondering if the man meant it: meant that he would be willing to kill the man who murdered Val, that he would be willing to kill for Evan.

  He thought so. And didn’t know whether that left him warm or cold inside.

  He stood and went to Listings, who was waiting with something surprisingly close to patience. Or that’s what he thought, until he got close enough to see the irritation flashing in her eyes.

  Uh-oh.

  Her fist slammed out like a steam piston. She hit him in the stomach, an upward-curving punch that completely knocked the breath out of him. His diaphragm spasmed. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even try.

  “Thanks for having my back there,” she said, the words barely audible through gritted teeth.

  Then she grabbed him.

  And kissed him. Hard.

  Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, Evan’s muscles stopped spasming. But he still couldn’t breathe. Listings had that effect on him. She always had.

  He had never been unfaithful to Val. Not once, in their eleven years of marriage. But when he had been assigned to Angela Listings as a partner, he had to admit she was stunningly beautiful. It was the worst kind of beautiful, too: it was real. Not the kind of beauty that so many women – even Val, he had to admit to himself – aspired to, the kind of beauty that draped across magazine covers in the form of over-sexualized, hyper-posed bodies hidden under too much makeup and not enough clothing.

  No, Listings was a woman who appeared to be just what she was. She wore little makeup, and rarely put on jewelry of any kind. She spoke her mind.

  And she was deeply interesting.

  Evan thought about asking for a transfer. He didn’t have any intentions of cheating on his wife. But intentions didn’t just happen, they were something that you had to nurture. He didn’t want to put himself in a position where he found himself lusting after a woman who wasn’t his wife, especial
ly not one who was with him the majority of every day.

  After a few days, he realized it wouldn’t be a problem. Listings was beautiful, real, smart. She was also emotionally guarded to pathological levels. And Evan wasn’t a one-night stand guy. He wouldn’t fall in love with a woman who couldn’t fall in love with anyone.

  They stayed partners. And at some point they became friends. She told him about her life, about why she was a cop, why she was the way she was.

  He was faithful to Val. Body and soul.

  But when Val died….

  Listings was there. She helped him get through the first days. No hint of romance. Evan wasn’t allowed anywhere near the murder investigation – that was irrevocable policy, not to mention just good common sense – so she had inserted herself in the case and shepherded it as best she could for him.

  And somewhere along the way, he realized that Listings’ walls were down – or if not down, then at least there were breaches here and there. And as for him… Val was gone. No, not just gone: she hadn’t been interested in him for a long time. He had been faithful to her, but it turned out that had not been a mutual requirement in her mind.

  Listings pulled away from him, the kiss ended, and he could finally breathe again.

  “I’ve gotta get used to the way you go off shift,” he said.

  “This?” She punched him again. Softer, thankfully. No bruised ribs. “This is just a coffee break.” She kissed him again. The kiss was softer as well, but still passionate. It lingered long enough that Evan worried someone might come in and see them locked together. Dating a fellow officer wasn’t necessarily against the rules, but dating your partner always was.

  Still, he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. He was with her now, and he couldn’t draw back. That wasn’t in his nature. He would stay with her.

  Like you stayed with Val. And look how that turned out. Look what she did.

  This is different.

  As though sensing his thoughts, Listings broke the kiss. “What is it?” she said. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Everything was an extreme with her, and that was both wonderful and frustrating. No half-measures. Love, hate, joy, pain, suspicion, irritation… it was all or nothing with her, as though her heart only had room for one thing at a time.

  “I….” He almost told her. Almost opened up about everything he feared, everything he felt. About his worries, his guilt. About the idea that maybe he could have stopped what happened with Val if he’d been a better husband, had been more aware of her, more aware of whatever it was that had driven her away.

  The moment passed. Now he saw the killer, holding the knife to Listings’ throat. Unlike his partner, he had plenty of room for different emotions. The only problem was, they were all negative: fear, guilt, loss, longing. Maybe that was why she attracted him so powerfully: she represented something he never had been, never could be, but always wished for.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Talk to me, White.”

  Her eyes were no longer suspicious, but stubborn. She wasn’t going to leave this alone. “I don’t know if we should be on this one,” he said. “At least, not together.”

  She was quiet for a second, then her brows drew together. “Is this because of what happened to your wife?” she finally said. And without waiting for an answer, she continued, “She’s been gone forever, White. And even before she was killed, she was cheating on you.”

  “I know. No, it’s not that. It’s….” He touched her throat. A caress. “That crazy asshole had you, Listings. He could have –“

  She knocked his hand away. “Don’t. You. Dare. You feel guilty if you’ve got to. But don’t you stop chasing a killer because you’re worried about me.” She kissed him once more. She was still angry, so the kiss felt half like love, half like he was being punched again. “Or I will kick your ass faster than you can blink.”

  She turned to the gaping doorway, the darkness of the basement beyond beckoning like some strange netherworld that only cops working well beyond quitting time were privy to. “Now, as I was ever-so-gently reminded by you and the captain, I still have a report to write. I’ll look over the CSI reports of the crime scene as they come in, too. Let you know if anything shows up.” She took a step and was half in the room, half out. Then she looked at Evan and he was surprised to see an unusual expression on her face: concern. “Do you want to do this? Someone else could cover it.”

  Evan thought about it. Did he want to know? Val had proven she had her share of secrets. Did he want to know more of them? Did he want the world knowing them?

  He nodded. “Yeah. I want to know.”

  Listings nodded curtly. “Good. I could never forgive myself if I found out I was sleeping with a coward.”

  Evan watched her go, smiling as she left. The smile felt awkward on his face. Real, because there was no doubt in his mind that he was in love with Listings. But forced, because it felt so much like he had found someone that he was destined to lose again. Maybe not in the same way he had lost Val – he would never lose Listings like that, he would never let something like that happen again – but the ways to suffer loss were as infinite and varied as the ways to discover joy.

  Her footsteps echoed into the basement beyond the door, then disappeared. Silence took them. He felt like it was an omen, a sign. He felt like he was going to lose her. Like he had already lost her, and simply hadn’t realized it yet.

  Don’t be an idiot.

  He turned back to the carrel he was going to watch the tape on. And felt fear lurch through him.

  Had he turned the TV on? He remembered putting the tape in the VCR, remembered rewinding it.

  But the TV?

  He must have, because it was on.

  Yeah. I must have.

  He sat down. Trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t remember turning it on.

  I must have.

  The lines were the same as they had been at Mystix. Floating waves of randomness that came oh-so-close to forming something recognizable, then disintegrated to chaos at the last instant. They were monochromatic, but the pixels of the TV monitor seemed to have trouble with the free-floating distortions, so flashes of color kept appearing and then disappearing.

  Evan watched, determined to spot something he could use. And wondering why he cared. Why he was bothering with a security tape that didn’t work for a location that had no proven connection to anything that mattered.

  He kept looking. Feeling like he was being guided. No, it was stronger. He felt compelled. Like he was playing a part in a long-running play, and if he failed to perform properly he would be not merely booed but destroyed by his unseen audience.

  He sat up sharply. For a moment, the images on the screen had seemed to coalesce. Just an instant, a flash so quick he couldn’t be sure if what he saw was real or imagination or just the misfiring of neurons operating on too much caffeine and too little sleep.

  But it had looked like a face.

  It had looked like Val.

  He leaned in closer to the television.

  He kept watching.

  Kept playing his part.

  Prayer

  Tuyen stood in her apartment, and felt – as she had felt more and more recently – like she was in a strange place. Like she didn’t belong. She was not occupant, but alien.

  Her grandmother was dead, and that was much of it. Gramma had been her last link to family, since Tuyen’s mother had been killed in a drive-by shooting seven years before.

  Tuyen was alone. The delicious smell of Gramma’s bò kho, a beef stew with carrots and rice noodles, never greeted her when she came home from working nights at Mystix or days cleaning houses. Sometimes Tuyen left the television on so that it would be playing reruns of General Hospital when she got home, but knowing that Gramma wasn’t watching it made the voices sound empty and hollow. The sounds of ghosts, of the dead watching the dead.

  But beyond Gramma’s death, beyond the fact that she had no one left, lately things had seemed…
wrong. The world seemed to be adrift, as though the gravity that had so long held the universe in a series of rings within rings was finally weakening, allowing things to spin into eternity. More than once Tuyen had considered leaving. Just walking out of her apartment door, not bothering to quit her jobs, not even taking anything but the clothes on her back.

  She would wander. She would be free. She wouldn’t own anything, but Gramma always said owning too much just meant that many things owned you.

  But every time Tuyen headed to the door, something stopped her. She felt like she had to stay. To do one more day of work. To prepare one more thing.

  And she felt stranger and stranger.

  Standing in the single room that she lived in, so uncomfortably spacious now that she was alone, she was afraid. She turned on a light. The bulb worked, but the light seemed dim. And remembering the look of the man, the demon-thing that she had seen in the window of Mystix, she felt a shudder writhe its slow crawl up her spine.

  Like Mystix, her apartment was decorated with relics and ornaments from myriad different belief systems. And just as at Mystix, she found little relief looking at any of them.

  She wondered how long she had been standing here. How long she had been home. It felt like forever. She couldn’t even remember coming home, for that matter. She hoped she had at least remembered to stay at the shop until the day shift guy came to relieve her.

  She went to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and pulled out a pair of items. One was a half-full gallon of milk, which she sniffed and found to be in the “not quite bad” range. Good enough for what she wanted to do. She poured some into a glass with a chipped rim, which was what passed for fine China in this home.

  She took the glass of milk and the other item – a brown egg – to the opposite corner of the apartment. There was a small table there, with seven statues on it. They were wooden, each about five inches tall, each worn almost to the point of being featureless, but Gramma had always said they were the strongest things in the apartment.