by Skye Knizley
Raven ignored the items and continued to the first bedroom. This, too, had been in use, though it wasn’t what anyone would have called normal. Where you would expect to find a bed was a long plank of wood supported by several tree-rounds that smelled of pine. A sack of flour served as a pillow and the whole affair was covered by a fluffy blue blanket embroidered with Dalmatian puppies. On the floor next to the bed was a stuffed Dalmatian toy and a “101 Dalmatians” children’s book that had clearly been read many times, yet still had a bookmark in the middle.
A bookcase made from the same pine as the bed supports contained a selection of clothing and several suits hung on pegs along the wall, each paired with a shirt, tie, belt and shoes as if someone had organized Fane’s business wardrobe for him.
The most interesting thing, however, was the collection of weapons arranged with care around the room’s single window. Heckler and Koch submachine guns, Sig Sauer pistols, revolvers, knives, swords and things Raven didn’t recognized all hung above a collection of ammunition the United Nations would envy. Levac entered behind Raven and whistled softly.
“Take a picture, you’ll make Thad jealous,” he said. “Your mother makes him keep his toys in the basement.”
“She doesn’t know about his gun closet,” Raven replied. “He installed it while Mom and Dad were on holiday.”
She took photos of some of the more exotic weapons for her brother to identify then used a Nitrile sheet to pick up a Smith and Weapon model 29 revolver. Oil glistened on the big pistol’s barrel and she could smell the cleaner that had been used on the weapon recently. She hefted it and sighted down the barrel; she could almost hear Clint Eastwood and his famous quote.
She put the .44 Magnum back and turned to Levac.
“Where’s Asp?”
“She and her team are on their way,” Levac said. “They’re the only ones on duty so they are a little backlogged.”
“I don’t want to wait, let’s see what else we can find in this madhouse,” Raven said.
She brushed past Levac and headed into the room at the end of the hall.
The entire room had been painted blood red and it was just barely a metaphor. The paint mingled with pools and splashes of real blood spread around the room making it difficult to tell where the paint stopped and blood began. The stench when she opened the door was almost unbearable, held in check only by the split pine logs and cheesecloth bags of coffee placed around the room.
In the center of the chamber was another effigy of a snake rising from a pit of flame. Four blood-stained railroad spikes jutted from it, set perfectly to hold a victim in place. Raven touched one of the spikes and her gloved finger came away stained with drying blood.
“Jesus,” Levac said. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yeah. A sacrificial altar,” Raven replied. “A well-used one at that. Did you see a door to the basement?”
Levac swallowed and looked away from the blood-stained wood. “Um…Yeah. Yeah, through the kitchen.”
Raven straightened and looked at Levac. He looked pale and she could feel his unease. She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
“It’s just another weird one, partner. Just another psycho for us to deal with.”
Levac met her eyes and swallowed again. “I know. But… Ray—”
“I know,” Raven said. “Let’s check the basement.”
She knew what Levac had seen. A child’s skull sat in the corner of the room, a black candle jutting from the left eye-socket. Sometimes she didn’t think there was any good left in this world.
GEPETTO’S TOYS, CHICAGO
CHRISTMAS EVE 1992
MASON STORM’S BOOTS CRUNCHED ON the snow that covered the sidewalk outside Gepetto’s Toys as he stepped into the night air. He carried a girl’s purple bicycle over his shoulder and a bag stuffed with holiday packages under his arm. He knew Tina would give him hell for waiting until the last minute, but with the Pint-Sized slasher case he’d been working with Frost and the fifth body in the murders he’d been working since ’84 he just hadn’t had the time. This was the first break he’d had in three weeks.
He reached the silver Shelby parked at the curb and leaned the bicycle against the bumper. He had just popped the trunk and set the bag of packages inside when he heard the first gunshot. His head snapped up and he stared into the snow. He could see the lights of Santa’s Workshop in the park a few blocks away and his heart went cold. The shot had come from that direction.
He slammed the Shelby’s trunk and started running, the purple bicycle forgotten.
Santa’s Workshop sat in Grant Park, twenty acres of small buildings and gingerbread houses surrounded by twinkling Christmas lights. Holiday music spilled from hidden speakers and filled people with cheer, whether they wanted it to or not. In the middle was Santa’s throne where a jolly old man sat taking pictures with children, giving out candy, fruit and small toys donated by local stores. When Storm arrived it was a scene of carnage. A dozen children who had been standing in line but a moment before now huddled in the snow next to Santa, who lay at the base of his throne with a bullet hole over his left eye. Every time one of the children tried to move a shot rang out and snow erupted nearby, causing the children to retreat again. The same happened when any police or parent tried to move closer than the sidewalk. Three injured officers and several parents sat on the sidewalk streaming blood and awaiting an ambulance.
Storm skidded to a halt at the end of the path that lead into the Workshop and grabbed a uniformed officer.
“Detective Storm,” he said, pulling his badge out of his sweater. “Give me a situation report.”
“We’ve got a sniper on top of the field building,” the officer replied. “He took out Santa and four elves before you could spit. Anyone who moves toward the kids gets a bullet for their trouble. SWAT is on the way.”
Storm looked up the hill and swore. The shots were getting closer to the huddled kids. SWAT would be too late. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the officer.
“Hold this.”
“What? Where are you going?” the officer asked.
Storm didn’t reply. He drew his Automag and began walking up the hill, his eyes on the shadow on top of the three-story field house. Shots rang out and bullets kicked up plumes of snow around his feet, but none came closer than six inches.
He’s a lousy shot, Storm thought. The only way he’s hitting anything is blind luck.
Storm kept walking, blue eyes locked on the sniper’s scope. More shots rang out, causing him to stop and he saw the sniper duck back behind the wall to reload. Storm raised his pistol and aimed down the stainless steel barrel.
“You missed, bub,” he called. “Try again. You’re not shooting any more kids.”
He heard the sniper scream and saw him rise behind the wall almost in slow motion. Storm squeezed the Automag’s pistol, emptying the magazine and reloading in the blink of an eye.
The first shot hit the sniper in the shoulder. The second shattered the rifle’s scope and the third punched through the man’s eye and exited in a spray of red and gray. The rest were just nails in his coffin.
Storm lowered his pistol and took a ragged breath, letting the adrenaline fade as police and parents swarmed past him.
“Daddy?” a voice said by his hip.
Storm looked down to see the brilliant green eyes of his eight-year old daughter peeking out from beneath a purple stocking cap. She was wearing a matching purple coat and boots the same color as her hair. Storm blinked in surprise and squatted next to her, spinning her around to check for blood.
“Raven? I didn’t know you were here, are you alright?”
“Miss Dominique brought me to see Santa,” Raven replied.
Storm raised his eyes and looked at Dominique who stood a few feet away. She shrugged helplessly and Storm smiled. Raven had been screaming to see Santa for a month. Tina had finally given in to “human silliness” and let her go. With typical luck it was the n
ight some nut decided to start shooting.
“Are you okay?” Storm asked.
Raven frowned and pointed, the mittens tied to her sleeve waving madly. “Santa’s dead. I know he isn’t asleep ‘cause I couldn’t wake him up.”
Storm looked back at Dominique. “You saw that?”
Dominique nodded almost imperceptibly. Raven had seen everything.
“I’m sorry, Raven—”
“Did you kill the man who killed Santa?” Raven asked.
Storm’s blue eyes met his daughter’s brilliant green ones and he knew there was no lying to her. Raven was as smart as she was curious and she could smell a lie from a mile off. He knew she had cop’s blood and he prayed to God it never won out. He wanted her to do something safe like sell insurance, not become a cop.
“I did, pumpkin,” he said. “It was the only way to keep everyone safe.”
“Good. I wanted to,” Raven said. “He hurt my friend Amy.”
“No, Raven,” Storm said. “You didn’t want to. We never want to hurt someone. But sometimes it’s the only way to keep innocent people safe.”
“But—”
“No, Ravenel,” Storm said. “We’re the good guys. Hurting people is wrong and only bad guys hurt people because they want to. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Raven said dutifully.
She frowned again and looked at the actor’s corpse. “Who is going to deliver presents to all the good boys and girls?”
You’ve got to be kidding me, Storm thought.
Storm holstered his weapon and hugged his daughter to him. How did he tell an eight-year old who just witnessed a murder that Santa wasn’t real? How did you do that?
He was still searching for the answer when Dominique spoke up.
“Ravenel, do you believe that good, good more powerful than any evil, exists in the world?”
Raven looked at Dominique over her father’s arm. “Yes. Mother says good will always be more better than evil.”
“But do you believe it?” Dominique pressed.
Raven’s little brow furrowed in thought then she nodded. “Yes. Daddy is good and he always wins. Even at Mousetrap.”
Storm laughed and hugged Raven again.
Dominique smiled at Raven. “Then is it so hard to believe that Santa is everywhere? Not just there in the shell he inhabited, but in every person on this green Earth? Though that shell lies empty in the snow, the spirit of Santa Claus will live on because he is good.”
Storm could feel his daughter’s breath on his arm when she smiled. “So there will still be presents?”
“Yes, my child,” Domonique laughed. “There will be presents. Forever and always.”
Storm smiled his thanks at Dominique and picked Raven up. He wasn’t good at saying it, never had been, but nothing was more precious to him than her.
“Come on, kid,” he said. “Let’s get you home. Daddy has work to do, but I promise I will be home by morning.”
SOUTH INDIANA AVENUE, BRONZEVILLE
PRESENT DAY
RAVEN OPENED THE BASEMENT DOOR and flipped the antique light switch with one outstretched finger. It clicked on with a loud ‘clack’ and fluorescent bulbs flickered to life somewhere below. She could smell blood and the sick, wet scent she’d learned to associate with fear. Not the butterflies in the pit of your stomach emotion everyone experienced, but the stark raving terror born out of pain and horror. She could almost hear the screams of those who had gone into the basement before her.
She drew her Automag and descended one step at a time, searching the gloom for any hint of danger.
The stairs emptied into a large room with a cement floor stained with blood. Three cages made from iron strips were bolted to the wall on her left. The cages were barely large enough for a man to curl up in, with hooks at all four corners and pools of dried blood beneath. Raven walked past each cage and continued to a set of wooden shelves at the end of the row. Several piles of clothing sat on the shelf, neatly folded with shoes on the bottom. Raven changed gloves and rifled through the clothes. She found nothing in most except empty wallets and shredded licenses. But in the pocket of one pair of Rock and Republic jeans she found a slip of paper with a phone number on it and the letters BB. She took a picture of it with her phone and left it with the other items she’d found for Aspen to trace.
“Got a door here,” Levac said from the opposite side of the room.
Raven turned to look. A narrow wooden door was set in a stone wall that didn’t match the rest of the construction. It looked much older than the rest of the basement which had plain block walls. At Raven’s nod Levac pulled the door open and turned the switch next to it. Inside was a dirt floored room made of stone. A shelf held rows of tools while others hung from the walls. All were oiled and in like-new condition in spite of the fact some were so old Raven wasn’t even sure what they were.
In the middle of the room was a low table surrounded by wood shavings and broken carving blades. Raven’s sensitive nose detected the aroma of fresh wood, a kind she wasn’t familiar with. Whatever the project was, it hadn’t been long since it had been finished. By the look of things it had been taken out through an old root cellar door in the far wall.
“Blood,” Levac said from the rack of tools. “Looks like our woodworker cut himself.”
“Bag it,” Raven said. “It’s a good bet it belongs to Pepescu, but maybe Aspen can find another match.”
She was stirring through the wood shavings with her finger. She picked up several slips and ran them through her fingers. Even sliced paper thin the wood was hard and had an exotic scent to it, like oak that had been charred. Whatever it was, it didn’t grow in Illinois.
She put a piece in another evidence bag and moved to join Levac, who was sealing an evidence bag of his own. Inside was an antique wood-carving knife with drops of blood on the blade.
“Anything else?” she asked.
Levac turned and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He looked tired.
“These guys are good. All these tools, all the blood, the heads and so far we’ve got a piece of paper and a couple drops of blood. Aspen might be able to find something, but I wouldn’t bet the farm.”
“They aren’t that good,” Raven said. “We’ve got one, we’ll get the rest. It just takes time.”
“Don’t let it take too much time,” Frost said from the doorway.
Raven had her pistol leveled at his head before he even finished the sentence.
Frost raised his hands. “Stand down, Raven. It’s just me.”
Raven lowered the pistol and frowned at Frost.
“What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”
“I heard the dispatch for a Forensic team and thought I would take a look,” he said. “Captain Dekker wants a status report.”
“You came down here in a snowstorm to look over our shoulders?” Raven asked. “That’s very Lieutenant of you.”
Frost lowered his hands and crossed the basement. “Tone it down, Ray. I was your father’s partner when he worked a similar case back in ’84. I have a feeling they’re related and so does Dekker. He wants this file off his ledger once and for all. So what do you have?”
“Not much,” Levac said. “A carving knife, a handful of wood-shavings, some silver coins and a number. Nothing linking Pepescu to Romiji but circumstantial evidence.”
“That’s it?” Frost asked.
“I’ll collect and type all the blood evidence and try to work up a positive ID from the heads in the fridge,” Aspen said from the top of the stairs. “This place is full of trace. All we need is a little luck.”
“Luck. The litany of the Storm family,” Frost said. “Do what you can and keep me posted.”
He turned and headed back up the stairs. He was face to face with Aspen when he said, “One day your luck will run out.”
“Drive safe, lieutenant,” Aspen said with a smile.
She continued down the stairs and joined Raven and Levac in the basement
.
“What crawled up his ass and died?” she asked when Frost was gone.
“He’s been strange since my brother Xavier got himself killed,” Raven replied. “I think there was blood between them, but I’m trying hard not to care.”
“Or between him and your father,” Levac said. “You did turn out to be just like him.”
“I’ll take that as a complement,” Raven said.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Aspen asked. “I can do a little mojo, but there isn’t really much I can do with all this blood. I can guarantee it is all too mixed to be tested with any accuracy, even by magic.”
“I know,” Raven said. “Don’t worry about the blood. Collect it and give it to Harvey. I want you to try to identify the victims in the fridge.”
“I’ll do what I can, love, but Zhu has me on a bunch of other cases,” Aspen said.
“Forget them and focus on this one,” Raven said. “On mine and the lieutenant’s authority. Other techs can handle your workload until this thing is closed.”
Aspen pulled out her tablet and made a note. “I’ll make this priority one. What about you two?”
Raven pulled out her phone and showed the photo she’d taken to Aspen. “Can that thing trace this number?”
Aspen grinned. “Boss, I can trace anything. Let’s go upstairs where there is a better signal.”
“I’ll leave that up to you,” Levac said, glancing at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet Sloan for lunch.”
“You can still eat?” Raven asked.
Levac shrugged. “I think you’re rubbing off on me. Aside from, you know, it, it’s just blood and death. I’m getting used to it.”
“It?” Aspen asked
“A skull,” Raven said. “A tiny one.”
Aspen paled and gripped Raven’s hand.
“How young?” Aspen asked.
“Don’t think about it, Asp,” Raven said. “Have one of the techs bag it and just send it on to Ming for analysis. All you need to worry about is us finding whoever did it and helping me stop them.”
