by Skye Knizley
With thoughts of her father dancing in her head, she put the car in gear and drove into the night.
VAN BUREN STREET, CHICAGO
PRESENT DAY
AS USUAL THE WINTER STORM had done what nothing else could and the streets of the Windy City were quiet and almost devoid of traffic. What had started as an early snow shower had become a full blown squall, blanketing the city in crystals of pristine white. Raven drove well below the speed limit, taking her time with the classic muscle car on the slippery streets.
It was full dark by the time she arrived at Romiji’s residence. She left the car in police parking not far from Arc Apartments and walked the remaining two blocks. It gave her a chance to listen to Aspen’s message about Romiji’s background. There hadn’t been much to say. Romiji had been born in Romania, moved to the United States when she was twenty four, no local family, no known relatives in her native country, no known significant other. Not even a place of business, though that wasn’t unusual.
When she reached the apartments she paused. An empty black and white police car sat outside with the window down. For once Frost had done what she’d asked and put a patrolman on the victim’s apartment. It was unlikely there would be much evidence, but at this point any clue was better than nothing. The officer would be sorry he left the window down. He’d end up with a wet butt and a citation for his trouble.
Raven pushed through the squeaky revolving door and climbed the slippery steps to the lobby. The building had once been well decorated and appointed with marble floors and wood paneling. Now, the tile had faded and was so badly scuffed all you could say was it was white and the walls had long since been scavenged and replaced with cheap drywall and wood veneer. A pair of fluorescent fixtures flickered in the ceiling and cast shadows on the old brass elevator doors making them look as if they were moving.
The elevator carried her to the fourth floor and Raven stepped out onto cheap linoleum. The hallway extended across the spine of the building with apartments on either side. Raven ignored the scent of garlic emanating from a nearby apartment and hurried down the hallway to Romiji’s door. She paused outside, surprised to find the door open, police tape sagging to the side. There was no sign of the guard Frost had posted; she was greeted only by the scent of cold blood.
Raven drew her Automag and pushed the door open with her fingertips, her senses stretched to the limit. Through the door was a foyer framed by a small kitchen and a closet. Beyond was a typical living space decorated with items from a flat pack store. In the gloom Raven could see a dark stain inside the door and she squatted to touch it with a finger. Blood. It was still wet, edging into sticky, and icy as a demon’s heart.
She closed the door behind her and shot the bolt before stepping over the puddle and deeper into the darkness. The apartment wasn’t that big and it was a good bet the patrolman’s body was still inside.
The living area was clean, with only a few magazines and a stack of bills on the coffee table and Raven continued through to her left where a short hallway led to two closed doors. Raven stopped at the first one and pushed it open with the toe of her boot to reveal Romiji’s bedroom. A king-sized bed took up most of the room with only a black lacquered dresser and matching nightstand filling out the rest of the furniture. Clothing items hung out of the dresser as if someone had been looking for something. Panties, bras, tee shirts and leggings had been strewn all over the bed and floor. Not even the most frantic of women would leave her delicate underthings hanging from the ceiling fan.
Raven turned away from the bedroom and moved down the hallway, her pistol held in front of her in a cup and saucer grip. The door at the end opened easily at a nudge from her toe and she looked into the small bathroom beyond. A patrolman lay in the bathtub, blood trickling from a pale-lipped wound in his throat.
“Damn,” Raven muttered.
An hour later the body had been removed. There wasn’t enough blood left in the patrolman to fill a milk carton, but that hadn’t bothered Harvey Pocock, who had escorted the body out. He’d decided the cop, whose name was Grainger, had been killed with a knife he’d found in the sink and bled out on the carpet and down the bathtub drain. Raven hadn’t bothered to argue with him or explain that the cut was too big to have come from a paring knife. Internal Affairs would take the case, for now.
But Raven didn’t believe in coincidences. Just because Patrolman Grainger had been killed with a knife didn’t mean it wasn’t related to Romiji’s murder. Whoever had killed the patrolman was obviously looking for something and was willing to kill a cop to get it. That put two deaths on the ledger and too few clues.
Once Pocock was gone, Raven closed the scene and began her own search of the premises. With any luck she would find whatever the killer was looking for. If she was really lucky it would be useful. The problem was that it was hard to tell if something was missing because it was already gone.
She started in the living area that looked as if it had gone untouched. She felt down inside the sofa and the love seat, but found only a hair tie and a few Bazooka gum wrappers. The mail turned out to be nothing but a handful of bills and a fashion magazine from a German company that specialized in leather. Raven put everything on the table and moved to the bedroom, not feeling confident that the killer had left anything worthwhile behind.
The small room was as she remembered it, a large bed strewn with lingerie and clothing along with a nightstand and a dresser that looked as if it had been searched by an angry bear. Raven picked at the piles of clothing, but knew it was hopeless. If there was something in the dresser to be found, it would have been found already. It was practically empty.
She sat on the bed and looked around the room, searching for anything that might have been overlooked by the officer’s killer. And she saw it. A square of the inner wall that had newer paint than the rest. It was too big to have been a painting and there was no indication there had ever been a nail or other hanging device.
Raven stood and ran gentle fingers over the space and she could feel the creases in the wall, as if there were something behind it. She tapped it once or twice experimentally then put her fist through the wall as if it were paper. Inside she could feel what could be an old bag taped to the wall. She pulled the package out and frowned at the contents. What looked like twenty or thirty antique coins made of silver glittered at her from the recesses of the old paper. With her conscience screaming at her she plucked one from the bag and ran a thumb over the face, which depicted a cruciform sword on one side and a shield on the other, likely a coat of arms. She didn’t recognize the coins, but she could tell they were antique, at least two or three hundred years.
Where the hell did you get these? Raven wondered.
Still pondering, she placed the package and its contents in an evidence bag and put the other coin in a separate pouch as contaminated evidence. She then gave the apartment one more look and left, sealing the door behind her.
It was still snowing when she stepped out into the night and she flipped her jacket’s collar up against the bitter wind whipping down the street. The police car was gone as were the other vehicles that had arrived on scene when she called in Patrolman Grainger’s murder. She was still irritated about that. The man’s sergeant hadn’t even come to the scene or sent a team. He’d simply asked her and Pocock to collect any evidence and submit it to IA to open an investigation. She knew they had lost more than a dozen officers in the last six months and it was hard not to grow a thick skin because of it, but still. A cop was dead and it warranted more than a half-assed investigation by IA bureaucrats.
She sighed and turned toward the parked Shelby that was now almost entirely covered in snow. A thoughtful plow driver had cleared as close as he dared to the classic muscle car, but there was still close to a foot of white powder on and around the car. It was enough to make her consider calling a taxi and coming back for the precious car in the morning, but with her luck it would get hit or stolen. It wouldn’t be the first time. Her l
ast two were resting quietly in a boneyard outside town.
She was almost to the car when she heard someone approaching from behind her. She turned her head and could see a shadow gaining on her. The large shadow spread into several, all men wearing hoodies, their hands hanging loosely at their sides.
Raven stopped and turned, her green eyes glowing in the night.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked.
The group of five men stopped just a few steps away. Even with enhanced sight Raven couldn’t see their faces in the shadowy recesses of their hoods.
“The coins. Give us the coins,” the lead man said.
His voice was tinged with an accent Raven couldn’t place.
“And you are?” she asked.
“Give us the coins,” the man repeated.
“I think you boys better back off,” Raven said.
The men spread out on the sidewalk forming a semi-circle in front of her, hands still limply at their sides, unthreatening. But the menace radiating from them was palpable.
“I’m not going to ask again,” the leader said.
“Good, that will save us all a lot of trouble,” Raven replied. “Get somewhere warm before you catch your death out here.”
She turned away and began walking toward the Shelby again, her senses pulled tight as a drum. She heard movement to her right and ducked aside, using her forearm to block the haymaker aimed at her head. She twisted the man’s arm and shoved, sending him tumbling into the snow.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Raven asked, turning back.
They did. The men were already moving to circle her, fists at the ready. Raven stepped back and raised her hands in a Muay Thai guard.
“Come on then,” she said.
The battle started slowly. Each man made an attack that Raven blocked and countered easily, using their momentum to push them away. When they had each taken a turn, the men again circled, moving like wary dogs around a juicy steak.
“Nice footwork,” Raven said. “Are we fighting or dancing?”
The lead man threw back his hood and smiled. He was bald, with one notched ear, blue eyes and a heavy brow that made him look like part of the Ascent of Man exhibit.
“We’re just having some fun with our prey, officer,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Raven blinked in surprise then frowned. “Prey? Bub, you need some serious therapy. I’m a Chicago police detective.”
The vampire shrugged. “Then this will be even more interesting.”
He looked at his brothers and nodded. “You may indulge.”
“Indulge? You make it sound like this is some sort of game.”
She was cut off as the man next to her pulled a Sig Sauer pistol from beneath his jacket.
Raven moved like lightning. Her left hand snaked out and gripped the pistol, the fingers from her right hand rammed into the man’s larynx, crushing it and sending him collapsing to the snow, blood trickling from his mouth.
She dodged and spun, sinking to her knees as another of the men fired, then another. The bullets passed over her head and she raised the borrowed Sig, flame shooting from the muzzle. Two men dropped and she rose, leaping onto a parked taxi to get some room. Bullets whizzed past her and tugged at her jacket and she fired again. Her next two shots took out the third man and the Sig clicked empty. Raven tossed it aside and ended up on one knee atop the taxi, her vampiric side raging at the pain in her arm where one of the gun-thug’s bullets had tagged her.
The leader leveled his Glock at Raven’s head. “Do you surrender, Detective?”
Raven raised her head and smiled. “And what? Give you the coins?”
The leader nodded. “Yes, if you wish to keep on breathing.”
Raven reached slowly for the pistol beneath her jacket. “You don’t think I’m going to give you this bag and just let you walk away, do you?”
The leader smiled and thumbed his weapon’s hammer back. “Exactly what I expect, Miss. You have a lust for life.”
Raven shook her head and drew the Automag in a blur of blood and polished steel. She saw the leader’s eyes widen, but he was too slow. The Automag barked, sending the jacketed thirty carbine round through his chest. He flew backwards as if he’d been yanked, his blood turning the snow crimson.
She stood and aimed her pistol at the last thug, who was staring at the leader’s body in shock.
“Drop your weapon,” Raven said.
The man looked angrily at Raven and she saw his gun hand twitch.
“I said drop it,” Raven repeated. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
She knew he wasn’t going to. He started to raise his arm and she fired. The first shot took him in the arm and he swayed, but didn’t stop. The second and third hit him in the chest and he dropped to the ground, his blood mingling with his companion’s.
Raven slid off the car and looked down at the two men. One was stone dead, shot through the heart. The other, the leader of the merry band of nuts, was bleeding out on the snow. He looked up at Raven and spat a gobbet of blood.
“Who sent you?” Raven asked. “Who is your boss?”
“Fuck you,” the man choked.
Raven squatted next to the man. “I don’t think so. Look, bub, you’re going to bleed out. I punctured your lung and probably nicked some other important organs. Odds are you’re going to die before help arrives. At best you’re going to breathe your last in the comfort of an ambulance. Do you want to die protecting the man who got you killed? Who sent you?”
The man’s brow furrowed and his mouth moved. He could barely speak, but Raven clearly heard the name ‘Church.’ She nodded and called for backup and an ambulance. The man died while she was still on the phone.
THE DOUGHNUT VAULT, CHICAGO
PRESENT DAY
MORNING ROSE ONLY TO FIND the Windy City covered in snow broken only by a handful of partially cleared streets. A few brave souls ventured out in taxis or on foot and those that did took no notice as Raven drove by, ice and snow clinging to the Shelby’s black flanks.
She parked in front of the Doughnut Vault and climbed out into a wind so cold it threatened to freeze her blood. Her long coat trailed behind her in the gale, revealing her grey sweater, jeans and over-knee boots. A silver cross hung from a chain around her neck and her pistol was holstered on her hip, barely peeking out beneath her sweater.
She leapt the snowbank in front of the shop and pushed through the door, basking in the warmth of the bakery and the sweet smell of fresh coffee. She placed her order and turned to watch the plows working to clear the streets.
She was seated and savoring her cup of sweet black coffee by the time Levac arrived ten minutes later. He blustered in, trailing snow from his coat and boots, and dropped heavily into the chair opposite Raven.
“Looks like you had a rough night,” Raven said.
Levac blushed and picked up the coffee Raven had left for him. “Yeah…sort of.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Sloan and I. We um…” Levac said.
“You ‘ummed’. Okay, did it go well? I mean did you wake up and she was still there or did she run away in the middle of the night?” Raven pressed.
Levac sipped his coffee and stared at Raven. After a moment he said, “Come on, Ray, you’re my closest friend, but you’re still a woman. Talking about this with you is weird.”
“You just look a little haggard. More than usual, I mean. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Levac nodded. “I’m fine, my night was way better than yours. I heard about the five perps last night and the flesh wound. I bet Frost was thrilled.”
Raven set her coffee aside and reached into her pocket. “Five idiots tried to jump me. I’m still waiting on definitive id’s on them, all I’ve got so far is a bag of silver and five gun thugs who knew I had it.”
She set the silver coin she’d kept on the table.
Levac almost choked on his coffee. “You kept a pi
ece of evidence? If Frost wasn’t happy about five bodies he’s really going to be pissed when he finds out about this!”
“I didn’t keep it,” Raven replied. “I borrowed it. I can’t very well ask around about it if they are all locked up in evidence.”
Levac wiped his mouth and reached for the coin. Raven handed it to him and picked up her own cup.
“What is it?” Levac asked.
“A five hundred year old Hungarian coin,” Raven replied. “I looked it up last night. Mostly silver and very rare.”
Levac whistled through his teeth. “And you found thirty of them?”
“In a wall in a working girl’s apartment,” Raven replied. “She took some care in hiding them.”
“Are they valuable, then?”
Raven took the coin back and slipped it into her jacket. “Not really. You can get bout fifty dollars apiece online. The thugs didn’t want them for the money.”
Levac frowned and picked up his donut. “They went to an awful lot of risk to get some worthless coins.”
“They did and I have no idea why,” Raven said. “But I plan to find out.”
Levac was about to reply around a mouthful of donut when Raven’s phone began to ring. She pulled it out of her jacket and placed it on the table.
“Storm,” she said.
“Raven, it’s Aspen,” came the voice from the phone.
“Hey, Asp, what’s up?” Raven asked.
“We got an ID on those losers who tried to hit you last night,” Aspen said. “Four of them were local gun thugs. More assault charges than you have hair. We only had a hard time identifying them because they filled their fingerprints with glue. Once I got it off, identifying them was cake.”
