Deny the Moon

by Melissa A. Graham

  *****

  Riley

  "Jesus Christ, it looks like a wild animal tore them apart," the nasally voice of one of the uniforms said loudly over the murmur of the crowd.

  Riley shook his head at him. So much for discretion. They had a double-homicide in the middle of a suburban shopping complex. People gathered all around the scene trying to get firsthand news on what had happened and dipshit-in-blue over there was shouting about wild animal attacks. A glance around the civilians proved that they were already posting and tweeting about it thanks to the carelessness of one man. Some men just shouldn't wear a badge.

  "Someone get that jackass off my crime scene," the detective ordered.

  While they escorted the uniform to his car, Riley returned to the van. He leaned into the open passenger side door as the techs took pictures of the body slumped behind the wheel. There was a lot of blood on him. Most of it undoubtedly came from the gaping arm socket on his left side—they'd found a detached arm on the lot beside the van—but it looked like he'd had his head slammed a few times, too. Just not to the extent of his friend a few yards away.

  Animal attack my ass, he thought.

  An animal might tear you apart, but they don’t beat a man’s skull open. While he couldn’t fathom the strength, or sheer determination, it would take for a human to rip a guys’ arm from his body, he’d seen drugs make people do unbelievable things. Unless there was some crazed gorilla running around the city, this was all man.

  "Recognize him?" another detective asked.

  "No," Riley said, shaking his head, "but I'm pretty sure we'll find a hit somewhere. He looks like a career criminal."

  "You mean, like, a hit man?" a rookie asked him from the other side of the van.

  "Not professional. Just someone who's probably been in and out of the system a few times. I'm sure we got his prints somewhere," Riley explained as he used the tip of his pen to gently nudge the dead man's head aside.

  His face had been pretty badly scarred, but the three on his neck stood out from the rest. There was nothing outwardly strange about them other than how perfectly similar they were. He looked to the tech and nodded his head towards the guy's neck. While she snapped pictures, Riley looked to his partner.

  "Just the two, then?" he asked.

  "Yeah, we didn't see the girl anywhere," his partner answered. "You think she could have been the one to—"

  Riley shook his head, "No. I've met her before. No way she has the strength to do this kind of damage. No signs of a weapon. It was done by hand." Even he knew how insane that sounded.

  "Jesus," his partner breathed.

  "Yeah. Any word on her friends?"

  "We got ahold of a Liz Logan from her address book. She's on her way down."

  Riley let the man's head drop back into place and turned on his partner. "Down here?" he watched the man nod. "The last thing we need is a panicked woman seeing two dead bodies, Harris. What the fuck were you thinking?"

  "I told her to come to the precinct tonight, but she wouldn't listen. Hung up on me before I could tell her anything else."

  Riley cursed. Fantastic. He had two stiffs, a missing woman, some kind of super-strong maniac, and now he was going to have to play babysitter because Harris wouldn't wait until they cleared the scene to call her. As if on cue, a white Dakota pulled into the lot outside of the yellow police tape. A blond woman spilled out of the truck and ran towards them.

  "Beautiful," Riley growled under his breath as he made his way towards her.

  As he reached the girl, the driver got out and started up behind her. The man actually surprised the detective. He hadn't expected to see him with her.

  "Mr. Tate," Riley called out. "Didn't expect you to come with Miss Logan, here."

  "Detective Sheppard," Jackson said with an inclination of his head. "We all work together. I was with Liz when Detective Harris called."

  "Where is she?" Liz blurted out, skipping pleasantries.

  "We don't know. Car appears to be abandoned. Looks like she just got done shopping, but we haven't found her anywhere nearby," he said.

  "Was she hurt?"

  "Again, we don't know."

  "Well what do you know, Detective?" Liz's tone was sharp and dangerous and it stunned Riley. She'd been so soft and sweet when he'd seen her at the hospital with Harley.

  "You really shouldn't have come out here. We could've waited and talked tonight," he said trying to keep a calm tone with her.

  "Like I was going to wait. Every minute you don't find her is another minute he has to hurt her," Liz said before Jackson placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  "He? Do you know who might have taken her?"

  "The guy that hurt her at the club, maybe? Wouldn't he be at the top of the list?"

  Riley sighed softly, "Yes, m'am, he would be. But we need to make sure we don't miss anything by focusing on just one person. Now, is there anyone else you know that might have been threatening her? Might have wanted to hurt her in any way?"

  "Detective," a tech shouted from across the lot.

  Riley looked behind him and then sighed as he looked back to Liz and Jackson. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

  God, he hated dealing with civilians. It was the same old dance every time, no matter the scene around them. Once kin got involved it was all emotional riptides and threats of lawsuits. One father had even cold-clocked him when he refused to answer his questions. Whenever he could manage it, he avoided dealing with the families and friends of the victims. Walking towards the tech, he made a mental note to take a crack at Harris for calling them in.

  "Did you find something new?" Sheppard asked, shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

  "Wallet. No ID, credit cards… We bagged a phone we pulled from the driver, but there’s nothing else here. Gonna take some samples of the blood, see if any of it belongs to our missing person."

  "Well, there’s plenty of it around here. Thanks." He looked at the sprays of blood dripping down the side of the van and shuddered.

  Whoever did that was one brutal son of a bitch.

  He made his way back to the girl’s friends, but hesitated behind the van when he heard them talking. Blondie sounded worked up. No big surprise there, but what she was saying had Riley completely thrown.

  "Liz!" Jackson hissed, seemingly trying to keep his voice low. "Girl, are you crazy?"

  She didn't answer him. Riley moved to look through one of the darkened van windows, careful not to catch their attention. Liz had moved to the little car and was looking inside. At first he thought she might be trying to steal evidence, but as he watched it looked more like she was pressing her face to the seats.

  He listened as she breathed in deep enough for him to hear it, like she was trying to smell something buried deep in the layers of fabric. She might have been cute, but that chick had a screw loose. After a few moments of watching, her blond curls popped up and swirled around her as she turned to face the van.

  Sheppard ducked down quickly, sucking in and holding a breath as his pulsed raced over his nearly being seen. The van rocked gently as he pressed against it, straining to hear what was being said. There was something off about those two. Something they were hiding.

  "It's him," he heard her say.

  "Him?"

  "The guy that hurt her at the club. I smell him here. I can smell him on the dead guy, even. He did this, and he took her." Panic flooded her voice.

  "It's okay, Liz," Jackson said grabbing her hands, "we'll find her."

  Smell him? She really was sniffing Harley’s car. So much crazy in such a pretty package. Crazy girls aside, she had said "him". She definitely knew something more than she was letting on. Riley would never understand why people held back information when someone’s life was on the line. And they were supposed to be her friends? Tired of being lied to, the detective stood up and walked purposefully around the back of the van, rounding on them.

  "Hey!" Riley shouted. "What do you two think you're doing
?"

  Liz gasped, looking from Jackson to Riley. "I... I know who took Harley."

  "Who?"

  "It was the man from the club. It was him," she said imploringly.

  "What makes you say that?" Riley asked.

  She hesitated. He watched the struggle play on her face, openly and loudly. This girl sucked at lying. Her flushed cheeks, the compulsive gnawing at her lower lip as she looked from him to the big guy, and her eyes darting nervously to dead man was like a song and dance of guilt. She nudged her chin at the corpse in the van.

  "The scars on his neck. I've seen them before. They were on the guy that attacked Harley in the club. I was sitting right in front of my boss when he came out and hit him. I had a clear view of it before he took off."

  Riley let out a long, tired sigh. "Well... it's a start. Now we just gotta figure out who he is so we can track him down."

  "His name is Frank Essex," Jackson said suddenly. Both Riley and Liz looked up at him in surprise before he elaborated further. "Harley used to run with him and his people before she moved up here. Part of some outlaw motorcycle club. He was her boyfriend. I didn't know for sure if it was him who'd come into the club that night, but Liz just confirmed it for me. That’s a mark the Coyotes use. Like a brand."

  Liz blinked at Jackson as if she'd never seen him before. The detective didn’t miss that or the fleeting glance Jackson gave her before he looked away. Something was seriously not on the up and up.

  Riley shook his head and gave the pair a reproachful look. If their friend had just told him he was her ex-boyfriend Riley could have found the bastard before all this mess. Why the Hell did women protect those that hurt them? It made him sick to his stomach and he held very little respect for anyone that would take such abuse to coddle a piece of shit like this guy. It seemed that woman left a trail of hurt, or dead, people in her wake because, what? She didn't want to be alone? She loved him? Who would she let get hurt next to protect Essex?

  "Anything else you care to share now, so we can track down this bastard?"

  "He's a drifter. They went from town to town. Didn't stay too long. Check local motels for a biker in his mid-twenties. May be alone, but could be with an entire crew," Jackson said before adding, "and he's dangerous. Very dangerous."

  Riley nodded and released a long, slow breath. "Alright. In the meantime, take her home. We will call if we find anything, and you do the same if she contacts you or anything like that."

  Jackson started to lead Liz back to the truck, but Riley tried to keep a discreet ear on the pair of them as he took a few steps towards the other officers.

  "What? No, we need to go! He'll kill them! They're just hu—" she shouted desperately.

  "He's a cop," Jackson said, cutting her off and glancing quickly to the detective. "Frank might be what he is, but he's not invincible. Regardless of what he thinks."

  Riley glanced over his shoulder at them, watching Jackson try to calm her down and quiet her.

  "How do you know about him?" she asked. "Did Harley tell you?"

  Jackson glanced up from Liz and straight at Riley, his mouth pressing in a tight, thin line before he physically turned her away from the crime scene and towards the truck. A man that size could have easily thrown her over his shoulder if he had to, but he gave her the choice. He had to respect the man for that. Riley wasn’t sure he’d have had the patience not to give in and caveman her away, given the opportunity. Jackson seemed to have more restraint.

  They both lowered their voices enough that he could no longer hear bits and pieces of their argument. Just as well. He doubted he could get anymore from them right now. They could go round later, but right now he had a missing girl to find.