by J. D. Martin
Flagging our waitress on the way out, I apologized to her again for my behavior before handing her a folded bill to cover what we’d had thus far. “Take that boyfriend out on the town at my expense.”
“Oh my god,” she said looking at the extra $100, “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a bit of a romantic.” Before she could argue further, I walked away to join the other detectives on the sidewalk. Marcus had already pulled his car around and the three of us hopped in.
Arriving at the address, we found the rave party of flashing lights lining the streets once again. Where was a pair of glow sticks when you needed them? Passing the yellow tape, I saw Stacey waiting for us on the porch. “Hey, Cap. What do we have here?”
Gesturing for us to follow her inside, we entered to investigators going over the room with a fine-tooth comb. On the floor, my favorite coroner examined a body, but I couldn’t see the face past her. “Who’s the DB?” I asked the captain.
Amy was the one that piped up after hearing my voice. “It’s your guy, Alex. Peter Davidson. But he was the one to get the necktie treatment this time. Based on what I’ve seen so far, it appears to be self-inflicted.”
“Look at what he’s wearing,” Pinick added. “It’s the clothes from the traffic cam; the one we found near Big King’s place.”
“He was our Guns N’ Roses fan?” asked Delgado.
“Looks like it,” I said. “Did anyone find the backpack he had in the cam footage?”
“I can answer that, sir.” The voice came from behind us as a Latino officer filled us in. “When I arrived to check on a B&E call from the neighborhood watch, I found the door was open. I heard a commotion inside, so I announced myself and entered the home just as someone ran through the kitchen and out the back door. I caught him trying to hop the back fence and when I tried to pull him back down, he caught me with a surprise hook that knocked me over. He was gone before I was able to shake it off.”
“Can you get us a description?” asked Bronson.
“No, I never actually saw his face and he had a hood over his head.
“What about the missing backpack from the photo,” asked Delgado. “You said you could explain that?”
“Yes, the runner had it with him.”
“Backpack or not, that hunting knife is the same blade he had at my apartment,” I said pointing to the knife in Davidson’s hand.
“Yeah, we’re bagging it to test the blood residue,” said Kat who I hadn’t noticed up to that point. She looked up at me and then back to Amy again. I didn’t want to make a different kind of scene at the crime scene, and was saved by the captain’s interruption.
“Congratulations, gentlemen. You got a killer off the street, or at least found him off the street. Now, if only there weren’t a dozen more out there. Kathryn, I want a rush put on that sample to see if we can ID our runner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
An hour later, the rushed blood samples came back with residue from Joseph Matthews, Trent Williams, Laura Davidson, myself, and Peter Davidson who was killed with his own knife. It was great to close the cases on so many deaths, but we weren’t finished yet. Now we were left with whomever killed Davidson, and Pinick let us know that that wasn’t all.
“So, the different MO and what Davidson said to Alex before trying to kill him tells us that he wasn’t the Blood Week killer.” We all agreed with this point. “But has anyone paid attention to the fact that we only got four bodies? There was Sullivan, Big King, Jackson, and the castrated man, but that leaves three more. Every year there are seven bodies, but this time the vigilante didn’t finish. Are we sure that Davidson isn’t somehow connected to that?”
“Holy shit,” said Bronson. “Do you think the guy that ran off was the vigilante? Did he get wind of the frame job and put all his efforts into finding Peter?” None of us had an answer, but we were all curious to find out.
Chapter 28
After a long day, I was happy to have some time back home to relax. Turning to the tried-and-true sounds of the Chairman of the Board, I pressed play on the stereo and waited as the display came to life. After a scratch of static, the band played him in as I sang along. “Would you like to Swing on a Star? Carry moonbeams home in a jar…and be better off then you are. Or would you rather be a mule?”
My fingers snapped as I danced my way across the room towards the kitchen to pour myself a couple fingers of bourbon. I adjourned to the bedroom with my drink and changed out of my clothes. The sultan of swoon continued in the other room as I crawled into bed and grabbed the book from my nightstand. Not realizing how tired I was, my eyes started drooping before I finished the first page and I was out before I knew it.
I watched as the car pulled up to the intersection. The setting sun reflected off the blue paint causing flecks of silver to sparkle like stars in the night sky. The man driving leaned over to the woman with him and kissed her on the cheek. As he pulled away, an arm came in through the window and pressed a cold barrel to his temple. I wanted to scream for help, but before the words could come out, I felt the pistol on my skin.
Death’s goodnight kiss was puckered and ready to bid me farewell. I felt the cold leather of the steering wheel between my fingers. Before I could save myself, the trigger pulled and released the firing pin into that ignited the metal tube in a flash of light. Instantly, I was back on the sidewalk watching the struggle as a loud bang was followed by the interior of the windshield splashing red.
Time inched by as it appeared to stop in that moment. Everything froze for that instant before death. The slug shrieked in the night as it bored into flesh and bone. The geyser that was his life sprayed out like a fire hose as the force of the bullet snapped his head to the side and caused the man’s dying body to fall into the passenger’s lap.
Again, I tried to stop what was happening. The man was lost, but I could still save her. I ran towards the vehicle, my chest heaving with the effort, but I didn’t get any closer. From across the street, I could feel the life draining out as the blood spilled onto the floorboards. The woman was screaming as the gun turned on her. I ran harder as my vision began to blur from the strain. Reaching out as if my fingers could somehow stop all that was happening, the gun rang out for the second time and my body jerked as the alarm on my bedside woke me.
Slapping the alarm, I rolled up to sit with my legs hanging off the side of the bed. I peered up at the window that glistened with morning dew. It was always the same damn dream each year. I’d had it so many times that it was like a movie reel that kept repeating. It was something that I didn’t dwell on anymore because there wasn’t a point. Life happens, and then it goes on. I could smell the freshly-brewed coffee in the kitchen and decided I could use some.
With my cup of java, I stepped out the balcony and enjoyed it as I waited for the morning beams of light to breach the horizon and dance across the glass of the buildings around me. I admired the beauty of the morning sun until I’d finished my coffee, and then I went back inside to get ready. I was already imagining all the talk and conspiracy theories that would be coming out about the vigilante and why he hadn’t finished Blood Week. Maybe he was having a change of heart? Only time would tell.
I arrived at the precinct an hour later, refreshed and dressed to impress. A good suit had a way of making a man feel like a million bucks. It also didn’t hurt with creating admirers out of the ladies, but that was another story altogether. Dealing with Amy and Kathryn, for me right now, was like visiting the dentist. It wasn’t that it was painful, but it could wait for another day.
My morning started in the bullpen just as I predicted, surrounded by my fellow detectives discussing the possibilities of the vigilante. “I’m telling you that he got exactly what he deserved,” said Bronson. “Killing some poor girl because she didn’t want to have sex with him and framing his brother? That is fucked up. I’m glad our vigilante took him out.”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
asked Marcus. “You’re still assuming the runner killed Peter. Forensics didn’t find any prints on the hunting knife, and it could just as easily have been suicide. Don’t get me wrong, the fuckhole deserved to die, but I still think he took the coward’s way out. He should have gone to prison and got the kind of justice that’s dished out to rapists and child molesters; justice from the inside.”
“In other words,” I started, “you’re both saying he deserved to be tortured, beaten and killed?”
The two of them froze like I was a Tyrannosaurus and my vision was based on movement. I could see the questioning look in their eye as they pondered if their conversation had gone too far, but I decided to ease their tension rather than letting them squirm. “Can’t say I blame you. People like that deserve what’s coming for them.”
As relief passed amongst them, I asked what they thought about the idea of taking Brett out to lunch on the department. “I want to thank him for his assistance and try to paint the police in a more positive light than what he’s become accustomed to. He spent much of his life feeling like the bad guy whenever he saw a badge. I think it’s about time he gets something better.”
“You don’t think it’s eighteen years too late?” asked Bronson.
“Only one way to find out,” I said. “Besides, it may start the healing process.” With no arguments, I counted them both in and made the call to make arrangements. When I got him on the line, the first thing I wanted to do was pass on the information of my condolences. He’d been told of his brother’s death when we found him.
“It’s ok,” he said. “I’m oddly alright with it. Honestly, I’ll probably have a break down that I’ll have to discuss with a therapist at some point, but right now I feel like he was dead to me when the truth came out.”
“I can understand that. Well, there is another reason for my call. Because of your cooperation with us and all the bullshit you’ve had to deal with in your life, we were wondering if you’d be interested in letting us buy you lunch today.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Maybe we can get a better track record between you and the cops starting with the KCPD.”
“What happened to me isn’t the police’s fault. They just did their job.”
“But still…” Brett thought it over a moment and figured a free lunch is still a free lunch. I was surprised with how amiable he was with the situation, but it had to be one of the first times a man with a badge wasn’t trying to arrest him or tell him to go back to his cell.
“We can pick you up at your hotel at eleven. I figured we could get some good ol’ Kansas City BBQ.” If I’m going to treat someone to lunch that’s recently moved here, it’s going to be a signature KC classic.
When the time came, I flagged down the dream team and we all wrapped up whatever was being worked on and hit the elevators. I chose Papa Jack’s BBQ on 22nd off Main, which meant we had to drive further than usual for lunch, but it was worth it. There were many places to find BBQ in the area, but some of them like Papa Jack’s shined above the rest. Situated on the opposite side of the train tracks from Union Station, the restaurant was an old station with red-brick walls. For those that didn’t know better, the area of town didn’t seem like it’d have such a booming place to eat, but Papa Jack’s was always hopping.
The sweet scent of their signature sauce floated into the cab before we’d even parked. So well hidden among the buildings that you’d drive right by if you didn’t know it was here, it didn’t stop Papa Jack’s from becoming a household name. I had plans to order a slab of slow-smoked ribs and the baked beans served with small pieces of rib meat. Just the thought of it already had my mouth watering.
Once we’d been seated and placed our orders, Brett took the kindness of our gesture to heart. “I wish I could do something for the families of the people my brother hurt. The best I can do is apologize and offer my condolences, but I don’t see how that could do anything to make up for the pain and suffering he’s caused.”
“You never know,” said Marcus. “It might do more than you’d think.”
“Maybe, but he was still my brother. I can’t help but wonder if it just might make things worse to come from me. It’s funny...in a twisted way that’s too fucked up to be considered funny, but Laura hated me so much and always called me a murderer. It must have been strange to find out that she was fucking the guy that really did it.” Brett’s face went slack as he absorbed the words and immediately regretted it. “Oh god, that wasn’t very nice of me. We can’t blame her when she didn’t know any better; none of us did.”
“It just goes to show that people are more complicated than we realize,” I said. “Most people mean well in their hearts, but there will always be a few bad apples out there to weed out.”
“And that’s why we exist,” added Delgado.
After our meal, we returned Mr. Davidson to his hotel where he thanked us for the gesture. Assuring him it was our pleasure, I heard a buzzing from my phone in the center console. Waving him farewell, I answered and was greeted by the sweet sound of our resident coroner. “Alex, I’ve found something on Peter Davidson’s body. Could you guys swing by here when you’re done? You should see this in person.”
“Sure, we just dropped his brother off and can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in twenty.”
“That was Amy,” I said to Marcus after ending the call. “She was vague with the details, but she wants us to meet her at the morgue. She said she found something important.”
My estimate was damn close as we stepped off the elevator to the basement and turned to walk through the doors into Madame Amy’s Palace of Death. The pungent aroma of decay and formaldehyde crept up my nose and decided it would stay there for the next few hours. We entered through the large double doors just as Amy was putting on a fresh pair of medical gloves.
“Afternoon, gentlemen, you’re going to love what I’ve got for you.” She stepped behind the table where Peter Davidson’s body lay so she could face us. “So, I just started the autopsy today because we’ve been a little backed up down here as you can understand.” She wasn’t going to get any argument from us. With all the bodies turning up lately, it wasn’t a surprise that there’d be a traffic jam. “If you look here,” she said, pulling a magnifying lens with a built-in light attached to the table towards Peter’s neck. “You’ll see what surprised me.”
“Is that from a needle?” asked Marcus.
“That’s precisely what it is. I ran a tox screen on him after finding it and discovered sodium thiopental in his system. Then, I looked at everything closer and found something else.” Opening his jaw, she tilted the head back and shined the light inside. “Look at the roof of his mouth.” As clear as day, REUS was cut into his palate.
“I think we’ve found the answer to that second gunman theory,” I said.
Amy pursed her lips and leaned forward. “I heard you guys were debating about if this was a suicide or not. So, who was right?”
“Richard,” said Delgado with disdain. “I bet on suicide.”
“Well,” she said rising back up for professionalism, “if I hadn’t noticed the puncture mark, I may not have found the marks inside his mouth. Since the death had clearly come from the knife wound, I’d nearly missed them.”
“Do you know what this means?” asked Marcus.
“Yeah,” I answered. “It means that Peter here was just a carbon copy and the original is still running loose, but we already assumed that.”
“The evidence tying him to the first two murders was just circumstantial, but why was he in the clothes from the tape? All that was missing was the backpack.”
“Turnabout is fair play,” said Amy.
“Agreed,” I said. “Peter tried pinning extra murders on Blood Week and the real vigilante decided to turn everything back on him. Looks like we have our missing fifth victim. Blood Week isn’t over.”
Chapter 29
In the bullpen, everyo
ne worked to find anything that could possibly lead us to the murderer. Any overlooked piece of evidence or previously disregarded fact could break the case wide open. So, the rest of the day was spent pulling the original files on all the murder cases to compare previous notes with newly discovered information. When it had all been compiled, we found that even with the revelation that Peter was the fifth body, we were still going nowhere.
Davidson’s idea to flip the bird to police by leaving Tara’s hair on the judge’s body was the first domino that ended with his death. The clues were there from the beginning that he wasn’t the real vigilante. Now that it was confirmed, the bullpen was filled with cops doing the grunt work. The mission was to find that loose thread that would lead us to another arrest.
As I scanned through and responded to emails, one popped up with an urgent label. I clicked on the icon because it could be a new development about the case, but I noticed that the return address wasn’t from a KCPD domain once it expanded on my screen. I didn’t think much of it first other than it probably wouldn’t be new leads on Blood Week. This was confirmed when I started reading it, but it could be something even stranger. I had put out feelers when I felt that Marcus wasn’t being entirely honest about what he was doing in Kansas City.
My new partner was an amazing detective, but I didn’t understand why he was hiding his true intentions behind his transfer to my precinct. Everyone was entitled to their privacy to a point. Something about his brush off rubbed me the wrong way, and I wanted to know why. It seemed now that that itch in the back of my mind was right, and I had just struck pay dirt. The real reason that Delgado had come to Kansas City had nothing to do with issues with his prior captain. Marcus had been lying to all of us, and I now knew why.
Delgado had been the first one out the door when the day shift had ended. Seeing his partner putting in overtime as he entered the elevator, he chose to take the evening instead of sticking behind for more paperwork. It would still be waiting for him in the morning anyway. As he descended to the garage, his phone chirped with a message from his wife asking him to call her. Hitting the recall icon on the screen, he waited for the call to connect.
