by Skye Knizley
“What about the fifth one, the guy with the big forehead?” Raven asked.
“Fane Pepescu,” Aspen said. “A Romanian national here on a work visa. No record, nothing even in INS. I’ve got some messages out to the Romanian Ministry of the Interior, but I won’t keep my hopes up. I had to tell them he was dead so they likely won’t care.”
Raven frowned at Levac. “He didn’t sound Romanian, his accent was dirtier than that. Who signed off on his visa?”
There was a pause and Aspen said, “Tosh Vann from Titan Security.”
Levac licked sugar off his fingers. “Hey, don’t they run an armored car service?”
“Yeah, second case we ever handled was a robbery involving one of their trucks,” Raven said. “I don’t know any Tosh Vann, though. Sounds like an old Chevrolet.”
“It wasn’t a robbery,” Levac laughed. “It was your weird bad-guy sixth sense.”
Raven rolled her eyes at Levac. “Asp, got anything on Mr. Vann?”
“Just his DMV file,” Aspen replied. “I’ll text you his home and work. I’ve got his pic, too.”
“No police record?” Raven asked.
“Not much of anything,” Aspen said. “This guy is squeaky clean.”
Levac snorted. “Nobody is that clean. He’s either a Fed or a thug.”
“Thug,” Aspen and Raven said together.
They broke into laughter, making the older woman behind the counter smile.
“See what else you can dig up,” Raven said after a moment. “Rupe and I are heading over there to annoy people.”
“You got it, boss,” Aspen replied. “Be careful.”
The call ended and Raven put the phone back in her jacket.
“Clean the jelly off your jacket and let’s roll,” she said.
Levac dabbed at the jelly on his lapel with a napkin and followed Raven toward the door. “It isn’t coming off!”
“Don’t worry about it, it matches the ketchup on the other side.”
THE RED BRICK TITAN SECURITY building was built in the 1950s and it looked every inch it’s 65 years. The bricks had faded to light orange and the mortar was black with age, but the building was still sturdy and noted as a bomb shelter until 2009. The old building had originally been a bank, but when it went under in 1969 Clancy Brown sold the building to an up and coming young man who had made it big as a bodyguard in Los Angeles. His small security company evolved into Titan Security, one of the leading Chicago firms with armored car service to most of the city’s banking institutions.
Raven parked the Shelby across the street from the building and lowered her sunglasses to look out at the glass front of the building. She could see one black-suited man standing near the doors and black-suited woman seated at a desk in the center of the lobby. Black chairs sat next to chrome and glass tables opposite the man, arranged to form a pleasing and incredibly uncomfortable seating area, visible to anyone on the street. Which seemed odd, considering the company specialized in customers who wanted discrete security.
“I think this place is about as legit as a three-dollar bill,” Levac said.
“I think we’ve been here three minutes and the place is already making my fists itch,” Raven said. “If these guys are clean I’ll eat one of your hotdogs.”
She opened the door and led the way across the street. They passed through the glass front doors and into the warm lobby where the woman at the desk welcomed them.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Welcome to Titan Security.”
Raven pulled her badge from her pocked and placed it on the desk. “Detectives Storm and Levac. We’d like to speak with Mr. Vann, please.”
The woman examined the badge and handed it back. “Of course, Detective Storm, do you have an appointment?”
“I have a badge and a gun and there’s three feet of snow outside,” Raven replied. “Do I really need an appointment?”
The woman smiled and tapped a few keys on her computer. “Let me see if he is available for you.”
Raven glanced at Levac, who was looking around the lobby and unwrapping a chocolate bar. When she caught his eye he nodded at the security camera behind them then made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pointed toward the man by the door. Raven gave a small nod and turned back to the receptionist.
“I’m sorry, it seems Mr. Vann is no longer with us,” the receptionist said.
“When did he give his notice?” Raven asked.
“Last night,” the woman replied.
Levac turned to the woman and gave her his best Columbo smile. “Do you have any idea why he left, ma’am?”
“None,” the receptionist replied. “I don’t have access to personnel files.”
“Which way is human resources, maybe someone there can help us,” Raven pressed.
The receptionist shook her head. “I’m sorry Detective, as you mentioned we’re still recovering from a storm. Most of our staff isn’t in today.”
“Is there anyone we could talk to?” Levac asked. “A manager, maybe?”
The woman smiled at Levac. “I’m sorry, Detective Levac, but no.”
“A big company like this and no one but you has a four-wheel drive?” Raven asked. “Unlikely. Find me someone who can answer a few questions. Now.”
“Is there a problem?” the guard asked, looming behind them. “Mr. Vann has left the company and the staff is not in. Come back tomorrow.”
Raven kept her green eyed glare on the receptionist. Next to her, Levac turned.
“Is there a problem? Why no, aside from you carrying an illegal submachine gun under your jacket,” Levac said. “You can either return to where you were standing by the door, or you can go to jail.”
From the corner of her eye, Raven saw the man tense. He’d already unbuttoned his jacket; he was only a moment away from reaching for the weapon beneath.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Levac said.
The security guard reached for the Heckler and Koch. Levac rammed his left fist in the man’s stomach causing him to double over. He then grabbed the guard by the back of the neck and bounced his head off the desk, sending him to the floor unconscious.
Levac straightened his tie and smiled. “Sorry about that. You were saying there was someone we could talk to?”
The receptionist blinked at the detectives in surprise.
“Enough, I can assist you,” a new voice said.
Raven looked up to see a slim man with light blonde hair and chrome spectacles standing on the balcony above. He was dressed in a black three piece suit complete with silver cufflinks, watch chain and blue silk tie. Raven thought he looked like an evil minion from an Indiana Jones film.
“Mr. Lupeski, I didn’t see you there,” the receptionist said.
“You weren’t supposed to, Miss Rickard,” Lupeski replied. “Show the detectives up, please, and have the duty nurse come take care of Dimitri.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Lupeski,” Levac said. “Dimitri here is under arrest. Make sure he doesn’t wander off.”
Lupeski glared at Levac for a moment then nodded. “Make it so, Miss Rickard.”
“Of course, sir,” the receptionist replied.
She stood and the detectives followed her across the lobby to a wide staircase that led up to the balcony.
“Mr. Lupeski will meet you upstairs,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Thank you,” Raven said.
“I apologize if my actions got you in trouble,” Levac added.
“Of course not, Detective Levac, but thank you,” Rickard replied.
Raven started up the stairs and heard Levac pause.
“Just one more thing, Miss Rickard,” he said.
“Of course, Detective.”
“Where did you say Mr. Vann was going?”
“I didn’t say he was going anywhere, Detective,” Rickard replied after a beat.
“Of course, I must have misheard,” Levac said. “Excuse me.”
“Nice try, Rupe,” Ra
ven said as they neared the top of the stairs.
“She wanted to tell me,” Levac said. “Lupeski was watching.”
Raven frowned, but her reply was cut off by Lupeski, who was standing at the top of the stairs.
“Good morning, Detectives,” he said.
He offered them his hand. “I am Anton Lupeski, one of the security chiefs here at Titan. It is a pleasure to meet two of Chicago’s finest.”
Raven took the offered hand and had to fight not to pull away. It wasn’t that the grip was too hard or his hand was sweaty. On the contrary, it was perfect. Smooth, soft but masculine hands, manicured nails and a firm confident grip. But something about the feel of him and the way his crystalline blue eyes stared at her made her feel uncomfortable.
“Detective Raven Storm,” she said. “This is my partner, Detective Levac. We were hoping you could tell us about two of your employees.”
Lupeski shook Levac’s hand and smiled. His teeth were so perfect they couldn’t be real.
“Of course, Detective. I am happy to tell you what I can.”
He turned and led the way down the balcony to the far side. A wide hallway led to rows of empty cubicles while four offices looked out onto the balcony. He entered one of the offices and moved behind the desk, motioning for Raven and Levac to be seated.
The office was well furnished with modern furniture made from oak or oak veneer. The walls were painted half white, half ocean blue, a color that was matched in the plush but durable carpet. Several paintings, including a very good copy of Botticelli’s Inferno hung on the walls while behind Lupeski were photographs of a smiling family that included an attractive blonde woman and two blond boys.
Lupeski tapped a few keys on the computer in front of him and looked up. “What can I help you with?”
“Let’s start with Fane Pepescu,” Raven said. “He’s a Romanian immigrant here on a work visa. Was.”
Lupeski frowned. “Was?”
“Mr. Pepescu tried to kill my partner last night,” Levac said. “It didn’t go well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lupeski said. “I’m grateful you were not seriously injured.”
“Just a scratch,” Raven said. “What can you tell me about him?”
Lupeski tapped a few more keys and clicked his touchpad.
“Hmm…not much, I’m afraid. Mr. Vann hired him as a security specialist for one of our clients. According to his records he was doing his job adequately and was scheduled to return to Romania at the end of December.”
“Is he from Romania?” Raven asked.
“According to the records, yes,” Lupeski confirmed. “Why?”
“He didn’t sound Romanian,” Raven answered. “Is there any chance he was Dutch?”
Lupeski shrugged. “I have no idea, I have never met the man.”
“What about a local address?” Levac asked.
“Of course,” Lupeski said.
A few clicks of the touchpad later Lupeski’s printer spat out a page with all of Pepescu’s information, including an address in Bronzeville.
“Is that all?” Lupeski asked.
“One more thing,” Levac said. “Mr. Vann. The receptionist said he is no longer with the company, is that right?”
Lupeski nodded. “Yes, that’s true. He gave notice last night. Something about an emergency back home.”
“Where would home be?” Raven asked.
“The Netherlands, I believe,” Lupeski said. “Eindhoven.”
“Thank you,” Levac said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Lupeski stood to escort them out. “Always glad to be of service.”
Somehow, Raven didn’t believe him.
SOUTH INDIANA AVENUE, BRONZEVILLE
PRESENT DAY
THE HOUSE FANE PEPESCU HAD rented was a two-story affair made from white stone. The top of the house was flat and decorated like the tower of some medieval castle. The five first floor windows were covered in black iron bars, the second floor windows were darkened with shades.
The gate at the end of the snow-covered walkway was locked, but it was easy to vault the short chain-link fence and slog through the eighteen inches of powder to the front door. Raven knocked out of habit, not expecting any answer. As was his habit, Levac rifled through the mail while they waited. Most of it he dropped back into the black-painted box, but one piece he kept.
“I borrow evidence and you have a cow, now you’re committing a felony,” Raven said.
“They say crime doesn’t pay, but it works for me. Looks like a bill from Chicago Auto Shipping,” Levac said.
“That’s odd,” Raven said. “He lives in a five hundred a month dump and can afford to ship a car? What kind?”
“Good question,” Levac said.
He tore open the envelope and examined the contents. “It’s a bill, a big one. To deliver a crate the size of a car, not a vehicle. Apparently the shipment is awaiting payment before final delivery.”
“Does it say where?” Raven asked.
Levac unfolded the paper, his lips moving as he read. “Yeah. It’s at the airport in a warehouse. No address.”
“We need to find one,” Raven said. “Whatever is in that crate is probably important.”
“I’d say definitely,” Levac replied. “Look where it’s from.”
Raven stopped rummaging through her lock picks to look at the paper Levac was holding out. There, beneath his jelly-stained finger was the departure city: Eindhoven.
“Frost would probably call it a coincidence,” Raven said.
She finished sorting through her picks and used two to address the lock. Though the house was old, the lock was quite new and expensive. It was several minutes before it clicked open and Raven was able to step through into the living room.
It was gloomy inside, and hushed, like a room just after a soul has departed. The room’s carpet had been rolled up and was pushed against the far wall to reveal the hardwood beneath. A stylized depiction of a hooded snake boiling out of a fiery cauldron had been carved into the floor and painted with the painstaking skill of a fanatical artist. It was so realistic Raven half expected it to start hissing.
The art had been surrounded by a sprinkling of black rose petals and what looked like dried blood. Raven squatted next to it and took a photo with her phone.
“What the hell is that?” Levac asked.
“Twisted modern art,” Raven said. “I don’t think our bad guy is playing with a full deck.”
She donned a Nitrile glove, licked a finger and touched it to the reddish spots around the carving. She raised the residue and sniffed, her nose wrinkling at the odor.
“Blood. Human blood,” she said.
Levac nudged the door shut with his toe and pulled a pair of gloves from his coat pocket.
“How old?”
“Couple days,” Raven replied. “Could be Romiji’s, but it’s hard to tell. We’ll have to get Aspen and her team in here.”
“I’ll call it in,” Levac said.
Raven shook her head. “Wait, I want to take a look around first. Come on.”
She led the way into the hallway. To the right was a narrow galley kitchen while ahead was a staircase that led to the second floor. A door beneath the stairs hid a half-bathroom, the sink choked with blood and offal. It was only a blessing the temperature was close to freezing. If it had been high summer Raven’s traitor nose would have left her retching on the lawn.
She tagged and sealed the door for Aspen’s team and looked into the kitchen. It was neat as a pin with bright yellow walls, off-white appliances and a small table set for two. A twelve pack of beer sat on the counter next to an empty wine bottle and a loaf of bread. Beside the bread was a plate what could only be called food because it was cooked.
Levac pointed. “Are those—”
Raven turned away, gagging on her own tongue. “Deep fried spiders.”
Levac paused and though she wasn’t looking Raven knew he was grinning like a court jester. �
��Do you think I could try one?”
Raven swallowed hard and turned to look at her partner. “Go ahead, just don’t blame me if you get sick and end up back in the hospital. Check the fridge, maybe you’ll find some frapped brains for dipping.”
“You think so? That sounds delicious,” Levac continued without missing a beat.
He reached for the refrigerator door before Raven could stop him and jerked it open. His mouth fell open at what was inside.
“Get Aspen here, right now,” Raven said.
“Yeah…are you okay, Ray?”
Raven shook her head.
When she was young, Raven’s father had brought home a black kitten that had blue eyes. He’d given the beautiful feline to Raven for her tenth birthday and she’d named it Rune. Raven had taken that kitten everywhere, including on two occasions to school, which didn’t go far toward winning the teacher’s affection.
Rune had died in a fire when Raven was sixteen. Seeing two black cats in a Bronzeville freezer, their blue eyes staring accusingly, had both startled and infuriated her. She knew in some countries eating cats was normal, but those animals were generally raised to be food and not someone’s pet. These cats had been loved by someone who would never see them again and they had died in the worst possible way: Suffocation.
Below the two cats were three human heads, a heart and what Raven felt certain was a human liver soaking in wine. Her heart told her that Fane wasn’t the killer she was looking for, he was just someone’s errand boy. But he had been a psycho nonetheless.
While Levac called in the Forensic Cavalry, Raven continued up the stairs where she found two bedrooms, a full bathroom and the overpowering scent of fresh-cut pine.
The upstairs bath was different than the downstairs. There were no body parts in the sink, for a start. Instead it looked as if a gentleman had been using it for several weeks. An expensive straight razor lay on the sink along with a white washcloth, old-fashioned shaving cream and mug, a birch twig and dental floss.
Inside the shower was a bar of clean-smelling homemade soap, another washcloth and a towel that looked more like a polishing flannel than anything else.
