by Matt Doyle
“He is that.”
“If he’s gonna be fine with talking to me, is that because you told him it was okay, or because he knows I know who Allen Fuerza is?”
“Both.” I treat Donal to my best incredulous stare and he laughs, then continues, “Fact is, you figured it out and lived to tell the tale. There ain’t many who do that. Castleford? The reason for keeping him alive was obvious to anyone in the know. But you? You’re different. There’s no way you should still be breathing, yet here you are. It makes you special.”
“I didn’t survive to get famous,” I state flatly.
“And I didn’t take my job to work under a criminal, but that’s the way the chips fell. Look, this is an easy job. Officially, he’ll back up what he was told by Corporal Devereaux in the first interview. Off the record, we may get something useful.”
“Thick as thieves, eh?”
“If you like,” Donal replies with a shrug.
I sigh. “So, is Devereaux doing most of the interviews?”
“Aye. In part, it’s because he’s the lowest rank of all of us. Well, us full-timers anyway. He’s good at it, though. Has a way about him that puts people at ease. Makes ’em more likely to believe the misdirection.”
“Yeah. He’s a nice guy.”
“Hanson certainly seems to think so.”
I narrow my eyes at the hulking mass of metal wolf. “Does she?”
“Looks that way to me. Feel free to prod her about it.”
“Why not prod her yourself if you’re interested?”
“I like my balls right where they are, thank you very much. Yours are metaphorical. Plus, she likes you better.”
I laugh and shake my head. This is a far from ideal situation for me, but it could be worse. I don’t dislike Donal so far, and if the case gets a few people off my back, even if I didn’t know they were there in the first place, it’s no bad thing. I am still curious about one thing. “So, how did Devereaux get involved with this? It feels way above his pay grade, at least in this place.”
“It is. He took the first few calls. When the Captain took the cases from him, he kept himself in the loop, I’m guessing through Hanson, and kinda interjected himself. His theory about the LED Incapacitators pretty much got him in the door after that.”
“Huh. Who knew he was so forceful?”
“Depending how this all plays out, this case could make him. Can’t say I’d be upset about it, either. He’s one of the good guys.”
I nod in agreement.
HE MAY HAVE been expecting me, but Joe Farrah clearly isn’t one hundred per cent happy about the whole situation. Even if I am special, I’m still not really part of this particular circle; I’m more like a hangnail on Fuerza’s power play. Regardless, being at his place of work at least seems to keep Joe from getting too worked up.
“Extra locks,” he says, tapping a massive chunk of metal on the back door to the building. He grabs a hair tie from his pocket and pulls the remainder of his hair into a ponytail, obviously refusing to let a severely receding hairline stop him from leading the fashion side of the rock star lifestyle. “He ain’t getting in here again.”
“So, you’re certain it was a male?” I ask.
“Damn right I am. Didn’t you read the report?”
I shake my head. “I got sent straight over here after I arrived, and all I know at the moment is what Donal told me.”
“Ugh. Fine. Short version: before I dropped, I managed to grab hold of him. Tried to twist his arm but didn’t have the time before the light got to me. The noise he made was male, though, whatever way you cut it.”
“Okay, that’s something to work with at least. I don’t suppose you got any photos or videos before he cut the power?”
Joe laughs. “Don’t you think I woulda said something already if I did?”
“Honestly? No. As far as I know, you’re going along with the official story in terms of details. Or what you’re saying to the public anyway. Showing off footage of your attacker wouldn’t really fit with that, would it?”
Farrah lets out a tch and shakes his head. “No, it wouldn’t. The answer’s still no, though. He clearly did his research, knew what to fiddle with before the attack, and knew when it would just be me here. Sammy out there was long gone by then.”
“Sammy,” I repeat, thinking back to the young man watching the counter while I speak to Joe. “Didn’t his name tag say Alex?”
Joe shrugs. “When he starts doing a good job, I’ll bother to remember his name.”
I sigh. “I get you weren’t expecting to speak with me, but Donal’s listening in just fine,” I say, pointing to the mic attached to my tie. “We’ll make sure the official files show you’re playing ball. Off the record, is there anything useful you can give us?”
Joe wrinkles his nose at me and lets out a frustrated grunt. “There isn’t anything else. Sometimes, things just happen so damn quickly you aren’t prepared for it. This is like that.”
WE RECEIVED A call just before I made it back to the truck, so as soon as I’m seated, we start heading back to the station.
“Smile,” Donal says, studying the morose mood that’s washed over me. “We got some stuff to work with.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“You’re not bent outta shape about not being told he identified the attacker as male, are ya? I just wanted to avoid influencing what he said. See if he stuck to his story, yeah?”
“I figured that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Later,” I reply.
To his credit, Donal leaves it alone, and we travel the rest of the way in silence. Once we make it back to the station, we head straight for the war room. Hoove is already there waiting for us and goes to grab some drinks while we wait for Devereaux and Hanson to return. Once we’re alone again, I turn to Donal and say, “Okay, one question. How many of the victims have an association with either the Kings or Fuerza that hasn’t been mentioned in the official files?”
“Two. Joe was one, you don’t need to know the other one. I know where you’re heading with this, and you’re wrong. This isn’t something that’s aimed squarely at the Underworld. And in case you were wondering, neither Pauline Mensche or Jack Stan know the truth about the Kings.”
I nod.
Captain Hoover returns, with both Hanson and Devereaux in tow. We all settle down and the New Hopeland PD’s most decorated moustache asks, “So, what have we got? Hanson?”
Hanson smiles and takes a gulp of something vaguely resembling tea from a plastic cup—no more good stuff now we’re getting serious—and says, “Maybe nothing. The victim, Mary Warner, was already out cold and on her way to the surgeon when we got there. She was due for an op already they said, but no one would clarify what it was other than that it wasn’t anything suspicious. What was interesting was the last X-ray showed a foreign body lodged in her arm. Or fragments of one anyway. Could be nothing, but Doctor Sanderson said he’d make sure he recovers it in case we can get something from it.”
“Fingers crossed then,” Hoover grumbles, then turns to look at me and Donal. “And you two?”
“He’s accepted the official story,” Donal says. “No sign of anyone stalking Cassie yet, though.”
“Did he give us any more information?”
“No. But he’s sticking to the idea of the attacker being male. We made sure not to prompt him on that.”
“There might have been something,” I interject.
“Okay,” Hoove replies. “Let’s hear it.”
“He said the attacker had clearly done his research. He knew how to cut the power, and he knew when Mr. Farrah was alone. I know we’re working to the concept of the attacks being opportunistic, and that makes sense given the lack of clear links to tie all the victims together, but I’m not certain it’s entirely right.”
“Because the victim sample is so varied that there being no one clear link could be symptomatic of intentionally picking a wide
group,” Hanson says. “Yeah, I thought about that too. The problem is, it’s a tough one to prove.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Think about this, though. If the attacker really did do his research on Joe Farrah, and it wasn’t just dumb luck, then we could be looking at something else here. Let’s say the victims are picked entirely at random, it could be that’s where the opportunistic side of things finishes. Maybe he did his research on all his victims, but only after he’d picked them.”
“So you’re saying he’s only opportunistic until he starts to…I dunno…hunt?” Devereaux asks.
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe it varies from victim to victim. He could have a focus on some victims in particular, or he could stumble upon ideal circumstances for an attack for others.”
Hoover rubs his moustache thoughtfully and says, “There’s no harm in doing a check, just in case we’ve missed something. Anyone else got anything they wanna add?” The room remains silent and he continues, “In that case, you’re all dismissed. Head to your desks and start going through the files again to test Caz’s theory.”
“And what about me?” I ask. “Should I head home, or stick by here?”
“If he is planning a second attempt, I doubt it’ll happen here. I don’t want to leave you completely unguarded, though. How safe will you be at home?”
“I have Bert,” I reply.
Hoove thinks about it, then nods. “Fine. But if anything happens, call us in immediately.”
I MAKE GOOD time and get home pretty quickly. I’m so preoccupied with trying to remember any snippets of case files that may help prove some premeditation it takes me a moment to realise something is very strange: the apartment is silent. When I left this morning, Bert was still an hour away from full charge. While that initially seemed like an excessive charge time, it soon became clear he’d been running updates for half the night, which had drained him quite a bit. Usually, he can detach himself once he’s ready to go, but every now and then he gets stuck. Glancing over at the charger in the kitchen, he’s neither still plugged in, nor waiting for me to plug him back in.
Slowly, I draw the HK45 Hoove gave me, and wait for the light on the top to signal that it’s read my fingerprints and is going to cooperate if I need to fire. Good job I left the leather hand guard on my other hand too; I have no idea if the Jolt system would even let me use the thing without it, at least once the targeting kicks in. Looking around the room, there’s no sign of a struggle, which means any intruder was either quickly dispatched, or managed to best my little metal menace with ease. The lack of a clack-clack to greet me certainly makes the latter seem possible, which fills me with both sadness and a sense of dread.
Keeping my feet near to the ground, I move as swiftly as I can without making a sound and peer into the open bathroom. The mirror on the wall allows me to get a good look without needing to enter the room. Empty. Next stop is the only other room that isn’t open plan: my bedroom. I pull the gun out in front of myself, my finger ready to squeeze the trigger if anyone unexpected gets in my line of sight. I step sideways through the door and…find Bert perched silently on the windowsill, staring out at the building across the road.
At first, I think he’s gone into a shutdown, but when I get close, he lets out a “Caw” of greeting. Frowning, I follow his line of sight and let my eyes scan both the apparently suspicious apartment block and the street below. I can’t see anything of note. Most of the windows are not yet covered by either curtains or the evening security shutters, so I can see a little way into each room. Not far, sure, but enough to know that no one is visibly watching me back. I holster the gun and give Bert a pat on his head. “Silly little bugger. Just like the sugar, eh?”
It’s funny, but seeing that Bert is okay and on guard, even if he’s not watching anything in particular, is enough to slow my heart, which had been beating rapidly up until a moment ago. So, how should I celebrate this momentous victory in paranoia cessation? With a coffee and a browse of police files, of course.
I give some thought to my own experience with Mr. Vamp but come to the uncomfortable conclusion that it will be impossible to ascertain whether any planning went into the attack without actually questioning him. My own movements are fairly varied, even on days when I’m not working a case. He could have followed me around for a few days to try to pick up any behaviours that would give them an in, or to wait patiently for an opening, but there’s no evidence to prove or disprove that. An attack at home would have been difficult for two reasons. The first is Mr. Mayhem in the bedroom. The second is the simple fact that I’m on the fifteenth floor. No, I appear to be a dead end.
Sticking with the link to the Kings, given that Joe Farrah appears to have been a victim of meticulous planning, I follow up on Jack Stan and Pauline Mensche next. Jack was attacked in the parking lot behind the New Hopeland Central Theatre. As I learned when I was working the Kitsune case, the theatre isn’t exactly tooled up with the highest quality surveillance equipment. The result of that is we do have a blurry video of someone shrouded in light moving towards someone else presumably off-screen. There’s no video of their exit, though. Jack was pretty vague about why he was at the theatre, simply stating he was there for a show, which in fairness to him could be true. That there were no other witnesses makes it unlikely, as unless he was leaving early or arriving late, you’d expect other people to be around. My guess is he was running a job and would have been trying to get in. I could check if I really need to. I don’t want to, but I may have to.
Pauline’s is a little more straightforward. She crashed her car after the attacker jumped on it. That she was found to be carrying a small bag of Delta-S, a synthetic stimulant designed to be a souped-up weed substitute, gave the PD a reason to check with the Dealers to see if the sale had been carried out that night. It hadn’t, so they didn’t pursue it. They could have tried following the trail to get a quick arrest on whoever she bought from, but that would have been a lot of work for a minimal return, given the nature of the main investigation. Now, if I can find out who she bought from, I may be able to get something out of this.
Lieutenant Hanson was attacked a block from her home. Drawn into an alley in a similar way to me and jumped. Was it just a convenient trick to use, or did whoever’s behind this play up on both of us having jobs focused on helping others? There was a nurse in there among the victims, I think…yes, Todd Dalton. He was attacked directly, the same as Jack Stan, though. But again, there’s a convenience factor there. A direct move could have been easier in that case.
Looking at the files objectively, the same can be said of all of them. The lack of witnesses indicates the guy is at least careful, but we’re so low on detail concerning previous days that there’s no real way to tell for sure just how much, if any, planning went into this. Too many follow-up interviews now would also raise suspicions with the victims, so knowing where we’d need to focus things off our own backs would be difficult to figure out. We could work with a small sample, I guess.
“Ugh. Okay, Cassie, take the direct approach. Chase up the Jack Stan and Pauline Mensche stuff first, then look at whether the sample needs broadening.”
I relax back into my chair and cross my arms behind my head. My eyes drift over to the door to my bedroom, and in particular, the lack of Bert materialising. I close my eyes and think about possible reasons he’d still be there. “Computer, activate speaker phone and dial Captain Hoover, New Hopeland PD.”
“Please wait…”
The phone rings out twice over the apartment speakers, followed by a click and a familiar voice. “Captain Hoover.”
“Hoove, it’s Caz. Something’s bugging me. Mind if I run it by you?”
“Sure,” he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You said our vampire wasn’t likely to attack me at the station, and I think you’re right about that. The thing is, seeing as I’m bait, you wouldn’t send me out into a situation where an attack could happen without being in control
of it.”
“Yeah, that’s right. That’s why I checked whether you’d be okay at home. Having Bert there gives you an edge if anything happens.”
“It does. Okay then, question. Why is Bert in my bedroom, staring out of the window at the apartment block across the road from me?” Hoove goes silent and I take a deep breath. “Please tell me your silence is symptomatic of you feeling guilty about stationing a guard without telling me.”
“I wish it were. Is there any sign of movement?”
“No. Either Bert is keeping them at bay, or they’re just watching. That’s assuming it’s our man, of course.”
“Shit.”
“Language, Captain.”
“Sorry, would you prefer something stronger? I have a few choice phrases I only pull out for special occasions.”
I let out a short, sharp laugh and reply, “Okay, look. If it’s who we’re looking for, they don’t seem to be making any moves to come up here. According to the files, all the attacks have taken place in secluded, dark areas. If I stick to populated, well-lit areas, I should be fine…”
“You’re planning to go out?” Hoove cuts in.
“I’m gonna have to. One of the victims, Jack Stan, is a professional thief working for Saul Solomon. That indicates the attacker isn’t on the Kings of Utah’s payroll. If I can get an audience with Mr. Solomon, I can at least find out if the attack took place during a job. That’ll add credence to the theory about the attacks being planned, at least in some cases.”
“And what makes you think you’d even get an audience with one of the Kings? Last I checked, they weren’t exactly social butterflies.”
“The car chase that’s come back to bite me in the ass? During the case, I learned something. The Underground views me as having more of a foot in the dark side than you guys do. I’m banking on it being enough to get me in the door. After that, I’m safe, at least while I’m there. You’d have to be insane to attack someone during a meeting with the Kings, eh?”
Hoove gives a heavy sigh and replies, “I suppose that’s true. But how are you gonna get a meeting set up in the first place?”
