The Dark Places

by R. S. Whitfield

  “Breckham?” he replied. “Don’t they have local PD?” he questioned.

  “Yep, and trust me — they are not going to be happy to see us.”

  “Great,” he replied and put his foot on the gas.

  ***

  Surin glanced around the lobby of Serenity Towers. Narelle, assistant to the medical examiner, was talking quietly to the paramedics, a rather shaken-up maid was sitting on a red sofa, her eyes darting back and forth nervously between the two overweight, balding men that looked pissed off. Surin assumed they were Breckham County’s finest and decided to start there.

  “A very good morning, gentlemen,” she stated, with a sarcastic smile, holding her hand out to be shaken.

  “Took your fucking time getting here, lady,” the taller one replied, looking away.

  Surin smiled. “It’s Detective Elliott actually, and this is my partner, Detective Rhodes,” she said, motioning to Parker who was standing beside her. “And you would be?” she asked, the forced smile never leaving her face.

  “My name is Len, and this is my partner, Bruce. Now, this is our county. I don’t even know why youse were called here, to be honest.” He snorted and adjusted his groin.

  Nice, Surin thought, right, I’m not going to play this game today.

  “OK, Len, here’s the thing — I’m not in the mood for this jurisdictional crap.” She patted his back and continued. “Take it up with your boss because I don’t give a shit.”

  The two men stared at her with their mouths open.

  “Now, you guys stay down here doing what you do best, which, of course, is standing around whinging, and we’ll go check out the scene.” She shot them a final grin over her shoulder and walked to the lobby before they could reply.

  “Well, that was definitely in the spirit of interdepartmental cooperation,” Parker stated sarcastically.

  Surin waved him off and sat down on the sofa beside the maid. The woman was clearly aching to leave. Her face was stained with tears, and she was continuously pulling at her fingers, cracking the knuckles.

  “My name is Detective Surin Elliott,” she began gently. “I’m with the Baltimore PD, and this is my partner, Parker.” Surin continued, her voice low and calm. “Now, I know you have told this story to what must feel like hundreds of people already this morning, but if you’re up to it,” she reached out and patted her hand tenderly, “can you tell me, from the very beginning, what happened.” She smiled at her reassuringly. The maid looked at her and nodded her head slightly.

  “I always go to Miss Vespa’s room early, to, you know, clean up the mess from the night before. She likes to entertain a lot but doesn’t like to wake up to a messy home. I am hired to work from three a.m. to eight a.m. every morning.”

  Surin smiled, encouraging her to continue as Parker took notes.

  “I went in — I have my own swipe key.” She gestured to her pocket. “The place was a total mess as usual, but I noticed a lamp smashed on the floor. Now, Miss Vespa has wild nights, I will not deny that, but she never breaks anything, she cares too much about her possessions, so straight away I was worried. Then…” She paused, placing her hand over her heart. “Then I saw her on the floor. Her eyes were open and glassy. She was looking straight at me! I screamed and ran out the door.” The maid began to weep quietly.

  “It’s OK,” Surin said gently, “that’s all we need for now. Thank you so much for your help.” She patted the lady’s hand again, motioned to a uniform to take over and stood up walking towards the elevator.

  “What kind of person has a permanent party clean up lady?” Surin asked Parker.

  “Someone with money and a lot of high-rolling friends, I would think,” he replied.

  Just as they reached the elevator doors, Surin heard a wickedly familiar husky voice and spun around in time to see a tall, attractive blonde leaning towards Len and Bruce. The woman smiled as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and patted Len playfully on the arm.

  “Fuck me!” Surin said through gritted teeth. She disregarded the elevator just as the doors opened, and instead marched back over to the lobby, and towards the mystery blonde. Parker followed, instantly intrigued. The woman saw her coming, and without missing a beat, turned to look straight at her with a grin on her face.

  “Madison, how are you?” Surin asked sarcastically as she took her hand in a firm shake.

  “Oh, Detective Elliott,” she feigned surprise, “any comments for me tonight?” she asked innocently, holding out a Dictaphone.

  Surin smiled and tried to resist the urge to rip the recorder out of her hand and smack her over the head with it. “No comments, I’m afraid,” she replied.

  “Oh Surin, you, without something to say? I doubt that!” Madison continued, “I seem to recall that you’re very good with words.”

  “Here’s a word for you, Madison: obstruction.” Surin plastered a smile on her face and motioned to the two officers. “Len, Bruce, please escort our friendly media whore outside. Someone from the department will contact you at a more appropriate time,” she added.

  Len dropped his head, held out his arm and showed Madison the way out. “Nothing like watching a good old-fashioned catfight,” he mumbled to Bruce, and both men exploded with laughter.

  Surin and Parker walked back to the elevator.

  “That seemed a bit rough,” Parker commented as they entered and the doors closed. “Am I missing something?” Surin turned to face him, hands securely on her hips. Her eyes were wild with anger.

  “Well, Parker, if you must know,” she began, her voice increasing slightly in volume, “generally, I really do dislike the media. They usually bungle information and send our cases hurtling in the wrong direction, not to mention the fact that they hang around crime scenes like flies, exploiting the death of someone for their own gain. But in this particular case,” she continued, raising her hand to point back towards the lobby, “I happened to have found Little Miss Media Buff down there, in bed with my fiancé while I was out all night working a case. So, rough? Yeh, but under those circumstances, I would say I took it easy on her, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Parker mumbled, the colour draining from his face in sheer embarrassment. Turning to face her, he continued, “I should have known you would have had your reasons.”

  “You know what?” she replied, waving her hand in the air, “save it, it’s no one’s fucking business anyway!”

  At that moment, the doors opened with a ding, and they stepped out into the corridor.

  Serenity Towers was atrociously upmarket. Each floor was occupied by only one suite, and they were four-bedroom, two-bathroom studios with huge floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed magnificent views of the city, especially at night.

  Surin took note of the security cameras above the elevators, pointed at them, and motioned to Parker. “We need those tapes.”

  He jotted it down on his pad, avoiding eye contact.

  “There was only swipe card access to the apartment, so whoever the killer was, they were let in by the victim, maybe at one of her ‘parties,’” Surin narrated to herself. Walking through the entrance, she stopped to take in the entire spectacle.

  Camera bulbs flashed constantly as forensics worked the scene. Surin said a few hellos, and then noticed her boss, Richard, talking to a local cop and walked over.

  “Chief, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Where’s Parker?” he replied, ignoring her question.

  “He’s just tracking down the security footage from the entrance hall,” she replied.

  “What have we got, Jackson?” she called out to one of the forensic guys she recognised. Jackson shuffled over in his head-to-toe white crime scene outfit, the booties sliding soundlessly along the floor.

  “Hey Surin, such a waste, man, have you seen her?” he asked before noticing the chief standing there, and he dropped his head quickly.

  “Not yet, tell me what you have found so far,” she asked, trying to redirect the conversa
tion.

  He nodded. “Female, model, thirty-one, black hair, blue eyes, found by the maid, naked, lying on her back on the floor of the bedroom, obvious ligature marks around the neck. Bruising indicates an unusual pattern, not handprints. We still haven’t found any item to explain the marks. There are definitely signs of a struggle: broken lamp, sheets ripped off the bed et cetera.” He looked at Surin and waited as she processed the information.

  “Great. Thanks, Jack,” she replied.

  “Yeah, see ya ‘round,” he added with a smile and shuffled back to work.

  Surin had gone on three dates with Jackson, he was a nice enough bloke from Southie. Then one night, they had stumbled back to her house, and during a lengthy make-out session on the couch, he had accidentally called her, ‘Samantha,’ who happened to be his ex-girlfriend and another cop. After that, it was just plain awkward. They had never talked about it again and thankfully remained friends.

  Surin saw Parker walk into the room. He spotted her and walked over. She felt slightly embarrassed about her little elevator breakdown and smiled at him, trying to let him know she was sorry. It didn’t appear to work. His jaw tightened as he approached — he looked directly at the chief and nodded.

  “Right, video footage is on its way to your office, should be there by nine,” he stated, then looked down at his notebook.

  “Great, thanks,” Surin replied. “Let’s get in there and have a look, hey? The ME has finished up, and transport will be up here soon.”

  “Righto,” he replied.

  They walked past an obscenely large bathroom with mirrors on every wall; the basin was shiny and black, surrounded by tiles the colour of blood.

  “Very 80s porno,” Parker commented, running his gloved fingers along the vanity.

  As they entered the main bedroom, Surin noticed another set of mirrors on the ceiling above the large four-poster bed. “This lady certainly liked the look of herself,” she added.

  The body of Katia Vespa lay naked and exposed on the overly plush cream carpet. As they approached her, Surin thought she noticed Parker stiffen. Surely, he can handle dead bodies, she thought.

  “Well, she certainly was beautiful,” she stated, without a trace of female jealousy.

  “Yes, she was,” Parker replied.

  “Death favours no one!” a loud voice called out from across the room. Surin looked over and smiled as Vector, the ME, poked his head up from down beside the bed.

  “Yes, Vec, very dramatic,” she mumbled and gestured towards Parker. “Vector, this is Parker Rhodes, my new partner.”

  Vector nodded in Parker’s direction, suppressing a grin.

  Surin knelt next to the body, leant down and inhaled deeply. “Wow, she definitely had a few cocktails too many, it’s practically seeping out of her skin, not to mention these traces of white powder inside her nose,” she noted. “The girl loved to party.”

  “Yes, she did,” Vector added. “Forensics couldn’t find any food anywhere in the house — bottles of wine in the fridge, vodka in the cupboard, some miso soup and tins of tuna — that’s it.”

  “The diet of a stick,” Surin mumbled, shaking her head. “Talk to me, Vec, cause of death?” she asked as she moved around the corpse, carefully lifting limbs, and placing them back.

  “Manual strangulation, petechial haemorrhaging, signs of a struggle. We have samples of skin from under her nails; they are on their way to be analysed. Hopefully, we will get a match. I’m doing the autopsy tomorrow morning, early, and you’re both welcome to come, of course.”

  “Thanks, we’ll let you know,” Surin replied over her shoulder.

  As she walked the floor of the apartment again, hands on her hips, things started falling into place in her mind like pieces of an invisible puzzle.

  “She knew this guy, and it was definitely a guy. Hey Vec!” she called. “Signs of sexual activity close to death?”

  “Absolutely,” he yelled back.

  “No forced entry, grog, drugs, sex… sounds like fun to me.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows. “A fight broke out, someone got angry, fuelled by cocaine and cocktails, it went too far.”

  Parker watched her pace back and forth in the impressive living room, talking out loud to herself. A few of the other detectives, including the chief, had stopped to listen, but she didn’t notice.

  After a minute or two of silence, her head snapped up. “Current boyfriend, agent or manager,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Round ‘em up, get their DNA and you have your killer.” She walked back over to the chief. “This was not him,” she said, “so basically, someone woke me up for a garden-variety crime of passion? I’m going back to bed.” She motioned in Parker’s direction. “Let’s go.”

  The car ride back to Surin’s apartment was a quiet one. Parker watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her features were quite breathtaking. Black hair, thick and long, tied back messily in a plait. Almond-shaped green eyes that were maybe a little too big, giving her a doe-like appearance. She was five-foot-seven and slim, and he was sure that if he ever got to see her actually genuinely smile, that it too would be perfect. Unfortunately, there was a chip the size of Mars on her shoulder that he was pretty sure no person would ever be able to grind down. There is a story there, he thought.

  “Who’s ‘him?’” he asked, after twenty minutes of silence.

  Surin looked over at him and shook her head. “You read the paper, Rhodes?”

  “In all my spare time? No, not really. I see enough to know the media is full of it.”

  “Good answer,” she replied. “It wouldn’t matter anyway because I have made it my personal mission that what I’m about to tell you does not hit the paper for as long as physically possible.”

  “OK,” he answered hesitantly.

  “We have a serial killer in Baltimore who likes young, pretty, dark-haired women.” Surin looked straight at Parker. “Pull the car over.”

  “What?” he asked. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m always serious, Parker. You need to learn that sooner rather than later.”

  He hit the brakes, and the car screeched into the kerb. He flicked his hazards on and turned to face her.

  “What is so important that you have me pull over at six thirty in the morning on the side of the freeway? You’re going to get us killed!”

  “I have the case file in my bag.” Surin reached into her briefcase in the backseat of the car.

  “You carry it with you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she answered, staring at him earnestly.

  He laughed out loud, a rich, full laugh, and she looked up at him, confused.

  “Of course you do, let’s have a look then.”

  She produced a large, thick black file. “OK, at first the chief thought I was nuts,” she stated. Parker shifted in his seat. “I saw that look, Parker, let me explain.” She opened the folder to a five by seven headshot of a gorgeous college-age girl.

  “This is Emma,” Surin said quietly. Parker heard the sadness in her voice. “As far as I can tell, this was his first victim.”

  “His?” Parker questioned.

  “I’ll get to that,” she replied.

  5

  He liked to watch. Everything. The way she walked, small, fast steps with her head down, clasping her bag to her side, cringing from the sharp wind, how she adjusted her clothes self-consciously as she walked past a shop front. He loved how strands of her ebony hair flew free from the constraints of her matronly bun and that she often teetered in impossibly high heels but continued on at pace.

  This is why he chose her, all these reasons and more. He glanced down at his vibrating phone and before answering, chanced one last look in her direction. She was talking to a street vendor selling flowers and smiled shyly before paying for a bunch of yellow daisies. Soon, he promised, and turned and walked away.

  6

  Parker sat on Surin’s couch, cradling a large cup of coffee.

  “Do you want something to ea
t?” she called from the kitchen. “I keep forgetting we have been up since three. I think I’m running on fumes!”

  “No, I’m fine thanks,” Parker replied.

  He glanced around Surin’s living room. White, functional, clean. The sofa was a deep-grey with a matching ottoman. There were large floor lamps which made the room feel cosy and warm. The main feature, a giant black-framed mirror, hung in the centre of the room above a flat-screen TV. It was bordered by two small canvas paintings depicting tiny black birds in vintage-style cages.

  A decorative bowl was the centrepiece of a smooth snow-white buffet, overflowing with various keys and knick-knacks. There was a photo frame with a black-and-white picture of a happy couple at their wedding, her parents he assumed.

  “OK, let’s get started,” she stated, walking back into the living room with a large pot of coffee.

  “Figured we might need this,” she said as she set the coffee on the small side table and then sat on the couch tucking her legs underneath her.

  “So, last year I was called to the scene of a murder in Heathwood. It was a college student, Jessica Moroe, twenty-two-year-old, raped, murdered and then her body dumped. When I got there and saw her, it felt so familiar. I couldn’t shake the feeling, like déjà vu, you know what I mean?” Surin gestured towards him. Parker nodded, allowing her to continue. “So, I started digging. Old case files, the papers, the internet, you name it, and that’s when I found Emma.” She shifted slightly in her chair. “I remembered back in my rookie days reading about a young waitress who went missing for four days and was then found raped and murdered not far from her home in Banyo, well that was nineteen-year-old Emma Silverman. Then I found another victim, Kara Pettiman, murdered three years ago in Petersburg, well, they literally could have been twins. Beautiful, dark hair, around the same height, same build, both missing for four days, both dumped near home.

  “Then this new body turns up, Jessica Moroe. Seven years, three years, one year; either we had missed a lot of bodies or this guy had amazing self-control and is only now showing signs of escalation.