Do not bother trying to trace this phone, the battery will be immediately removed and you will waste time your friend doesn’t have. If you want to find him come to the Parisian Terrace Hotel, Room 336.
Kasparov slammed the door open and ran out to his car. He turned the key in the ignition and was thankful when it responded favorably. The hotel wasn’t far from Marian’s; within ten minutes he was already tearing through the lobby to the elevator. He ran with such determination he failed to notice a bell boy’s cart and toppled to the ground. Pain seared through him as his wound responded to the impact of hitting the ground. Up until now adrenaline had kept the pain at bay and had allowed him to run despite the complaints of his body. The fall was more than he could handle and Kasparov had to pull himself up using the cart as support. He pushed it along with one hand as his other hand fished for his medication.
As he pulled out the bottle, his notebook fell to the ground. He hadn’t taken down any notes about what he had done to Kliseman and he wasn’t sure if he would be writing anything in it again after all of this. He threw the book in to a trashcan that sat under the call button for the elevator and fought with the top to his medication. It was hard to open the bottle with one hand but he managed to get the cap off with his teeth. Kasparov leaned against the wall between elevators and pulled a pill from the container and popped it in to his mouth before pulling out his flask and washing it down with a bit of whiskey.
A woman and her husband eyed Kasparov suspiciously as they pushed the button to call the elevator. He knew what he must look like. Injured, taking pills, drinking, and clinging to an empty bell boy cart; He looked like an addict. The elevator arrived and he pushed his way in to it with the couple. They looked at him with such disdain that even Kasparov wondered if he was as bad as he looked.
“What number?” The woman asked as she pressed the button for level eight.
“Three please.” Kasparov answered. He watched her press the three and saw it light up. She then nudged her husband with an elbow before gesturing toward him. The man nodded and pulled out his wallet. He brought forth a twenty and extended it to Kasparov. He laughed. “I’m not homeless, or an addict. I’m a police officer and I was recently injured. I tripped in the hall and I needed a little extra help to get around. Thank you, though. I appreciate your charity and I’m sure someone, somewhere needs that money a hell of a lot more than I do.”
“I’m sorry.” The man replied embarrassed. “I just thought, with the pills and all. I hope you don’t hold it against us. You have to admit, you look pretty rough.”
“I can’t argue that.” Kasparov laughed. He was doing his best to stay composed and the mix-up, while a bit harsh, was humorous. “I think you two seem like nice people. This is my floor so I’m off. Have a good night.”
The elevator doors opened and Kasparov pushed the bell cart off the elevator and made his way to room 336. The door had been wedged open at the bottom by a small block of wood. Kasparov pulled his gun out and turned off the safety. He pushed the door open quickly and made a sweep of the room, still using the bell cart for support.
Inside it was clear that this was Claudia’s room. Her clothes were neatly hung in the closet and shoes lined the floor. The bathroom showed signs that it had been occupied within the last few days. She may not have been staying here regularly, but she was using it for something. Kasparov wondered if she used it to lure men and women to her. If he didn’t know better, he could have been persuaded to visit her in this place.
Everything seemed to have a place in the room. The curtains were pulled from the window and pined neatly, the cosmetics on the dresser were organized and clean, and the coffee maker had been rinsed out. On the bed Kasparov noticed a small box and a handwritten folded note. He read it hoping it would lead him to his friend.
Go Back To The Beginning…
-Claudia♥
The words puzzled Kasparov and he opened the box that sat next to it in hopes of finding something that would make sense of the instruction he had been given. What he found inside proved to be more than he could handle. Kasparov fell forward catching himself on the bed. The blankets were stiff against his hands and provided little comfort as the contents of his stomach burned their way back out of him and on to the floor.
Lofgren’s eye sat neatly packaged in a jewelry box. He couldn’t be sure it was his partner’s, but he doubted they would bother sending one from anyone else. Kasparov stared at the icy blue eye that lay among the blood stained tissue paper. He thought frantically about what the clue meant.
Where had this all begun? Would it be at the club? The disappearances had started there; or at the girls house. It was her disappearance, specifically, that had gotten Kasparov involved with the case. His mind was racing with possibilities.
Claudia was putting him through a sick scavenger hunt and if he couldn’t figure out what the clue meant, Lofgren would never make it out alive. The more he thought about it the more frustrated he got. He knew he had little time to figure it out and there was no way he could search everywhere he thought of. He took the letter and the box and put them in his jacket pocket before limping back to the elevator. He was thankful to have the bell cart to help him maneuver through the hallways and out to his car.
Kasparov lit a cigarette and tried to think of how this began. He had been at his favorite bar, having a drink. He started to doze off and then he got a phone call that caused him to fall over. Bambi had called him about some guy harassing her. That was when he met Lofgren for the first time.
“That’s it!” He yelled to himself as he started the car. He slammed it in to gear and sped out of the parking lot toward Bambi’s House.
Her driveway was full of cars. With the funeral being tomorrow, her parents were in town and had invited their friends and random neighbors to a memorial gathering before the big event. He had gotten an email about it while he was in the hospital, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. He parked at the curb and pushed himself to his feet. He limped carefully, up the steps and in to the house.
Kasparov didn’t know any one at the memorial and he doubted they knew Bambi. He recalled her mentioning that her parents were disappointed with her choices and wondered if the people that now filled her home were the kinds of friends they had hoped she had made. He caught himself wishing they had been. She had so much potential and he let it go to waste by enabling her addictions. He pushed past the thought and made his way to the kitchen.
“I’m not sure I recognize you.” Said a woman who looked like an older, bitterer version of Bambi.
“I’m Detective Scott Kasparov. I handled the case that your daughter’s killer was involved in.” Kasparov replied.
“I’m Mrs. Kaplain, Bernadette’s mother. Have you found the killer then? If not I think you should talk to the people she worked with. That man she worked for probably did it. He must have wanted her and couldn’t stand to be rejected.” Bambi’s mother replied. Kasparov found himself understanding why Bambi didn’t spend time with her family.
“Actually, the man’s name was Jared. He was part of a cult that has been going across the country killing people for their blood. We left you a message.” Kasparov replied angrily. She had insulted his friends and he was already biased against the woman. It was at this moment he realized he had gotten the invitation to the gathering because he was the police officer on the case. If she had known about their friendship and his involvement with the club, she wouldn’t have sent him the letter. “And, just so you know, Marian is gay. His life partner’s name is Ferdinand and he moved out of state to be with him. He had no sexual interest in your daughter or any of the girls at the club. As a regular at the club, I would know if he was harboring resentment toward your daughter”
“I didn’t think a cop would be such a degenerate. Now that you are here, I can see you must be. You’re filthy, and you smell like liquor. Some cop. Get out of my daughter’s home. You didn’t know her.” Mrs. Kaplain said looking at Kasparov with disgust.
>
“I knew her better than anyone. I came here for something and I’m not leaving until I have it.” Kasparov retorted as he pushed past her and in to the kitchen.
On the table there was a box with his name written in red. He picked the small thing up and decided to take it back to the car. If there was anything in this one that resembled the last, he wasn’t sure the event was the best place to open it. Bambi’s mother called after him demanding the box be put back where he found it as he walked out of the house and sat in his car.
He had been right to wait before opening it. Inside was a piece of a finger, ripped off at the knuckle closest to the nail. They had done to Lofgren what he had done to Kliseman. A small hole had been cut in to the skin of the fingertip and from it dangled a key ring and a single key. It looked to be part of Lofgren’s middle finger. Claudia had written on his nail in a fine red marker.
Feed The Fish
He thought of where he could find a fish that required a key. Almost immediately he realized where he had to go. He pulled out his keys and found the one to his apartment. He laid the one attached to the finger against it and found that they were a match. She had gotten to his apartment somehow. He had a fish tank that was recently purchased, but didn’t have any fish yet. He wasn’t even sure why he had gotten it in the first place.
It didn’t take Kasparov long to make the trip from Bambi’s house to his rundown apartment building. The entire complex was in bad shape and looked to be one good storm from falling in to itself. The pathways between the unit buildings were cracked and overgrown. One of the steps leading up to the second floor had been entirely busted away by drunk teenagers forcing him to stretch to the following step. His body was still badly wounded and he had been advised to rest as much as possible. He was thankful not to have ripped any stitches when he fell and now was afraid he would stumble on the steps and fall before he even made it to his apartment.
Once he made it to the door he used the key from the box and the lock turned and opened. Inside everything was quiet. He hadn’t expected anyone to be in the apartment but did a quick search for safety. His living room was mostly barren. A cheap wooden table sat in front of a shabby green couch. On it sat an ashtray and several empty packs of cigarettes. Fast food bags covered the matching end table. A small television set sat on top of a metal cart and one of the antenna had been bent in to an odd shape months before. The kitchen had little to offer a visitor. He had a small refrigerator and freezer that contained ice, beer, and lunch meat. A bag of moldy bread lay open on the counter. The bathroom stank of excrement. Kasparov flushed away the evidence of last week’s dinner and checked his bedroom. He hadn’t made his bed before leaving the last time and the sheet had come loose revealing the mattress underneath. Small cigarette burns had marred the fabric and you could see through to the padding. On his dresser he had stored the small tank.
He looked at the fish tank. It had been filled with water and two male Beta fish had been placed inside; one red, one blue. The blue fish floated lifeless as the red one fed on its defeated competitor’s carcass. At the bottom of the tank was another small box wrapped in plastic. Kasparov rolled up his sleeve and reached inside. He pulled the container out and removed the plastic. Inside he found a tooth and a small handwritten note.
Go To The Place Where Your Innocence Died.
Without a second thought Kasparov drove to the factory where they had tortured Kliseman. It seemed to be the only place that made any sense. He was terrified of what he would find there amongst the carnage they had left. Perhaps he had been too slow to figuring out the clues. He lit a cigarette as he drove and let the smoke fill him with its poison.
He pulled up to the factory and found Kliseman impaled on a metal pole. It had likely been from the scraps in the factory. Blood ran down the metal and shone in the light cast by the streetlamps. His body had been lit on fire. The smell was enough to turn Kasparov’s stomach.
Around Kliseman’s neck was a chain attached to a wooden board. It was a sign that had an address carved in to it. The wood had already begun to burn and if he had been a moment longer, the clue would have been lost. He was close to finding them and he knew it. He just hoped it wasn’t too late as he got back in his car and raced to the address on the board. It had to be where they were keeping his partner.
Kasparov parked his car a few blocks away from where they had instructed him to go and walked the rest of the way. It was an old office building that had been abandoned early last year after the company that owned it shut down. He had been inside investigating allegations of sexual assault shortly before it closed and remembered much of the layout. As he approached the building he noticed there were two men standing watch at the door to the place. He looked the building carefully over looking for another way in. The back door was likely guarded as well but there was a door leading to the sprinkler room that he could sneak in to. From there he may be able to gain access to the rest of the building through ventilation shafts.
Kasparov mentally prepared himself for the pain he knew he would have to endure rescuing his partner. Quietly he crept up to the door of the sprinkler room and picked the lock. Inside he was met with old machines that ran the out of date watering system. It was clear that the last tenants didn’t bother using it and dust lay heavy on every surface. He frantically searched for the entry point that would grant him access the main building. There was an air duct that connected the sprinkler room to the rest of the building. He pulled the grate off and climbed inside, careful to mind his wound. Taking his time, he moved through the vents looking for Lofgren. He was certain he had seen one of the men from his unit in one of the rooms he peered down on. It was apparent that even if he had asked for assistance from the department, it wouldn’t have helped. After ten minutes he looked through a grate and saw his partner tied to a chair.
It was all he could do to remain silent as he looked at Lofgren. He was missing part of his left middle finger and his right eye had been removed. His mouth was bleeding and his body was badly bruised and sported small incisions over much of the exposed skin. Somehow Kasparov felt this was retribution for what they did to Kliseman. He had to come up with a way to get Claudia away from Lofgren and get him to safety.
Further back he had passed a sprinkler that had been pushed up in to the ceiling in the hall leading up to this room. He decided if he could heat it up enough to get the sprinklers to kick on that could provide the distraction he needed to get Lofgren out of there. He set off to enact his plan, careful to move slow enough not to make a sound.
XII.
Lofgren had been through a gauntlet of pain and laceration. Every second he sat in the chair in front of Claudia meant he was so much closer to never making it out alive. He didn’t want to die here. A loud noise rang throughout the building offering him reprieve. The sprinklers had been set off and now everything was getting wet. Claudia looked angry and put her tools on the table. She had been making small incisions over Lofgren’s body when the alarm sounded.
“Rico, Samuel, take the north wing.” She started. “Nick, you take the south hall. It could be one of ours smoking inside again, but we can’t rule out the alternative. Kasparov knows where to find us and he may be using this as a distraction. Letty, stay with Erik and keep him company until I get back. If he gives you too much trouble, kill him.” She tossed a gun to Letty and the others picked up one as well.
“He is going to kill you. You underestimated him.” Lofgren spat at Claudia as she left the room.
“Shut up!” Letty ordered as he struck Lofgren across the cheek. They had spent the last few hours hurting Lofgren in such a way that the simple act of a back hand was humorous. His mouth began to fill with blood again and he laughed before spitting it at his captor. The junkie recoiled and wiped the fluid from his face. “You think it’s funny, you fucking prick?”
“I kind of do.” Lofgren answered simply.
“Well let’s see how you like this then.” Letty replied as he picked up
a small blade with a groove down the middle. Lofgren knew enough about weapons to know that particular design was intended to intensify blood loss. Letty inspected the blade for a moment before slamming it in to Lofgren’s side. Blood started to trickle out as pain shot through him. His captor picked up a cup from the table and allowed it to catch a bit of blood before removing the blade and bandaging the wound crudely. “It’s not time to kill you yet.”
“No, it isn’t, but it is time for you to let me go.” Lofgren said with a smile as Letty drank from the cup. His screams had masked the sound of Kasparov lowering himself on to the ground from the vent. He knew his partner was potentially clever but hadn’t expected things to work out this way. Relief swept through him as he watched Kasparov lift a bat off the table and approach Letty.
“What the fuck did you say to me you little shit?” Letty yelled as he plunged the blade in to Lofgren’s leg.
“He said it was time to let him go.” Kasparov answered punctuating his sentence with the sound of the bat breaking across the back of Letty’s head. Blood splashed from the cup as it hit the ground and Letty followed soon after. “We have to get out of here, now.”
After inspecting the area, Kasparov took off his shirt and removed the blade from Lofgren’s leg. The pain from the knife was intense and his muscle had already begun to swell making the extraction feel worse than when Letty had stabbed him. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to stay alive during Claudia’s assault. He had never been so thoroughly damaged.
Kasparov quickly tore the shirt to strips and used them to bandage the wound. As soon as he had the knots secure he cut the ropes that bound his partner and helped him to his feet. Both men groaned in pain as Kasparov hoisted Lofgren off the ground. Despite the fact that they were both injured, he was optimistic of their chances as the two men picked up weapons and made their way in to the hall.
“Thanks Scott. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it out of there.” Lofgren whispered as they crept down the hall.
Yearling Investigation Archives (Book 1): Sanguine Page 12
