by Peter Hartog
“No, kiddo, we don’t need the cavalry just yet.” I gave her an amused smile. “There’s still a lot we don’t know. For starters, why was Vanessa under surveillance? Who is this twin of hers? And what do cleaners have to do with our murderer?”
“Well, we can rule out anyone at Hughes,” Deacon stated as Besim joined us. “She handled portfolios for boutique businesses like women’s fashion and children’s toys. A demographic analyst job may have gotten her access to sensitive material, but I reckon that ain’t worth killing over.”
“And the device isn’t something you can just put together with tape and glue,” Leyla said. “These guys could’ve picked them up illegally from any number of Black Web dealers. Also, sophisticated micro-tech like that requires a workshop with special tools. I doubt ad agencies have that kind of equipment. Even without a serial number, its architecture might give us a clue as to who made it. I’ll take some pictures and send them to a guy I know.”
Deacon gave her a flinty look.
“He’s very discreet, Deacon,” Leyla replied sweetly. “And he owes me a favor. I may have tipped the cops off to where they could find him, but felt really bad about it, so pinned it on this other really nasty guy who was after him instead.”
We all looked at her.
“What?” she squirmed under our collective gaze. “The other guy had it coming. And besides, my new friend’s kinda cute.”
She blushed. I laughed and gave her a quick hug.
Deacon shook his head as I handed the bag to Leyla. She retrieved the bug and placed it on the workstation. After a few flashes from her phone, she returned it to the bag.
“There.” She smiled at the three of us, displaying the images. “Give me a few minutes to put something together. I left my rig in the pod.”
We made our way downstairs and into the living room while Leyla chattered on about her friend and the Vortex Hack. I missed most of what she said as I sorted out what I’d discovered through the Insight. I felt weak-kneed but made it down the stairs without breaking my neck, then wandered into the kitchen.
“Detective.”
I hadn’t noticed Besim follow me in here.
“What is it?” I replied, then opened the refrigerator.
Vanessa was into health food, but nothing else leapt out at me.
“Are you well?”
“I’m fine. The Insight wipes me out. I was just coming in here to get a glass of water.”
After closing the refrigerator door, I checked out the cabinets below the counter. Inside one, I found a dozen cans of wet cat food stacked neatly to the side next to a small metal bowl. No litter bags, though.
“Miss Bonner said she came by to take care of Miss Mallery’s cat,” Besim observed. “However, the pet does not appear to be the indoor variety.”
“Yeah, I haven’t smelled a litter box, either. It’s both ironic and sad. Our victim preferred to live alone, yet that was never the case. Someone was always here, watching. But who, and why?”
Besim nodded, moved to an upper cabinet and retrieved a drinking glass. She filled it from the tap in the sink, then handed it to me without comment.
I guzzled it in two quick swallows.
“Thanks,” I said, placing the glass on the counter near the wine bottles.
My eyes strayed across the labels. Something nagged at my memory. All three read “Stettler Family Vineyards, 2098 Reserve, Pinot Noir, New Hollywood.” I felt a slight surge of the Insight and plucked up one, turning it in my hand.
“You notice anything familiar about this?” I asked.
Besim tilted her head to the side, studying the bottle.
Before she could answer, I blinked several times in rapid succession. The Insight sparked again. I set the bottle on the counter, moved to the back door, flicked the light switch by the window and stepped outside. Ignoring the cold and drizzle, I strode over to the ceramic fire pit. My breathing quickened, while my heartbeat thundered in my ears. My eyes burned again. I raised my face to the leaden sky. The rainwater sluiced over my irritated orbs, but it didn’t help.
I knelt before the fire pit, peering inside to find a mound of burnt debris. Something was in there. I dug with my gloved hands, releasing small puffs of exploding ash. The Insight continued its pulsating insistence, urging me to dig further. Besim watched from the open doorway.
“I’ve seen that wine at Tony’s,” I explained in between gagging on the ash. My coughing worsened, and I stepped away to clear my throat. “In his wine rack. The exact same wine. Phooey!”
I spat out a gob of dark phlegm.
“C’mon, I know you’re in here,” I muttered.
Heedless of my mucked-up hands, I pulled out my holo-phone and activated the flashlight. Then I stuck my head inside the fire pit.
“And at Julie’s place too,” I said, my voice echoing hollowly. “I’m not a wine expert, but don’t you think it’s awfully convenient all three of them had the same taste in wine?”
At the very back, I found a small square lump pressed against the curved side.
“Gotcha!” I crowed in triumph, before slamming my skull against the lip of the fire pit. “Holy sonofamotherbloodygoddamnfuck! Ow!”
I rubbed the tender part of my noggin. In my other hand, I held up a partially-melted metal cigarette lighter. It was empty. The word ‘Kraze’ was engraved on it in crimson and gold lettering. I tossed the lighter to Besim, who tried to catch it and missed. She gave me a sheepish look.
I stormed over and picked it up with a flourish.
“However, this?” I grinned, resembling some macabre chimney sweep from a Dickens’ tale. “This is very interesting!”
Chapter 16
“What was that shouting outside?” Leyla asked.
“I cracked my head against the fire pit,” I replied lamely, rubbing my head.
“Well, at least it’s thick,” Leyla said with a sly grin.
I reached toward her to rub my filthy hands on her clean clothes, but she skipped away with a giggle. Smiling, I used the sink and a wash cloth to clean myself off while the others studied the wine bottle and the damaged lighter. The Insight vanished, but I didn’t feel any the worse for wear this time. I drank another glass of water to rinse the ashy grit from my mouth.
“Vanessa wasn’t a smoker,” I said.
“Maybe she used it to light the fire pit?” Leyla chimed in. “Then she threw it away because it was empty?”
“No, this is something else,” I said while folding the washcloth, and dropped it on the counter. “The Insight pointed me to that lighter. Destruction of evidence, maybe?”
“Looks like our cleaners fucked up twice now,” Deacon stated in satisfaction.
“Well, why didn’t the cleaners just take it with them?” Leyla countered. “Why bother leaving it behind?”
I chewed on that a moment, then shook my head.
“I don’t think the cleaners worked the patio,” I replied.
Deacon moved outside and began poking around.
“Perhaps we were meant to find it,” Besim offered in her quiet voice. “The cleaners’ purpose was to remove all evidence of surveillance from Miss Mallery’s home. Whatever devices that were present here would not be kept inside the fire pit. The heat would disrupt or destroy the device.”
“Once we’re back at the pod, I’ll use the p-scanner on it,” I said. “Although I doubt there’ll be any prints.”
“What manner of word is ‘Kraze?’” Besim asked, gazing quizzically at the lighter. “I am unfamiliar with its etymology.”
“You really like to use big words, don’t you,” I said.
“Shut up, Doc.” Leyla glared at me before turning back to the consultant. “Kraze is a dance club. I’ve been to it a few times. It’s off Mulberry, down in Chinatown. They do theme nights and drink specials to draw in bigger crowds. Oh, and no cover charge for ladies on weekdays.”
“Natalie did say the two of them liked to go clubbing.” I considered that for a m
oment, looking at Leyla. “And I saw the same bottle of wine at both Tony and Julie’s apartments. Our eyewitnesses were dressed up for a night on the town, but they never said what they were doing before going to Tony’s apartment. In fact, their night ended early, if they were really going out at all.”
“Holliday’s right,” Deacon announced as he shut the exterior door behind him. “I checked all the places I’d hide a camera and didn’t find shit. The cleaners didn’t bug her patio. How far is Kraze from our crime scene?”
“A short Metro ride, maybe twenty-five minutes, tops,” Leyla replied. “It’s too far of a walk from here.”
“And you know what else?” I said, regarding the three of them with wide eyes. “It’s on the same route as Armin’s. It’s one of the stops along the line.”
“Yeah, but Vanessa couldn’t have been at Kraze that night,” Leyla pointed out. “It doesn’t open until after eleven.”
“No, and Vanessa wasn’t dressed up to go dancing, either,” I responded grimly. “But our killer might have been.” I looked to Deacon. “What if our vamp goes clubbing at Kraze? Perhaps they met there previously, or he sees her there one night and stalked her?”
“Maybe,” Deacon replied slowly. “But that still don’t explain what Vanessa was doing in Lower Manhattan Sunday night. And what’s that got to do with the bugs? Or this wine?”
He grabbed the bottle and glared at the label as if he could intimidate an answer from it.
“Maybe we should crack one open and see what’s inside?” Leyla moved to the drawers under the counter, rummaging for something.
A moment later, she tossed a stainless-steel bottle opener onto the table with a loud clatter.
“Allow me, please,” Besim said. “I spent many years studying numerous vintages in the Bourdeaux Regime. I highly recommend visiting that enclave, as its residents take great pride in maintaining the highest quality of their vineyards.”
Besim placed an empty wine glass on the table that she had found in one of the cabinets above the counter. Deacon handed her the bottle, and with deft, practiced motions, she stripped the cover around the bottle top. A moment later, the cork popped, and she poured a small amount of fragrant red liquid into the glass.
Besim swirled the wine, then bent her nose into the glass, inhaling deeply. She took a slow sip, swishing the wine around in her mouth as her eyes closed.
“You realize that’s evidence,” I pointed out.
“Keep your pants on, Holliday,” Deacon chuckled. “There’s two more bottles.”
Besim opened her eyes.
“Bright, fruity, toasty aroma and flavors of honey-baked beets, caramelized cherries and nuts, vanilla cream, and peppery spices with an even, vibrant, dryish medium-full body and a warming, distinctive, medium-length cedar mulch and mossy earth finish with firm, chewy, earthy tannins and light oak. A sturdy, oaky pinot that needs a bit of time.”
She spat the wine into the glass with a look of slight distaste. Leyla and I gaped at her. Deacon held a dour expression.
“It is a rather cheap wine,” Besim said archly. “However, I do not detect anything unusual about it.”
“The connection is the important thing,” I stated, stifling a yawn. The use of the Insight had worn me down. I needed rest. “I think Tony and Julie lied to us earlier. They knew our victim.”
Besim poured the bottle out in the sink.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“The wine in this bottle is of no value,” she replied in a calm voice. “And I do not believe these other two contain anything, either. In addition, there is no one to drink it. I am disposing of it. Then I shall clean both glasses. The dead deserve such courtesy.”
“Suit yourself.” I said, then followed Deacon and Leyla from the brownstone.
The weather hadn’t improved in the few minutes since I was outside on the patio. I pulled my coat collar higher around my neck. My breath steamed before me in white puffs. A car split some puddles as it splashed along the road. Otherwise, the neighborhood was quiet.
Deacon was already headed back to the pod, talking on his holo-phone as he walked.
“You did good back there, Leyla,” I said, smiling at her. I resisted the urge to pat her on the head. “Nice pickup on the hack.”
“Thanks, Doc,” she beamed at me, her blue eyes glistening with pride. “That means a lot.”
I was about to say more when something crashed into my lower leg, bowling me over.
“Oh, oh, aren’t you precious!” Leyla squealed.
I regained my feet. Leyla cradled something furry that wriggled in her arms. Besim stepped out the front door and stopped, eyeing my attacker with amusement.
“Why hello there, Mr. Fuzzy,” Leyla cooed. An overclocked motor buzzed from the ball of fur. “Oh, you’re all wet, you poor thing! Where did you come from?”
The cat wiggled free from her grasp and paced around the stoop. I saw the glint of something metal around its neck. A wisp of the Insight grabbed hold of me, and without thinking, I reached down to scoop up the cat. It squirmed, but I kept my hold as I unbuckled its collar, then let it go. The cat landed easily, raised its tail in disdain, and scampered away.
The Insight evaporated.
“Aw, Doc, why’d you do that?” Leyla complained. “He looked cold and hungry.”
I stared at the cat collar in my hand and noted the name on the tag.
“That was Vanessa’s cat, Oliver. He must’ve been lurking nearby.” I pocketed the collar.
Exhaustion seeped into my bones. I needed a warm shower, dry clothes, and a big pot of coffee. Once inside the pod, Leyla sat in her chair with her holo-rig, working furiously. Deacon sprawled in one of the control chairs surrounded by a cloud of thick smoke.
“So, the eyewitnesses?” he prompted.
I collapsed in the chair next to his.
“Sure,” I sighed.
“Damn, Holliday, you look like shit.”
I waved a limp hand.
“I’m fine,” I replied. My head was filled with foam. “Let’s go.”
“I would not advise that,” Besim stated in a firm tone. “You need rest. A suite of rooms has already been prepared for our arrival.”
I tried to protest, but my tongue didn’t want to work. Instead, the world went sideways, and I slipped into darkness.
As I wandered the twilight of my mind, lost somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, her face appeared.
Kate Foster had been everything to me. From her button nose, to her long brown hair, the dimple in her left cheek, the way she smiled with mischief twinkling in those hazel eyes when she was up to no good. She was fire wrapped in water, all fluid grace and burning passion. I had never met anyone like her.
She was my kind of girl.
And then she died.
I miss you, I thought.
Before Wallingbrooke, my life had been a joke. During my suspension, I didn’t give a shit about anything. I lost count of the days, because it was easier that way. The places I’d go, the women I’d meet, the shit I’d put in my body, it all blended together into a self-destructive collage of excess and abuse. I’d somehow make it home alive, crash for a few hours, then start all over.
I can thank Abner for Wallingbrooke.
They both saved my life.
As I spiraled out of control, Abner refused to let me go softly into that good night. He’d leave messages, but I never returned his calls. When the old man finally came by my apartment, he found me lying in my own vomit. Emergency services carted me off to a hospital for a few nights of IVs, sedatives and stomach pumping. The doctors decided I’d live, but I was too broken to care.
Once Abner dumped my sorry ass off at Wallingbrooke, the real hell began.
Never in my life have I been more exposed. The overwhelming shame fueled my resentment of Abner, ECPD and anyone associated with me or the scandal. My body was one raw nerve waiting to snap, and every sound made me jump. I didn’t want anyone to touch, talk
or look at me.
Wallingbrooke’s doctors deconstructed me, piece by bloody piece. My body had to be detoxified, and my brain needed to be scrubbed with a wire brush just to take off the first layer of poor judgment. Between the group sessions, the evaluations, meds, self-loathing, anger, fear and pure stubbornness, I honestly didn’t think I’d make it.
If Abner and Wallingbrooke saved my life, Kate Foster saved my soul.
Everything changed after I met her.
I ached from those memories, and a host of other old wounds.
My body twisted in the bed on which I lay, yet my eyes remained closed. Something was keeping me under.
Why, Kate? I howled into the shadowy void of sleep. Why did you leave me?
The void didn’t answer. It yawned deep and dark and endless. It held secrets, too far to plumb, and answers, too opaque to see. The void mocked me with its silence, my broken heart and fractured soul seeking surcease and finding none.
Since Kate’s death, I moved through life in a befuddled haze. Whenever I slept, all the despair I had suppressed in the waking world cloaked me in an armor of emptiness. My loneliness had buried my light, and my days became a series of mundane routines, each one without character or depth. Everything was mechanical, like eating stale toast without butter or jelly. Colors faded, I held little interest in anything, and when I wasn’t at the precinct, I’d be home alone staring at chipped paint.
It wasn’t much of a life, but I kept trudging along anyway, too damn stubborn to quit, I guess.
Yet now you have been given purpose, Thomas Henry Holliday, countered a voice.
It wasn’t hers, nor the void, but I knew it anyway.
Her death forced you to live, it continued.
No, her death was the end of me, I raged. There was no purpose to it. I should’ve died that night too. I should’ve gone with her.
You did not, it said. You could not.
But why? Why am I still here?
To live, it answered with conviction. You must rise now and seek justice for those who cannot.
“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing?” I shouted, but there was no one there. “Dammit, answer me!”