Case of the Claw

by Keith DeCandido

  MacAvoy muttered, "And you'd know," which Therese ignored. She'd been dating Marc McLean, one of SuperCity's wealthiest citizens and the money behind the Superior Six, for months now. It was mostly a good relationship, except for when they argued about this very subject.

  "The Trio never shares that kind of intel, either, and with all the toys they've given us, the commissioner and the mayor get cranky when we bother them." Therese looked at Milewski, who was obviously crestfallen. "It's a good idea in theory, but it'll just be a waste of time."

  "But, Lieutenant—"

  Not wanting Milewski to get fixated on this, Therese changed the subject. "Is there any pattern to the crime scenes? Layout, significant locations, anything?"

  MacAvoy shook his head. "The crime-scene geeks are playing with their laptops to be sure, but there's nothing obvious—just like all the other times. Doesn't help that we still don't know who the Claw actually is."

  "No pattern," Milewski said, "no commonalities among the victims, no nothing, Lieutenant, just torn-up bodies."

  "Speakin'a which," MacAvoy said, "Soohoo's supervisin' the autopsies his own self."

  Therese rolled her eyes. Chief Medical Examiner Ryan Soohoo only roused himself to actually be involved in something so mundane as an autopsy when headlines might be involved. "And what does his royal highness say?"

  "Nothin' yet. Did talk to the lab geeks, though. There were feathers on the bodies, like last time, which match the others. They ran the DNA from the feathers through the fancy-ass scanner again, but it still doesn't match anybody in the system."

  One of the toys that the Terrific Trio had donated to the SCPD was a DNA scanner that was faster and more efficient than that of any other crime lab, which enabled them to process their DNA requests far faster than most other cities.

  Shaking her head, Therese said, "So the Claw isn't someone who's been added to the database in the last two years."

  "Nope."

  A voice from the door said, "You mean we still don't know anything?"

  Therese looked up to see Javier Garcia standing in the door.

  Milewski rose, standing ramrod straight. "Captain."

  MacAvoy just rolled his eyes. "Christ, rook, it's just Javy."

  "Thanks for the testimonial, Mac," Garcia said with a smirk. Then he grew serious again. "Kristin, get the pole outta your ass. I need you two working this case, and working it hard. Cover any angle, no matter how stupid—and close it, 'cause if you don't…" Garcia trailed off and shook his head.

  Wincing, Therese said, "The feds?"

  Garcia nodded. "I just got a call from the local field office. They're calling in an expert profiler and offered up whatever resources we need."

  "Fuck," MacAvoy muttered.

  "I don't see the problem," Milewski said. "We can use all the help we can get."

  "Shit," MacAvoy said, "how long you been police? Fibbies can't find their asses with both hands, and they step in, we lose the collar."

  Milewski shrugged. "When I was in Narcotics, we worked with the DEA all the time. They were a big help."

  "Well, the FBI won't be a help here," Garcia said. "The next profiler I meet who actually knows what he's talking about will be the first."

  "'Sides," MacAvoy said, "it's bad enough everyone thinks the costumes do all the police work in this town, last thing we need is the fibbies comin' in."

  "Well, the Claw hasn't crossed state lines that we're aware of," Garcia said, tugging on his tie, which Therese knew he only did when he was angry but didn't want to show it, "so technically, they can't get involved unless we ask them to. And that isn't happening. Hell, I'd rather get the costumes involved than the feds."

  Milewski perked up. "Sir, actually, I had an idea about that."

  Therese felt her cheeks get warm. She said, "Detective, I don't think—" at the same time that MacAvoy said, "Rook, don't—"

  But Milewski barreled forward, ignoring them both. "I think we should consult the Superior Six and the Terrific Trio. They've already said they're looking into it, and maybe we can pool our resources."

  To Therese's annoyance, Garcia nodded. "It's not a bad idea, actually. Normally, I'd say don't bother, but in about ten minutes, the mayor's gonna call my office, and he's gonna wanna know what progress we've made. I assume that you two just got finished telling Therese that there's nothing at any of the crime scenes that'll help us locate the Claw?"

  "Yes, sir," Milewski said. Therese just glared at her.

  "Then if I can tell him that we're consulting with the costumes, he'll be able to spin the press conference at eleven. I'll have Erica make appointments for you two to go up to the Six's blimp and TriadTower. Mind you, it'll be a total waste of time, but at least it'll keep people off our backs for a while." He turned to leave. "Therese, let 'em have anyone you can spare from the squadroom. Don't empty the pantry, but give 'em as many bodies as you can. Feel free to go crazy with OT."

  That got MacAvoy's attention. "Really?"

  "Yeah. Enjoy it while you can, 'cause Dellamonica's gonna cut the budget to ribbons soon enough, but we gotta get this guy this time." As he stepped over the threshold, he stopped, turned around, and looked right at Milewski, who had an annoyingly self-satisfied look on her face. "Oh, and Kristin?"

  "Yes, sir?" she asked eagerly.

  Garcia smiled pleasantly as he said, "You do an end-run around Therese like that again, you'll be doing solo foot patrol in SimonValley at night, understood?"

  It was actually worth the little twerp getting her way just so Therese could watch her deflate like a balloon. Therese had championed Milewski being moved up to Homicide after the Pusher's arrest, and she didn't appreciate being repaid this way.

  Milewski turned to Therese after Garcia left. "Lieutenant, I'm sorry, but—"

  Therese spoke in a tight voice. "Get out of my office now, before I say something you'll regret, Detective."

  "Yes, ma'am," Milewski said quickly, and she bolted.

  MacAvoy hung back. "Sorry 'bout that, Zim, she—"

  Shaking her head, Therese waved a hand, her anger already burned to ashes. "Forget it. She's young and stupid. Time'll solve one and being murder police'll solve the other." She grinned. "Why do you think I teamed her up with your cynical ass, Mac?"

  Snorting, MacAvoy said, "You just wanted to make retirement look more attractive."

  "Is it working?"

  Another snort, and MacAvoy left without another word.

  Her phone chirped, and she glanced at the caller ID: Marc's office. Smiling, she picked it up. "Hi, Beth," she said, knowing that it would be Marc's assistant. Heaven forfend the great Marc McLean dial his own damn phone.

  "Hello, Therese. Hold for Mr. McLean, please?"

  "Sure." Therese chuckled at the fact that Beth called her by her first name, but still went formal for Marc.

  A click and then: "Hello, sweetness."

  "Hi, Marc." She had never been able to come up with a nickname for him. Lots of people called him "Mac," but that, to Therese, was the detective who'd just left. "What's up? You're not cancelling dinner, are you?" One of the many stumbling blocks in their relationship—besides the fights over the Superior Six's relationship with law-enforcement—was Marc's tendency to postpone dates. He always made up for it eventually—especially in bed, the man had amazing stamina—but it was frustrating.

  However, that wasn't a problem this time. "No, we're still good. I wanted to make sure you were still on—I heard about the Claw."

  "Yeah," Therese said with a sigh of relief, "but I get the feeling I'm gonna need the break, the way this day's gonna go. Emmanuelli's at five-thirty, right?"

  "The reservations are already made. See you—" Then she heard an all-too-familiar beeping noise. "Darn, I've got to get that. See you tonight, sweetness!"

  With that, he hung up, without even waiting for her to reply. That damn ZP500 of his pretty much ruled Marc McLean's life. It drove her crazy.

  On the other hand, he said "Darn."
Marc never used any kind of profanity which, after spending all day being surrounded by cops—arguably the most foul-mouthed subset of humanity—was incredibly endearing.

  Therese shrugged, hung up the phone, then looked at the overnight shift's run sheets. That was the one thing about being promoted—the paperwork just metastasized as you went up in rank…

  11am

  In all the ten years that Charlie Duffy had been covering the mayor's office, he had yet to sit in a comfortable chair.

  When he first was given the beat by his editor at the Super City Gazette, he'd complained about the flimsiness of the folding chairs to the mayor's press officer, who didn't quite laugh in his face, but came close.

  Two mayors and four press officers later, the chairs hadn't gotten any better. Oh, when Aaron Sittler was elected, he put in newer chairs with blue things that were called cushions on them, but they were hard as rocks.

  Eventually, though, he came to understand the reality: the reporters weren't wanted. The politicians had to put up with the reporters, of course, because the alternative was that the journalists would all make stuff up, and if it was fiction to be printed or spoken anyhow, it was going to be the mayor's official fiction, dammit. But they weren't about to let the reporters actually enjoy the experience of facilitating the first amendment.

  Charlie almost liked Sittler. The reporter had never fully liked any successful politician, which made a certain sense. You couldn't survive in that world if you weren't an unlikeable asshole, so all the non-assholes tended to wash out pretty quickly. A bunch of years back, Charlie covered the City Council campaign of wealthy philanthropist Marc McLean. McLean was genuinely optimistic and earnest, and really wanted to make the city a better place. His opponents tore him to shreds, of course, and he wound up with only one percent of the vote. After that McLean stuck to the private sector. Charlie was of the considered opinion that McLean did more good throwing money at things like the capes and various charities than he ever would have managed amidst the bribe-takers and mendicants of the City Council.

  But Sittler wasn't bad. Unlike the previous two mayors, who seemed to be spending half their time apologizing for the capes, Sittler embraced them. Instead of focusing on the property damage and the insurance claims, he focused on the lives saved and the celebrity that the capes brought to SuperCity. Plus, Sittler had allowed Charlie to follow his campaign around, giving him full access on the proviso that he not print anything until after the election. That series of articles knocked the Gazette's circulation up ten points and got Charlie several awards. (Though not the Pulitzer, as that went to that hack Branker for his crap piece for the SC Post on the Terrific Trio that didn't tell anybody anything about the three capes that they didn't already know. Charlie already had two Pulitzers—one for his exposé on the aliens who had taken over the McLean Foundation, and one for his interview with the last man to call himself Old Glory—but he really wanted the hat trick before he retired.)

  As Charlie wiggled uncomfortably in his folding chair, he once again checked his Zap to make sure that everything was working right. For years after his colleagues went over to tape recording, Charlie had continued to jot down his notes, having seen too many tapes get chewed, damaged, or swallowed by recorders and players and just the reality of daily life. He'd seen countless stories ruined by spilled cups of coffee, for crying out loud.

  But the digital revolution changed everything. Now he could record everything digitally on his Zap, which could also e-mail the audio file straight to the computer on his desk at the Gazette. Charlie's arthritis was such that gripping a pen was increasingly painful, so this new toy pretty much saved his career.

  Just as he finished checking the Zap over, the door behind the podium opened, and four people entered: the mayor's press officer, two members of the mayor's security detail, and then finally the perfectly combed blond hair and aquiline nose of Mayor Aaron Sittler.

  The press officer walked up to the podium. The press room in City Hall had had the same podium since this place was built in the 1950s, replacing the old City Hall that had been destroyed by the Red Menace. The podium had belonged to the beloved Mayor Vincenzo Colletta, and every mayor since had also used it.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll please be seated."

  Everyone took a seat, and shifted around as the chairs went to work on their lower backs. Charlie knew they were all avoiding sitting in the chairs any more than they had to, but Charlie knew it was better to sit early and adjust to the spine-chewing nightmare before the press conference started, so you could concentrate.

  Even with that, his lower back felt like it was being turned into a pretzel. Charlie wondered how bad it would have been without the aspirin he'd popped an hour ago.

  "Thank you. Mayor Aaron Sittler would like to provide a statement, and then he will take a few questions. Mayor Sittler?"

  The press officer stepped aside, and Sittler stepped up. The microphone was omnidirectional, so he didn't need to adjust it for his greater height. "Good morning."

  Charlie winced. Sittler's tone was much more subdued than usual. Generally, the mayor spoke boisterously, his voice projecting to the cheap seats, as it were. If it weren't required for television, radio, and online recording, Charlie doubted he would have bothered with the microphone.

  Today, though, he was much quieter. Charlie supposed he couldn't really blame him.

  "As you all know, the Claw has returned to SuperCity and is once again wreaking havoc on our citizenry. Last night, he claimed his twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth victims: Sophie Ashlyn, Monte Barker, Soon-Li Han, and Pablo Martinez."

  Finally, names. Even as the phone's microphone captured the mayor's words, Charlie made a note in a file on the Zap to look up those four. Probably some intern back at the paper was watching the press conference and had already started, but he made the note anyhow. Besides, the first of the names sounded familiar.

  When he was done with that, he called up the quote he'd gotten half an hour ago. He was real curious to hear Sittler's reaction to that.

  Sittler continued. "At the present time, the police are not prepared to announce any arrests. However, our forensic technicians are going over each scene with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. In addition, the case is being handled by two of SCPD's top detectives, Peter MacAvoy, a thirty-year veteran of the department, and Kristin Milewski, whom some of you may recall from the arrest of the drug dealer known as the Pusher last year."

  Charlie knew both names. MacAvoy was a pain in the neck who hated reporters. He'd actually decked someone from the Post once, which Charlie had always viewed as just good sense. As for Milewski, she had indeed made a name for herself with the Pusher arrest, although from what he'd heard from the reporter who covered the story for the Gazette, it was the Bruiser who did most of the work. Charlie hadn't heard that she'd been bumped up to Homicide.

  "I'm told that Detectives MacAvoy and Milewski will be consulting extensively with the Superior Six and the Terrific Trio and that they anticipate a quick end to this investigation."

  That'll be a first, Charlie thought. The capes didn't "consult" with anyone. Hell, from what he'd heard, the Superior Six barely consulted with each other. They'd kicked out two members over the years, and two had left in very public disputes. One of those last two was Herakles, who soon thereafter became a victim of the Claw. Charlie missed the Justiciars—now those were real heroes…

  "I would only like to add that my heart goes out to the families of all four victims, as well as my promise that we will do everything in our power to bring their killer to justice. Now, then, I'll take a few questions."

  Charlie smiled as everyone raised their hands. Only four people were asking questions today, which had already been worked out ahead of time. Charlie knew he would the last of the four—that election piece had made him a favorite of Sittler's, and Charlie had known how to cash in that coin.

  Sittler first looked at News 6 at 6's Adriana Berardi, a tall
woman with long, dark hair and a nice voice. Scuttlebutt had it she was next in line for an anchor seat. "Adriana?"

  "Mr. Mayor, I've been told by a source that the FBI will be involved. Is this true?"

  "The SuperCity field office has opened their doors to us, and also provided a profiler, but we're confident that we can solve this case in-house, as it were."

  "So you're saying you don't need the FBI?"

  "I don't know that I'd go that far, but I'm confident in the resources that this city can bring to bear on the case."

  Charlie smirked. The Claw hadn't crossed state lines, so the feds had no actual jurisdiction. They would have to be asked in, and Charlie couldn't imagine a circumstance under which Enzo Dellamonica would make that request.

  Next was John Knoll, whose "Knoll-age" political blog was getting hit rates in the millions. "John?"

  "Mr. Mayor, this is the fourth time the Claw has gone on a rampage in SuperCity. What makes you think this city will be able to handle it better this time?"

  "Experience, John. This city has dealt with threats ranging from having the entire city east of the Thomas being encased in a force field and sent into orbit to the coming of Ragnarok in KirbyPark. The Claw isn't our first serial killer—or spree killer, as I'm sure the FBI's profiler would wish correct me. We will be fine."

  Knoll looked like he wanted to follow up, but the mayor had already moved on to Charlie's biggest competitor, Yvonne Hoffman from the Post. "Yvonne?"

  "By 'we,' are you referring to the SCPD, or are you referring to SuperCity's superhero population?"

  Ye flipping gods, what a stupid question. And, since she was riffing on the answer to Knoll's question, it meant that Hoffman had either gotten a question spot without having an actual query prepared, or she did have one, and she dropped it for that nonsense.

  "I'm referring to the considerable resources of this city, Yvonne. That includes everyone who has chosen to call this city home, whether they be deputized officers of the law or costumed heroes—all of whom put their lives on the line every day to make our city safer. And that will include getting the Claw off the streets once and for all."