“The suspect is dead. The case is closed. How does this affect my missing officer?”
“I think she’s infected too.”
“What?” Captain Riggs asked, slamming a fist onto his desk.
The Captain’s face turned a shade of red Markov had never seen before. The man was livid. Whatever he did, Markov had to make sure not to set him off any more than he already had.
“She was exhibiting the same symptoms as the suspect; everything except the violence. There was the hunger, the changing eye color, and she told me she found a green substance coming from her eyes. And there’s more…”
“Out with it.”
“After the suspect clocked her with the towel rack, she made it up to the roof.”
Markov paused. This was it. His career was over.
“She spoke another language, sir.”
“Like French or something?”
Markov bit his tongue and then said calmly, “No, sir, not like French. I had never heard it before, but the suspect spoke it too. It sounded…well, not from Earth.”
Captain Riggs crossed his arms and stood up from his desk. He made his way to the window and looked out over the sea of Homicide Detectives. The ones who’d been listening in quickly found papers to shuffle.
“You’re trying to tell me my detective is consorting with little green men?”
Captain Riggs turned his back to the window and huffed out a gust of air, clearly exasperated.
“I knew you might say something desperate, but Jesus Markov. Aliens?”
“It makes sense, Captain! The meteorites, the parasites, the creepy language, it’s all there.”
“It’s there because you’re looking for it,” Captain Riggs said calmly. “I’m going to have you see Dr. Pearson.”
“The shrink? Captain, I’m telling the truth,” Markov pleaded. “Karen’s out there somewhere and I’m the only one who can stop it.”
Captain Riggs spoke to him like a human being for the first time in his career. He sat back down in his chair and spoke calmly, like a disappointed father. This was worse than anything Markov could have imagined. Even his own father had never talked to him this way.
“I know she is, son. And you’re in no position to help her in your condition. Leave this to us. I’ll help Detective Goldberg on this matter myself. I’m sorry, Markov.”
“Sorry? My partner is out there right now getting probed or worse. I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.”
“Stand down, Yuri. This is too much. Hand it over.”
Detective Markov leaned back in his chair and fought a tear in his eye. He had become a cop to stop injustice, just like his dad. Now, he didn’t know what he was doing here. Karen was out there and he couldn’t do anything to help her. Markov tried to think up a solution on the fly but failed to come up with anything helpful.
“Captain, please. Just call the number and talk to Shaw. Maybe we can negotiate.”
Captain Riggs nodded and slid the business card across his desk closer to him. He dialed the number and put his phone on speaker. An out-of-service tone sounded over the speaker. Captain Riggs hung up the phone and regarded him with a cool glare.
“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this, Yuri. You’re suspended pending psychological evaluation. If the doctor clears you, I’m putting you at a desk. Until this clears up, consider yourself under investigation for the disappearance of Detective Karen Hall. That’s my final word.”
Markov couldn’t speak. He unclipped his badge from his belt and slid it across the glass top of the Captain’s desk. He stood up and slowly turned toward the door.
“Ah, ah,” Captain Riggs said. “Service weapon too.”
Markov gave the Captain a scathing glare and pulled his gun from the holster. For a moment he held it at his side before placing it on the desk and letting go. He’d had that weapon since he joined the force. It was like losing a limb. He scooped up the business card from the desk and, after a moment, he turned and avoided eye contact with the Captain. He opened the office door and started to step out.
“You can wait at your desk until Dr. Pearson is ready for you.”
Markov nodded and continued out into the sea of piercing eyes at Homicide Division. The modern building was a stark contrast to the Captain’s office. Its minimalist furniture was the norm in San Francisco, like everything had come straight out of an IKEA catalog. The detectives’ desks were stark white and contained only one drawer each, which made organizing case files a pain. Markov believed whoever came up with the concept should be shot.
He slumped down in his uncomfortable desk chair and slid a picture frame across the smooth white top to get a better look at it. His partner gave him that picture a few months before. They had both shown up to the policeman’s ball without dates, despite assuring each other they wouldn’t come alone, and ended up spending the night people watching and drinking bad whiskey. The picture was one of the few where Detective Hall was smiling with full teeth. She had a beautiful smile. It was a shame he could rarely get her to show it.
Markov’s desk was messier than most. It wasn’t because he was a particularly messy person, rather, he just didn’t have anywhere to put his files. He had a stack over a foot tall with cases dating back as long as a year. Markov was supposed to take them to a central filing location but had never gotten around to it. He was too busy doing actual police work. He gazed at the desk adjacent his and scoffed.
Detective Goldberg’s desk was pristine except for a single case file he was looking at. He saw Markov looking and slid his chair over, putting a hand on his upper back. Markov wasn’t that fond of Goldberg and was even less fond of being touched by another man. He shrugged his shoulder, but Detective Goldberg didn’t get the picture and kept his hand where it was.
Goldberg was tall and slightly overweight with a thick goatee that looked ridiculous on him. He was Jewish, but not very devout. On countless occasions Markov had seen him eat pork and other non-kosher food. Every once in a while he’d wear a Yamaka as though he had to prove he was Jewish. Markov could deal with all of that, but his personality was off-putting and he was clumsy, always tripping over his own toes. He wasn’t the type of cop he’d trust to have his back in a dicey situation. There was always an air of awkwardness around Goldberg that Markov couldn’t place. Whatever it was, Goldberg got under his skin like no one else could.
“Are you all right, good buddy?”
“Can it Goldberg.”
Detective Goldberg frowned, sliding back to his own desk and started rifling through reports.
“Goldberg.” Captain Riggs shouted from his office doorway, “My office, now.”
Detective Goldberg gave Markov a questioning look. It was hard to tell in Homicide Division whether someone was in trouble or getting a new case. He knew Goldberg was about to get the lead on Karen’s abduction. Despite being a Homicide detective, he previously worked missing persons and when it’s one of our own, Homicide doesn’t give a shit about jurisdiction. Homicide was always top dog.
Detective Markov’s cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and checked the screen. It was a local number, but nothing he recognized. He wondered if it would be Shaw again. Maybe the card he’d given him was part of making his life ‘difficult.’ It had certainly worked. He answered the phone.
“Detective Markov?” An elderly voice asked.
“Yeah.”
“This is Dr. Ellis, the medical examiner at Saint Mary’s.”
“I know who you are,” Markov responded a little gruffer than he meant to.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said with quivering voice. “You need to get somewhere safe. Our lives are in grave danger.”
21
1229 Hours – Day 3 – Homicide Division – 5th Precinct
Detective Markov looked back and forth assessing the room. Detectives were going about their individual cases, nothing out of the ordinary. Markov had just about had enough excitement for the day. He w
ould much rather have just sat back on his couch watching Married With Children reruns while sipping on a cold beer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury. Things were going south real fast.
If he didn’t find Karen soon, there was no telling what kind of things they might do to her. If Shaw and Brown were really part of a government agency there might be limits on what kinds of techniques they could use. But Markov didn’t know where they stood. They could be part of some fringe group for all he knew. That meant Karen would be in even more danger. At this point Markov was far less worried about himself. Besides, after the mix-up at the morgue, Dr. Ellis didn’t rank high on Markov’s list of reliable associates.
“Did you hear what I said,” Dr. Ellis asked in a near whisper.
“I heard you,” Markov replied. “We were checked out before I left the morgue. I thought we were cleared.”
Markov picked up a pen and started doodling on a yellow legal pad. He liked keeping his hands occupied when at all possible. In truth, he craved a cigarette and needed to distract his mind. When people asked him about it, he would tell them it helped him think. He wasn’t any good at drawing, but he liked it nevertheless. Sometimes the mind needed an escape.
“We’re not the problem, Detective. It’s the parasite.”
Markov absentmindedly began drawing a spiral on the pad. He had completed several revolutions before he answered.
“I thought it was dead.”
“It is. Rather, it was.”
Markov’s pen stopped and ink began emanating from the tip, soaking into the yellow legal pad. He didn’t like the sound of that. A number of Karen’s stupid science fiction movie plots ran through his head. He couldn’t believe she made him sit through some of those things. This case was beginning to sound more and more like one of those terrible ‘B’ movies she loved so much. Frankly, the only reason he would go to her place for those movies was that she bought the beer he liked. He thought about it more and then confirmed. That was the only reason.
“What do you mean it was?”
“I was examining a sample under a microscope and found some really interesting characteristics.”
“Spare me the science talk and get to the point.”
Dr. Ellis’ voice betrayed his frustration, “I know what the parasite does. What it’s for.”
“What it’s for? You’re making it sound like this thing was engineered.”
“Precisely! But, not by us.”
Markov released his pen and it fell to the pad. He lowered his voice so the other detectives couldn’t hear him.
“Then who?”
“No technology we have on this planet could have created this parasite. It appears to change biological structures, altering their biochemistry to—”
“Again, for us Liberal Arts majors, doc.”
“It changes the biology of the host to be more like itself. Specifically, it targets the internal organs. It requires a vast amount of nutrients to carry out the metamorphosis, but I imagine if the host survives it could prove…well, fascinating.”
Markov could feel a cold sweat seeping into his shirt from his lower back. If Dr. Ellis was right, the Karen he knew could be gone; replaced by something else. But what? Surely she wouldn’t become some kind of alien. Markov remembered reading an article about terraforming in Popular Science and drew a parallel. He read the magazine for the cool gadgets and tools, but occasionally found himself looking at the other articles. He would mostly look at the pictures and read the captions.
“There’s more,” Dr. Ellis said.
Great, Markov thought.
“The parasite appears to be sentient.”
Markov paused, leaning back in his flimsy white roller chair. The chair’s back could tilt only about ten degrees so it was hardly worth the effort. Markov raised his free hand to his mouth and thought hard. ‘Sentient.’ He’d heard that word before. He pulled out his internal rolodex and scanned his memories until he found the proper entry. He could almost feel the hamster wheel turning. If Karen were there she would have made a remark about smelling burning plastic or some nonsense.
“Sentient means it can think, right?”
Detective Sanchez stood up from his nearby desk and dragged his feet to the coffee pot along the side wall. Sanchez shot him a glance and smiled, his attempt at a mustache curling upward as he did. When he passed he raised a hand in greeting. Most of the time Markov didn’t mind being near the coffee, but on a day like this, with private conversations taking place, it was bothersome to say the least. The department had just sprung for one of those fancy Keurig machines, making all of the detectives coffee snobs overnight. Markov gave a half-hearted wave. Dr. Ellis sounded enthusiastic on the other end of the line.
“Essentially, yes. Very good, Detective.”
Markov felt like Dr. Ellis was throwing him a bone. As though he were a monkey who had learned a single sign. Markov decided to take the compliment and move on.
“What do you think it wants?”
“Well, like any living thing, its basic instinct is to reproduce and perpetuate the species. Something like this is truly revolutionary. It’s possible it is not of this Earth! Imagine it!”
A wave of fear overtook Markov. Shaw and Brown had to be involved somehow. Did they help create this thing? Were they trying to stop it? Markov had too many questions and not enough answers. If he was to go to the Captain with anything less than concrete proof he would lose his badge for good.
“How would it reproduce, Doc?”
“Think of it Detective, I’m going to be famous! Maybe I’ll name it after myself! I could be on the cover of a magazine.”
Markov could tell Dr. Ellis was outliving his usefulness. His head was now filled with scientific delusions of grandeur. If there was one thing Markov didn’t like it was a showoff. He preferred to do his job and be done with it. His satisfaction was internal. That’s why he wasn’t mad that he never won any awards at the station. Even if that undeserving douche Goldberg won every time. It didn’t bother him. Not a bit.
“Thank you for the info Dr. Ellis, be sure to keep in touch.”
There was a crash on the other end of the line like something large and metallic had toppled over. Markov listened closely but could only hear a faint ringing. There was the sound of a struggle before the line went silent.
“Dr. Ellis?”
No response.
“Dr. Ellis!” Markov shouted into the phone.
The Detectives of Homicide Division turned and gave him questioning glares. They already thought he was losing it, what was the use in toning it down now? If Karen were there she would have stood up and told everyone to piss off. She certainly had a way with words.
Markov could hear two pairs of footsteps on the other end of the line. There was labored breathing in the background, a crunching sound, and then nothing. A moment later Markov’s cell gave him an out-of-service tone. He removed the phone from his ear, cradling his ear from the sudden load noise.
What the hell was that? Markov thought.
Dr. Ellis had said during the autopsy that he’d heard of a parasite like this before, but anyone who mentioned it was quickly quieted. Maybe the government had actually been able to engineer something this advanced? If that were the case, Agent Shaw and Agent Brown were surely close by. Markov retrieved the business card from his pocket. Why would Shaw give him a card with an out-of-service number? It wasn’t adding up, and not just because Markov was terrible at math.
Screw it, Markov thought before dialing the number.
It rang. Once. Twice.
“Detective Markov,” a smug voice answered. “I was expecting your call sooner.”
22
1245 Hours – Day 3 – Homicide Division – 5th Precinct
Detective Markov checked the exits, half expecting to see Agent Shaw. Most of the other Detectives seemed to be ignoring him. In the back of his mind he reminded himself that Dr. Pearson would be there to collect him soon. If he was going to
get out of there, he would have to do it now. He readied himself for what he expected to be a rough conversation.
“Shaw, where’s Karen?” Markov whispered fiercely into his cell phone.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Detective?”
“There’s a lot of things I’d like to say to you,” Markov said in his best Clint Eastwood. “We need to meet.”
“After my conversation with the good doctor, I would have to agree.”
Shaw must have gotten to Dr. Ellis, Markov thought. But how did he know?
Markov began checking his desk for bugs. There had to be an explanation for how Agent Shaw was always one step ahead in his investigation. Markov considered himself a pretty good detective. He racked his mind looking for a mistake in the investigation, but found none that would have given Shaw such a blatant advantage.
“Why don’t you meet us at Pioneer Park?” Shaw suggested.
Markov thrust open the drawer of his modern desk, feeling around the inside for anything suspicious. It was clean. If Shaw was going to hide a listening device it would have been pretty difficult given the minimalist nature of the workspace.
“I have a better idea, why don’t you come down to the station?” Markov retorted.
“Now you know I can’t do that,” Shaw replied.
“Why is that? Oh, that’s right, because you’re not really Federal Agents.”
“The situation is more complicated than you realize. I assure you your partner is safe and in good hands. If you agree to meet with me I’ll take you to her and you can see for yourself.”
Markov laughed a little louder than he meant to. Detective Sanchez put a concerned hand on his excuse for a mustache and shook his head. He got up from his desk and meandered toward the men’s room. Markov’s reputation was garbage now anyway, so he might as well give them all a show.
“Meet me at 5th and Mission in one hour, and come alone.”
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