The Blood Born Tales (Book 2): Blood Dream

by T. C. Elofson

  “Are the marks apparent again?”

  This reporter would just not quit. Rain was running off the reporter’s hood as she pushed the microphone even farther into the car.

  “I’m going to ask you one last time to move,” Kat said like a growling pit bull about to strike.

  The reporter jerked the microphone away just in time as Kat’s window went up. Kat shoved her car into gear and her engine revved aggressively. The reporters scrambled to get out of Kat’s way as her tires spun and skidded. Kat brought her car to a stop at the spot where the reporters had been standing only moments before and she knew Kenny would have liked that. He would have smiled at her recklessness.

  “Wait a minute!” someone shouted.

  “Hey, you can’t do that!” she heard as she left the disheveled news crew behind her.

  “Sorry about that, Detective,” an officer was saying to her as she made her way onto the sandy beach.

  “Get those reporters back, Officer!” Kat was still fuming.

  “Yes, Detective.”

  Katarina O’Hara had buttoned up her raincoat and drops now assaulted her even more. She pointed her new Nikon Coolpix Digital camera at the body. It was stiff and white and lying on the golden yellow sandy beach that looked grey under the light of the moon. Rigor mortis was still present. This clue told Kat the body had been dead for at least three hours but less than sixty hours. She remembered from experience that rigor mortis commences after about three to four hours, reaches maximum stiffness after 12 hours, and gradually dissipates until disappearing after approximately 48 to 60 hours.

  She snapped picture after picture trying to preserve the crime scene. If, in fact, it even was a crime scene. Kat was not entirely sure that it was.

  Kat was grateful for the cold that evening. Her investigative career had stretched close to fifteen years and this was not her first time dealing with so many victims in such a short time. Her first experience with multiple deaths had been when she worked a homicide in California one summer. A hate bombing had occurred in a Planned Parenthood clinic. There were eleven victims in all. At least here the cold eliminated the odor of the dead human flesh.

  Kat never did care about her title outside of becoming a detective before she had reached the age of thirty. And it was a title with variable importance in the sense of seniority in her case, but did nothing to hide the fact that her reproductive organs were on the inside and not the outside. Unlike that asshole, Detective Johnson.

  Kat stopped taking pictures when the cell phone on her hip began to ring. Snapping it off of her belt, she slid it open and could see with some relief that it was Johnson finally returning her phone call. Speak of the devil, she thought.

  “O’Hara,” she said with irritation in her tone and her voice misting out around her in the cold of the sea air.

  “O’Hara, it’s Johnson.”

  “Where have you been? We got another body and that’s not the half of it. Johnson, where are you?” she asked again. “There’s a whole lot more going on here than just some natural deaths. I need you here.”

  “Still in southern Washington, heading back now. I’m about a little over an hour out,” he told her pointedly. “What are the details? Don’t tell me too much, but is it another natural cause? Like the others?”

  “Yeah… Seems that way…”

  Kat was aggravated with him and his devotion to protocol but she could already feel herself begin to soften. But she didn’t want to soften! She wanted to stay angry with him. She reminded herself that he was giving her nothing, no clues to go off of. Johnson was a closed book, just like always. And it was pissing her off all over again.

  Dr. Marty Colleens had already been on the scene and had just begun to examine the body as Kat closed her cell phone and approached. The detective kneeled down close to her and spoke in a low, hushed tone.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Kat.”

  “What did they want with you?” Kat asked, keeping her voice just above a whisper.

  “Just to tighten their thumb screws on me a little bit tighter. Make sure I wasn’t getting talkative about things. We need to be really careful, Detective,” Marty said sternly.

  Then an officer began to come a little closer and Marty raised her voice to an appropriate level to avoid suspicion.

  “The victim is an adult male. Caucasian, thirty to forty years of age. The obvious signs of trauma to the flesh are present as in the previous cases. Nothing to suggest foul play is present in the tissue, but we will collect sediment and particulates for testing,” Marty said as she spoke into a hand-held digital recorder.

  “Is it safe to say this is a part of Detective Johnson’s other cases?” Kat asked quietly.

  “Pretty safe bet,” Marty said as she looked up at Kat and held her gaze. “I’m not going to know for sure until I get him back to the lab, but evidence so far leads me to that conclusion.”

  “Fine, do your thing, Doc. I’ll see you there later.”

  “Kat,” Marty said and the look in her eyes was intense. “That other victim, that John Doe from downtown… Ballistics found something else at the scene.”

  “What?”

  “Evidence of steel wool. It was found in the impact of a wall.”

  “Steel wool is commonly used in silencers to muffle the sound of a gunshot.”

  “A silencer definitely points to a professional hit. Just thought I should tell you,” Marty added.

  A professional hit. The words rattled in Kat’s brain. Could this day get any stranger? How could there be professional hitmen running around the city of Seattle? And then the words of that crazy witness, rich Mrs. Callaghan, felt truer to her somehow. She would have to tread more carefully from now on. For Kat was certain that the FBI would really be watching her these days.

  “Yes… thank you again, Marty. And be careful.”

  “You too, Detective.”

  Kat did not like this one bit. She kept getting an awkward feeling in her neck that the strange cases of Kenny’s and her Black Op government guys were somehow connected. It all started with that glass vial. Somehow she just knew it. Kat’s spidey sense was tingling now and she was determined to get answers. What would professional killers want with a case of natural deaths? Of course she had no answers, but she was somehow sure Kenny would.

  Kat had to get out of there. There was nothing more to do until the lab reports came back with answers. She needed to put her mind to rest. If she didn’t try to relax a little, dwelling on this case would only keep her up. There were still two hours until Kenny and Tim got back. Kat climbed into her car and the noise of the crime scene techs working the beach was cut off as her car door closed behind her. It was like she was on the streets again and her mind was yelling at her to get out of this windowless crisis with bad air. Get out now, before you have nowhere to run, you stupid girl. But she pushed all that to the dark place in her mind, just as she always had.

  Tires squealed and gas pumped as Kat’s black SUV sped away toward Aurora Avenue. Her police lights illuminated the night sky as she drove almost recklessly back to town.

  Chapter 47

  8:30 p.m., May 6

  The lights of the Ballard Locks pushed back the darkness of the fog resting on the swaying water. Near the gateway leading down steel stairs, a man waited nervously. All that could be seen was the glow of a lit cigarette which was just barely hanging onto his thin lower lip.

  A crack in the night was echoed by a trash can falling over as a cat ran for shelter. The bangs and clanks were snap-like, echoing off into a sharp coda. The sounds were penetrating, diminishing in the distance and then gone into the blackness.

  Joe moved his eyes slowly over the surroundings.

  The staircase. The staircase in the filthy fish-smelling walkway. Someone was standing there. Joe could see him. His contact. They both fixed their eyes on one another before looking around to make sure that they were indeed alone. Glass cracked under Joe’s foot as he
walked up to the man. Joe knew before he looked up at the shattered bulb in a lamp above them that the contact had destroyed the light source just as he would have done. Even in a world of night vision cameras, a trained agent of the government would always take out an obvious light source while waiting to be contacted by a person or persons unknown.

  The tall blond man wearing a dark coat checked his watch under the fading light of the moon. The Ballard Locks would have been silent if it were not for the swaying noise of sea water around them. The traffic on the street was reasonably light for that time of the night. Unlike the rest of Seattle that would be alive with activity, the roads that ran down Market Street seemed quiet.

  “8:30 on the dot. Good, Whiten.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Whiten is dead,” Joe told him with a thin grin.

  “Yes, but here you stand. You took a big risk contacting me after all these years. You’re a hot ticket right now. This could get us both killed, you know?”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you for meeting me.”

  “What do you want?” his contact asked.

  “I’m in some trouble and can use some…”

  “What? An act of God? What you have is a Cleanup Crew after you. What the fuck you trying to do? Get me killed too?”

  “No,” Joe told him. “Listen, is there anyone you know? Someone that would be able to help me?”

  “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

  “Come on, man. You owe me.”

  Then a tense silence broke out between the two and the contact would not look at Joe.

  “Yeah, I owe you,” he said, still not giving Joe his eyes.

  “Here, take this.”

  The contact handed him a cell phone.

  “The phone is clean. Use it once and throw it away. It has one number programmed into it. Call the contact and destroy the phone. Do you understand?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I can’t help you anymore. You’re too hot right now. I’m sorry, Joe.”

  Joe said nothing to that. He just gave him a nod and turned to leave. He held the phone tightly in his left hand.

  “Joe, one more thing…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch your six, soldier.”

  “You too.”

  In only a moment Joe was down the street and out of the beams of car headlights. The yellowish white glow of the struggling streetlamps cast a shadow below Joe as he moved closer to the water and away from the eyes of anyone who might be watching him. The cell phone was an expensive looking one. It had no internet hookup and only limited features in an era of vast communication possibilities and easy connectivity. It was sometimes hard to disconnect in today’s society, but Joe was definitely planning on it.

  The one and only name in the contact list wasn’t a name at all. In fact, it appeared to be a user account. Joe stared at the screen for a moment as he juggled his options. It read User319.

  Joe took a deep breath and tapped the contact number with his forefinger. He waited what felt like an eternity for a voice to answer on the other end of the line. But when the phone was finally answered it was a scrambled voice that came back to him.

  “Who is this?” the robotic voice said.

  “I need your help, sir.”

  “Again, I say, identify yourself.”

  “Is this line secure?” Joe asked tentatively.

  “Affirmative, soldier,” the voice came back.

  “This is CIA. Agent Joe Tango.”

  There was a silence after that and Joe thought that he was finished for sure. He had just said his name over an open phone line. He knew it. Joe was not one to get frightened or have a racing pulse, but his pulse was flying high now. His eyes were scanning over everything from one point to the other, looking for the strike team he was sure would be appearing at any moment because he had been so stupid and careless.

  “I’m en route now, Agent. I’m going to text you exact coordinates. Then you need to destroy that phone. Can you do that? Are you by the water?”

  Joe knew that he was taking a big risk. The mother of all risks, if he answered him. Yet he did. Joe needed to trust at least one person even if the risk in answering the stranger on this phone could give him away. He knew he had to try to be optimistic but it had been so very long since he had placed his faith in anyone.

  “Affirmative.”

  “After you hang up, get somewhere safe. Get to someone you can rely on. Satellites are up and running, so get inside somewhere. Do you have someone that you trust?”

  “Possibly,” Joe responded more than a little doubtfully.

  “Disconnect and stand by.”

  Joe looked around cautiously and ended the call. Almost immediately, a text came back to him. He scratched the numbers down on a piece of paper and made his way down to the water. There was an overpass that went over the Locks. Joe stood there several moments and when he was certain no one was watching him, he let the cell phone slip from his fingers and watched as it went into the water. The phone was gone, just like that. It sunk like a rock and out of sight.

  Did he do it? Did he make contact safely?

  Joe was almost certain he was in more danger now than he had ever been before, but he needed to trust someone. His next step was an even bigger risk, but he thought he might be able to count on her.

  Chapter 48

  9:00 p.m., May 6

  The house was quiet and Katrina O’Hara walked from room to room, turning on every light, unsettled. She listened for any noise. She was waiting. Waiting for that moment, the knock on her door that she was sure would come, the FBI telling her she was going away. She was sure now more than ever that she was being watched.

  Disconcerted and anxious, Kat checked to make sure that the burglar alarm was set and armed and that the flood lights of her two-story condo were on. She paused at the video display in her study, checking and double checking all the cameras. Her property was shadowed gray by pine trees and overgrown shrubs that had just gotten out of hand. There was never the time for it, she thought and let out a frustrated sigh.

  Kat stirred some tomatoes and garlic in a copper pot on a stove. Cooking had always put her at ease in the past, so why didn’t it calm her down now? Because she felt that she really needed it this time. What had she gotten herself into? No. What had Kenny gotten her into? But making some pasta sauce from scratch wasn’t working. She couldn’t relax. Nothing was working for her tonight.

  It was almost nine o’clock. Kenny was still an hour away and she was worried about him. No. Really, she was just worried about her. Fuck Kenny, she thought. She cared too much about him and his male ‘man of action’ opinions of her and her work. Kat knew this unbalanced power dynamic between them had to stop at some point, so why not now? But she had no answer for her troubled thoughts and that was more unsettling than any of it.

  Water drummed in a steel sink as she chopped an onion on a bamboo cutting board. Tears were welling in one of Kat’s eyes and one was dangerously close to working its way down her face when a knock came on her door. Her heart was racing as she blankly stared at the security monitor for her front door camera. She could see nothing but darkness and she knew it was being covered by whoever was at her door.

  Kat reached back and grabbed the 9-mm Berretta at her hip. She pulled back the slide. A hollow-point round was chambered and the hammer was back. Kat took a long steady breath and placed her shoulder on the wall next to the door.

  “Who are you?! And you should know I’m a cop!” Kat said in the sternest voice she could muster.

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but I had nowhere else to go. You don’t know me… not really. But I know you.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” Kat said, still talking through the closed door. “How do you know me?”

  “Please open the door. I feel too exposed out here. My life is in danger. Please, I need your help.”

  Kat didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what she should do. For the first time in her life, s
he was stuck, held down by her own apprehension, frozen by her fear. But something about his voice was reaching her. There was a tenderness there, some kind of childlike helplessness in his tone. Kat knew she would have to take a leap of faith. But after all she had been through in the last few hours, she was not sure that she should trust anyone. Then he spoke again.

  “Please, there are men hunting me.”

  The dead bolt slowly slid free and the light from her entryway caught the concern in his eyes as she looked upon him for the first time. Joe was a tall man and had confident eyes, but Kat saw the fear behind them. She saw his need instinctively and suddenly had to help him.

  “Inside.”

  Joe stepped through the door frame with few movements and Kat took notice of how effortlessly he did move. How silently his feet fell on her tiled entry and how easily he slid past her and shut the door with almost no sound. Then Kat felt as if she had erred. Who was this man? Could he be a government assassin like that crazy woman said? Kat raised the barrel of her gun to those confident, reassuring eyes.

  “I need you to not move too fast.”

  “Okay,” he said with a confident smile she was sure was not real.

  “Take out your weapon and place it on my entry table.”

  Joe didn’t move for a moment. He knew if she was to trust him that he first had to trust her. And he knew that even without his firearm he could incapacitate this woman, so he reached behind his belt, slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as he could. He grabbed the grip on his silenced pistol. He was making small gestures, trying to appear smaller than he was. It was never really easy for him; he was a big man, after all.

  Kat’s eyes fixed on the weapon in Joe’s hand. And when she saw the silencer her heart almost stopped. She had recalled what Marty had told her about the steel wool found at the scene. Her thoughts were racing now and she thought she had just invited the wolf into her grandma’s house. She took a breath, tightened her grip on her weapon and steadied her hand.

  “Why the silencer?”

  “I can explain.”

  “Start with who the hell you are,” Kat said in a very calm, flat voice. Joe stared at her for a moment, the whole time knowing he still had a weapon hidden and, if need be, could make his way out of this house without anyone noticing.