by S. M. Nolan
“Williams.”
Maggie's tearful, terrified voice responded, “I need your help. I—It's Maggie. I need your help. Oh god…”
“Maggie? What's wrong? What can I—”
“Someone. My apartment… dead,” she said in trembling breaths. “Cops here. S-so scared.”
“Are they inside?” Orders yelled beyond Maggie's whimpers answered him. His tone hardened urgently, “Maggie, tell them you have no weapons! Tell them you're not a threat!” He heard Maggie repeat his word. The yelling continued. “Tell them Detective Russell Williams would like to speak to the lead officer.”
Again Maggie repeated his words. The yelling ceased. A man answered, fuming, “This is Lt. Xavier, if this is some kind of joke—”
“Bill, it's Russell,” he said, flipping on a light beside the door. “What's it looking like?”
He replied with irritation, “A body. Signs of struggle.”
“Bill, I can vouch for her. She's not a danger to you.”
“If you say so, Rus.”
“I do.”
He hurried straight from the entryway into the kitchen ahead, switched on a second set of lights. The dining room's chandelier bathed the area in bright light beyond a breakfast bar. He rifled through a drawer, retrieved a notepad and pen, and scribbled something as he spoke.
“The woman's name is Maggie Doherty, calm her down and take a statement. Keep her safe but don't let her leave. Doherty needs to be comfortable, is that understood?”
“Russell, this is against regs,” Xavier said with disappointment.
“Bill, do this for me. Please,” he pled. “She may have information for the case I'm working. Treat her as a witness, not a threat. I'm coming over but I need the address.”
Russell recorded Maggie's address as it was relayed. Xavier handed the phone back; Maggie was more coherent but by no means calm.
Russell spoke slowly, “Maggie, you're safe now but you need to stay there. They're going to take a statement and examine you for injury. I'm on my way over, but listen and answer any questions they have.”
Maggie sniffled, voice distant, “Ashley and Mandy were coming—”
“Let Xavier know and he'll let them through. I'll be there soon.”
The call ended. Russell's mind was racing. Two victims. Now an attack. No coincidence.
He exited the kitchen for the hall at the right, took it in fast steps to the first door on the left. He switched on the light. Something solid and heavy smacked the back of his head. He grunted, fell through to his knees, rolled sideways.
His eyes fell on a hulking, black-haired man. Sunken features sneered with cold eyes. A pistol rose in large hands.
Russell's feet flew. The pistol ejected sideways into a wall, cracked-off a round. Sneakers in surgical caps stomped Russell's ribs, winded him. He grasped for his pistol, came up empty. Fleeting panic coursed with images of the holster wrapped in his jacket at the door.
His instincts took over, forced his full weight through legs that swept sideways. His feet caught the man's ankles, followed through to knock him off-balance. The man slid, grasped vainly at the wall. Russell sprang up, bolted for the kitchen.
A quick shuffle preceded cracks tearing at walls and carpet. Russell dove into the kitchen. He scuttled to his feet. A heavy thud signaled a magazine change. An angry click chambered a new round.
Russell's breath came fast; he'd missed ending the fight easily. He waited, listened to the man's approach, kept low. The pistol's lengthened suppressor edged into view.
Russell readied himself. The barrel angled inward. He lunged, tackled the man at the knees. They slammed the floor at the mouth of the hallway. The pistol fired randomly from Russell's grip over the man's hand.
They struggled, rolled. Russell forced his weight over, righted himself. His knees pinned the man's chest while he slammed the pistol-hand against the floor. The gun came free, slid out of reach at a heavy swat.
A blow unbalanced Russell toward the kitchen. The man shoved sideways for the gun. Russell recovered, grabbed his ankles to drag him further back. A sturdy kick dislodged Russell's grip. A second hit his chest, knocked him down.
The man reared up. Sharp steel flashed. He lunged. Two feet caught him, propelled him back down the hall. A second flash of metal gleamed and both men were on their feet. The attacker charged. Russell was ready.
A quick flurry of firm wrists ejected the blade from the attacker's grip, sank it into the fleshy softness of his belly. Warmth soaked Russell's hands. He gave a furious, upward thrust. Bone cracked. Blood spilled. Russell released his hold.
The man stumbled back, blood rushing from his gut to drip a trail along the carpet. He fell to the floor, choking. Russell hurried to his side, spied a darkness on his right wrist; a black tattoo of the Greek Omega.
He forced the man's head up by the hair, “Why are you here?!”
Blood rolled from a corner of his mouth. He laughed out flecks of blood with fading fanaticism, “Omega. Is coming. You—you'll never stop them now. ”
The man choked on his last breaths, went silent. Russell's eyes were wild. He swallowed hard, defeated by the puzzle-piece before him. He hurried for the kitchen, legs and feet rubber as he dialed his cell-phone, engaged its loudspeaker, and twisted on the water. He battled his surging adrenaline to scrub blood from his hands.
“Switzer,” Chuck answered sleepily.
“Chuck, we've got a problem,” he panted.
He gave a confused yawn, “Wud'ya mean Rus? What's goin' on?”
“You remember that lead I told you about?”
“Yeah. What about'er?”
“She was attacked in her apartment. I'm supposed to be on my way over,” Russell said, hypnotized by the blood sloshing from his hands and circling the drain.
“So? Prolly a burgle gone bad, what of it?” Chuck replied.
“I was just attacked too, in my house. I killed the guy.”
Chuck was suddenly awake, “Jesus Christ, Russell! The hell happened?”
“Doesn't matter right now. I need you to send OCF here to—”
“You're not leavin', are you?”
“Chuck, this isn't a coincidence, I have to get to Doherty. I'll give a statement after I make sure she's alright.”
Chuck sighed, relented, “Fine. What d'you need?”
Russell turned off the tap, made for the bedroom past the dead body. He dug into a standing safe for a shotgun, “A security detail on Maggie Doherty. No less than two patrol cars at all times. There's something going on, and whether she likes it or not, she's involved.”
He set the shotgun aside, retrieved a duffel bag, and filled it with boxes of pistol and shotgun ammunition. He grabbed a holstered pistol, set it inside with an extra pair of magazines.
“I'll get on it, Rus, but keep your head on straight, man.”
“Understood.”
The line cut out. Russell zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, and grabbed the shotgun. He made for the door, retrieved his coat and pistol from the counter, then rushed out.
For twenty minutes the undercover Impala's lights and sirens blared through the emptying, Oakton boulevards. It took wide corners with squealing tires, sharper ones with light braking before sling-shotting out and back to top-speed.
He arrived on-scene to a barrage of police cars and ambulances barring entrance to the building. Their lights flared over the street, attracted a small crowd on its opposite side. A pair of officers held them back, ineffectual against the faces gazing down from random apartments above.
He hurried in, followed clusters of officers to the third floor, his spare pistol nestled beside the other beneath his jacket.
Inside Maggie's apartment, OCF's high-powered flashes lit the main-room with loud pops and high-pitched charges. Lt. Xavier stood outside a bedroom door just inside the apartment.
He nodded to Russell, shifted to allow a group of officers to pass, “She's shaken up, but otherwise alright. The EMT'
s examining her for head-trauma, but it looks like she just needs some rest.”
“Thanks for helping me here, Bill. I appreciate it,” Russell said, preparing to step past.
Xavier stopped him with a hand, “Russell, I understand she's a good looking girl, but what's this all about?”
Russell met his eyes, “I'll tell you when I figure it out.”
Xavier released him. He stepped into Maggie's room, found her sitting on a queen-sized bed. An EMT checked her blood pressure and pulse while the other women from the shop sat beside her.
“How are you?” He asked, stepping to Maggie's side.
“How the fuck d'you think she is?” One woman asked. “Someone tried to kill her.”
“Ash, stop,” the other woman said.
“I'm fine Ashley,” Maggie said with calm despair. She looked to Russell, “Thank you for coming. This is Ashley and Mandy.”
“You're not hurt, right?” Russell asked over ripping Velcro. The EMT pulled off the blood-pressure cuff, set it in his bag.
Maggie watched him, “Not really, I took a hit to the head, but…”
Her voice trailed off into a thousand yard stare. It gave way to a shudder. Russell ran his hand through his hair. Millions of questions bubbled in his mind, but he stepped to a waist-high dresser in front of them, leaned against it.
“Could you give us some privacy?” He asked the EMT.
“Sure, I'm finished here. Just let us know if she starts exhibiting any unusual symptoms.”
He carried his bag out, closed the door. Maggie sighed, “A-am I in trouble?”
“Why would you be in trouble, Maggie? Defending yourself? That's not against the law—least the last time I checked,” Ashley said snidely.
“Ash,you're being an ass,” Mandy countered.
Ashley opened her mouth to speak, but Russell intoned first, “No, you're not in any trouble. But I don't think you're safe either.”
Maggie's eyes flickered with panic, “What d'you mean?”
Russell hesitated, gave up on any air of formality, “Something's going on. It's not a coincidence Ryusaki was murdered just before we were both attacked.”
“That's exactly what I said,” Ashley said to Maggie.
“Wait, you were attacked?” Maggie asked.
Russell retold of the attack and what had been said, hoping it might spur some connection in their minds. The three listened, but only grew more confused, agitated.
Russell sighed at their mutual ignorance, “Look, bottom line is, we have to figure out what's going on. For the time being, I've assigned you a security detail but you may need this.”
He removed the holstered spare-pistol, offered it to Maggie. Her eyes glazed over with exasperation, “Who d'you think I am, some kind of nut? I'm an artist! Tonight was the first time I've even seen a gun, let alone fired one!”
Russell frowned, looked between her and his hand, “You hit the mark, and saved your own life. I'd say given circumstances, that's a worthy first time.”
“But that was luck. This can't be safe.”
“We never really know what we're capable of 'til we're tested,” he said, stoically.
Maggie thought in silence a moment. Then, with a deep breath she accepted the gun, set it beside her on the bed.
Mandy glanced at Russell, “What about us?”
“All three of you need to stay together,” Russell instructed. “The security detail will escort you anywhere you need to go, but I'd advise against traveling much right now.”
“Mandy has school, and we have a business to run,” Ashley countered. “We can't just hide away.”
“I'll do my best to make sure you don't have to,” he assured her. “But you need to find somewhere safe to stay the night.”
Maggie nodded. Fear still coursed through her, but the brigade of police in her apartment put her a little at ease. Russell's own presence kept her level, if nothing else.
“Okay, but… what about this Omega thing? I mean, what we should be doing to stay safe?”
“I don't know, Maggie. I'm sorry. We'll know more once I can I-D these guys. I'll look into speaking with someone about those symbols in the meantime. For now, just stay together as much as possible.”
“Can we go now?” Mandy asked, still unsatisfied.
“Yes. You'll be escorted home by a pair of cruisers.”
“I have to get some things first,” Maggie said to the sisters. “I'll meet you downstairs.”
Russell roused Xavier from the hallway, explained the situation. He led the sisters out while Russell remained behind for Maggie.
“We're all just scared, Detective,” she admitted, rummaging through her closet for a gray backpack.
She carried it to her dresser, filled it with clothing. He side-stepped to allow her through and evaluated her slow movements.
“It's Russell, and I understand. You have a right to be.”
“Yeah, someone wanted me dead. I'd say that qualifies as rational fear,” she said sarcastically. She huffed, apologized, “This is all so… wrong, but I'm more worried for them.”
He watched her stoop to open a drawer, “How do you mean?”
She stopped with a look, her teeth clenching in small bites near her lip-ring, “I've been on my own for a long time. Usually, I've only got myself to worry about, but Mandy and Ashley aren't as strong in that way. They worry about each other, and even though I've got them, I'm still… alone. You know?”
“Yeah, I get that. It's easier to survive when you can be selfish.”
“Right.”
Russell mused with sympathy, “It doesn't mean you can't find strength in numbers though.”
Maggie removed a large manila envelope from her bottom drawer, checked it. She removed a thick stack of twenties and folded it over before shoving it into a front pocket on the bag. She exhaled the breath, stepped back to the closet to grab a thick, gray, baggy coat. She slid it on and sat beside Russell on the bed, eyeing the pistol.
“So this is what my life's come to?”
She reached for the pistol with obvious apprehension. It took residence beneath fear of the deathly instrument's implication. A question drew her mind and eyes away for moment.
“If you don't mind,” Russell began. Their eyes met. “Why call me?”
Maggie shrugged with a look to the floor, “I don't know. Ash said to. She's convinced this isn't a coincidence—you showing up then all of this. I guess part of me agrees.”
“You were… combative, this afternoon,” Russell reminded.
“And you were pretentious and assumptive, but if there's going to be a bunch of cops here I'd rather one of them be someone I know.” He understood with a nod. She looked back to the pistol, “The truth is, I feel safer knowing you're looking after me. Anyone that can admit they're wrong's okay in my book.”
“I guess I'd have ended up here either way,” Russell thought aloud. “I'd rather help than not.”
Maggie lifted the pistol, slid it in to her pack and zipped it closed to shoulder it. She rose from the bed, “Maybe it was just intuition, but I trust you. I hope it's not misplaced.”
Russell rose with her, unsure whether her assessment was a compliment or a criticism.
7.
Evidence to the Contrary
September 30th
8:30 AM
1200 S. Masseville, Ohio
Maggie awoke to morning light shining in through Ashley's bay-windows. The drafty, ranch-style home took a moment to focus around her. She stared out the window in confusion before the night returned. Overwhelmed, her eyes fixed on farmland beyond a gravel road ahead.
The sun arced through a cloudless sky beyond pines buffering Ashley's property. They swayed in heady winds, framed two police cruisers at either side of the gravel driveway. The cars looked oddly serene amid the manicured lawn and harvested fields.
Maggie eased off the wrap-around couch to the crackle of frying bacon. Its aroma wafted over, passed Ashley as she shuffled to
an fro at the gas stove. The quaint kitchen fit the serenity outside, but staggered Maggie's horrified mind.
She rubbed her temples against a throbbing hang-over. Nausea quivered her mouth into odd shapes that forced her to stand. Maple hardwood froze her socks. Drafts from old, poorly insulated windows nipped through her flannel pants and t-shirt. She flattened her arms to her chest, crossed onto slightly-warmer linoleum.
Ashley's eyes were fixed downward at the bacon, “Mandy already left. Hope I didn't wake you.”
Maggie winced, “I feel like I downed a bottle of tequila.”
“Might as well have.” She flipped bacon strips. “Adrenaline's a bitch.” Maggie gave a contagious yawn, stretched her neck and arms. “Stop doing that.”
Ashley leaned back against a counter beside the stove, turned down the burner with a twist. Maggie leaned beside her, “Everything alright?”
Her head shook with quiet desperation, “No, Maggie. I'm sorry but it's not.”
She frowned, “Talk to me, Ash.”
Ashley threw out her arms in frustration, her eyes wide. “I don't like having two police cars sitting outside my house. I don't like my best friend carrying a gun and being attacked. And I don't like my baby sister being escorted to school like some fucking mafia daughter.”
“Ash, if you don't want me here—”
“No, Maggie. It's not that. It's just—” She hesitated to calm herself. “I love you. I want you safe, and I'll do what it takes to keep you that way.”
“But?”
Ashley sighed again, turned to tend the bacon, “Maggie, this is way beyond me. It's beyond those four cops out there. If that guy thinks so too… I mean, I honestly don't know if you can be safe right now. There's obviously more going on here than we know. Mysterious tattoos. Murders. Attempted murders. What the hell're we supposed to do?”
Maggie watched her furious movements; she wrenched the heat off, jerked the bacon from the pan, slapped it on a plate, and dug a toaster from a cabinet. She nearly slammed it down before she stood in place, staring at it.
Maggie turned over what little she'd learned from Russell, wondered what she'd do in Ashley's place. If forced to choose between her best friend and her sister, Mandy came before all others. It was the right thing to do. Maggie couldn't blame anyone for that. In some ways, it was the only thing Ashley could do.
