The Warning

by Michelle E Lowe

  “A fist,” Nikolai replied.

  She shot him a frightened look, then continued her examination. “Your arm is dislocated.”

  “I’ve been injured like this during the war and was able to repair myself,” he said. “My ribs have prevented me from doing so this time.”

  “Ribs?” She lifted his shirt in time to see a bone move under his skin. “Jesus!”

  “They’re healing,” he explained. “It’s my arm I need help with.”

  She sucked in another breath. Planting her leg on the edge of the table, she grasped firmly on his bicep and elbow. “Ready?”

  He nodded, and she yanked his arm forward. A loud snap cracked the joint back into place. Nikolai nearly dropped the lamp. Ebenezer expressed little more than a grunt.

  Jean went through her bag, shaking and speaking quickly. “I have painkillers, cleaning wipes, and rubbing alcohol.”

  “Jean?” Nikolai said, noticing her behavior.

  “You could’ve done this yourself,” she snapped at him. “You didn’t have to bring him here.”

  Before he could respond, he heard cracking and popping coming from Ebenezer as his face shifted and the skull repaired itself. Abruptly, Jean left the room.

  “Jean, wait,” Nikolai called, running after her. She ignored him and rushed for the door leading into the hall. He caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. “I had to bring him here. He was so messed up; I thought he was going to die.”

  “Don’t you know that his kind can heal themselves?” she seethed, shaking her arm from his grip.

  He swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  “Oh, and finding out this way makes me less scared? How the hell did this happen?”

  He took her by the shoulders and guided her to the wall. He said, “What I’m about to tell you can’t go beyond the room, all right?” With a deep sigh, he continued. “He escaped from that weird laboratory on Mill Rock—and he’s not the only one. There are others hiding in the city.”

  “But … why? And why is he with you?”

  He released her and took a step back. “They were going to be killed. They left to save themselves. Don’t ask me how they have human emotions, but they do. This one, Ebenezer, he helped me escape the cops and has been looking out for me since.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.”

  He snorted. “Believe it or not, neither do I. But you were right about what Jade said. She did have a secret in her bedroom closet.”

  “Really? What was it?”

  He took the picture from his pocket and showed it to her. She studied it a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t …”

  “I think she wanted me to go to the bridge,” he said. “I think she hid something there for me to find.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. We’re going as soon as we leave.”

  “No,” she pleaded. “This whole thing is getting out of hand. You have to turn yourself in before you get yourself killed. Haven’t you seen how much the reward is? Your face is plastered on every screen in the city. You’re lucky to be alive now. Don’t keep risking your life over something that might not be there in the first place.”

  “Whatever the reason was for Jade’s murder, it’s fucking real,” he fired back. “I wasn’t set up just to cover somebody’s tracks. I was set up for something Jade must have done or known about. And the freakin’ cops are in on it, too, God knows who else. I might not be safe on the street, but I’m not gonna be any safer in police custody.”

  She lowered her eyes to the photo. “You really think Jade was trying to lead you to something?”

  He nodded. “I do. And the faster I find out what it is, the sooner I might be able to clear my name.” He took the picture from her and admired it. “I have to find out, not just for me. For her.”

  “Just promise me one thing,” she said quietly.

  He raised his head. Tears were welling in her dark eyes.

  “Keep yourself alive. I wouldn’t know how to handle myself if I lost my baby brother.”

  He drew her close and embraced her. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

  They went back to the old E.R. to find Ebenezer gone.

  “Where’d he go?” she said.

  Nikolai said nothing, but he knew Ebenezer had left to protect him from his own hunters.

  “The bullet matched your gun,” Osborn said in his office. “You shot Mason, and now it’s all over the news wire. I have no choice but to suspend you, pending an investigation.”

  Knox’s heart bottomed out. “What about my case?” he managed with little strength.

  “I’ll give it to Shaw. Alfonso can handle the bank robbery on his own. In the meantime, I need your badge and gun.”

  He reached for his gun as he took his badge from his coat pocket and placed them both on the chief’s desk.

  “They’ll be in the top drawer of your desk when you return,” Osborn promised. He stood and walked around his desk to place a hand on Knox’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Knox went to his office to gather his copy of Sho’s case file before leaving. A knock came at the door while he searched the file cabinet.

  “Hey,” Shaw said, standing at the doorway. “I heard what happened. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, fine,” he answered almost petulantly.

  The skinny detective entered the office and stopped at the desk. “I’ve been given your case. Osborn just briefed me on what Rivera told him. So, is it true? Do you believe the kid’s innocent?”

  Knox looked over his shoulder then. There was something odd in Shaw’s tone that rubbed him the wrong way. He spoke too eagerly, which didn’t fit the question. That should have required more sarcasm. Everyone believed Crowe had killed Jade Sho. It seemed Shaw hoped he’d denounce Crowe’s innocence, rather than stand by it.

  He went back to his search. When he found the file, he slipped the papers out and left the folder in the drawer. “I don’t know. I had my suspicions, but I think I was looking too hard into it.” He folded the papers and slid them under his coat, into his breast pocket. “To tell the truth, I really don’t care anymore.”

  When he reached the doorway, Shaw let out a long sigh. He interpreted it as a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 14

  Rivera stood on a stoop, waiting for the door to open.

  “Alfonso? What are you doing here?” Grant asked.

  The smell of liquor breezed from Grant’s mouth. The captain’s eyes were red and his face drained of all color. “I need to speak to you,” he said urgently. “It’s about your daughter.”

  Grant stumbled aside to let him in. Rivera entered a quaint apartment, the rich aroma of scented candles floated in the air. In the living room Grant’s wife sat like a life-size doll—static and silent—in front of the TV. She didn’t seem to notice them until her husband spoke.

  “Vivian, Detective Rivera is here.”

  She slowly craned her neck over at them with an empty stare. “What? Oh, hello, Detective. We were just watching TV.”

  She turned back to the television and took a drink of whisky. Grant sat next to her, picking up his own glass from the coffee table.

  “They don’t talk about the bank anymore,” she pointed out. “It’s all about the mayor’s daughter and the man who killed her. Would you like something to drink?”

  Rivera took a seat in an armchair. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Alfonso’s here to tell us something about Jeri,” Grant said.

  She fixed her eyes on the man sitting across from her. “Really?”

  The lack of enthusiasm in her voice indicated that she might have already surpassed the denial stage and had reached acceptance. “She was a wild one. Jeri never liked playing by the rules.”

  Grant bowed his head. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” she chided. “You didn’t know.”

  “I told
her to start acting like an adult.” He slid his eyes over at Rivera. “I told her she needed to do something with her life other than hang out with her friends at all hours of the night. She finally took my advice and got herself killed because of it.”

  What Grant said made Rivera’s ears perk.

  “Her friends?” Rivera inquired. “What friends? Did you ever meet any of them?”

  “No,” Grant replied, shaking his head. “Not any of the recent friends she met a few weeks ago. She lived here, but she was a stranger to us. She kept a tight lip about who she went to see every night. It’s like she had another life.”

  On his way over, Rivera had rehearsed what he would say, but he still expected a shocking impact from them, even harder than learning about her death. In their current state, he worried how they would react to the news. It was a delicate situation, but in the end he decided to just come out and tell them.

  “We did a DNA test on a few of the victims of the blast,” he said. “The bodies weren’t hostages or suspects. They’d been taken from a morgue and placed in the building as decoys.”

  Grant and his wife’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?” the woman asked.

  “I’m saying your daughter, Jeri, is alive.”

  Rivera held his breath. The only movement was the glass of whisky falling from Grant’s hand.

  “A-alive?” he muttered. “That can’t be. I found her locket on her body. Look.” He tossed it over to Rivera.

  When he caught it, Rivera looked at the burned and dented piece of jewelry. He hadn’t noticed, but Grant had been holding the locket the entire time. He shook his head. “She must’ve planted it on a body before the explosion,” he said, standing to hand the locket back to Grant.

  “Planted it?” Mrs. Grant echoed. “I don’t understand. What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying,” he explained, staying on his feet, “that your daughter is working with the suspects. These so-called friends you were talking about might be them.”

  Grant and his wife exchanged glances. Rivera waited patiently for them to soak it all in. News this twisted needed time to settle.

  Grant turned to him with an earnest expression. “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Only Knox and Osborn.”

  “My daughter was a hostage, Alfonso,” he said steadily. “She got out with the suspects as a hostage.”

  Rivera sighed. Grant was the typical father protecting his child. “I didn’t come to arrest your daughter, but she’s the best link we have to the suspects. If she tries contacting you, you have to track her down. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s with them, and whatever you want to do about her, that’s your prerogative.”

  “I’ll make some coffee and hook up the call trace. What are you going to do?”

  “I have to find Knox.”

  “He’s on TV,” Mrs. Grant said, pointing to the screen.

  Rivera turned to see Knox in the police parking lot, trying to ignore the cameras and press following him. “Turn it up.”

  The woman lifted the remote and raised the volume.

  “Detective Knox,” a reporter said, “is it true that you shot an officer?”

  Knox quickly got to his car. “I can’t comment on that,” he said, reaching the driver side door. “The matter is under investigation.”

  “But didn’t you go into the building looking for Nikolai Crowe?” another reporter asked. “Was he there? And who was the officer that was killed? Detective?”

  Knox slid into his car, revved the engine, and sped away. A reporter appeared on the screen to wrap up his report.

  “Damn,” Rivera said simply.

  Nikolai recognized his dangerous move to return to the scene where Jade’s body had been dumped, yet he’d already been to her apartment and hoped his good fortune would hold out.

  He drove to Central Park and left the stolen car in a tow-away zone in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  With the hood over his head, he entered the park and headed for Greywacke Arch. He was optimistic that no reporters or cops were near the scene. He kept off the paths and cut through wooded areas, gradually closing in on the bridge. When he spotted it under the street lamp, he stayed hidden for a moment to scout the area.

  He crept toward the bridge, keeping in mind that there could be cops waiting for him to show up. He emerged from the woods, onto the path. There was nothing to indicate a crime scene other than pieces of yellow tape reading CRIME SCENE—DO NOT CROSS, fluttering in the bushes.

  Once he reached the underpass, he stared into the darkness. His breath slowed. This place had once held joyful memories for him. Greywacke Arch had been Jade’s favorite spot in the entire park.

  There were far more beautiful bridges, but every time they came to the park she’d dragged him to Greywacke Arch. It was where they’d met and where they’d experienced their first kiss. In time, it had become his favorite place as well, but now it had morphed into a place of dread. Instead of sunlight gleaming off her face, he envisioned her lifeless body lying face down on the ground. The feel of blood on his hand replaced her warm lips on his.

  She wants me here, he reminded himself. I’m doing this for her.

  He stepped underneath the arch and rushed out the other side, where he sat on the bench he’d sat handcuffed only hours earlier. The sight of what he’d found there only reminded him of the brutal fact that she was gone. He dropped his face in his hands and tried to hold himself together as his nerves unraveled. After some deep breaths, he lifted his head.

  What’s out here?

  He took out the picture. His eyes went to Jade first. He couldn’t help but look at her beautiful face and fixate on her smile. He forced himself to look beyond her, to the bridge behind them. The photograph depicted the street lamp. Whatever she’d hidden, it had to be on the west side of the bridge. He tried remembering the times they’d come here, what they’d done, what was said—where they’d gone.

  The tree, he thought, jerking his head around.

  The oak tree stood a few steps behind him. It was one of the oldest trees in the park. Jade had repeated this to him on their last four trips and had insisted on sitting under it for a while. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot, but when she’d laid her head across his lap and her silky hair intertwined between his fingers, the rough ground had become as cozy as a worn-in recliner.

  He went over to the tree and walked around it, searching for clues. At the back of the wide trunk he noticed a thin wooden slat nailed to it. He remembered Jade pointing it out on their last trip.

  “Look at this,” she had said. “This is so cruel. How could someone do this to a living thing?”

  “Is this it?” he whispered. “Did you do this?”

  He dug his fingers as far under the top edge of the wood as they could go, planted one foot firmly against the trunk, and pulled. His first attempt had little effect. Without removing his hands, he took a deep breath and tried again, gritting his teeth as he strove to pry out the nails. Finally the wet wood allowed the spikes to slide out. When the plank began moving forward he rocked the slat from side to side, until the top half finally came free. Its sudden weightlessness threw him back a few steps. He regained his balance and stepped forward. Behind the slat was a hole—a nest hole. It wasn’t some crude patchwork done by a park worker, but a cover to protect something of value inside.

  He grabbed the slat, and with a few more yanks, ripped it away from the trunk. He reached inside. Small twigs, leaves, and pine needles pricked his hand as he searched inside the hole. He felt soft fabric and brought out a Crown Royal sack. The cinch was tight around something heavy inside. He loosened the thread and withdrew an antique clay figurine of Betty Boop, sitting with legs crossed on top of a piano. She wore a little red dress and had her faithful dog, Pudgy, standing below the piano keys, holding a microphone stand. The song, “Unforgettable You,” began playing.

  He grabbed the gold winder to stop it from turning and looked aro
und to see if anyone had heard the piercing melody. Sensing the coast was clear, he turned his attention back to the music box. It had belonged to Jade; he recognized it from her apartment. The cute big-eyed girl was nothing more than a cover for whatever Jade had hidden.

  He examined the figurine more closely and found a hairline crack around Betty’s shoulders, where it had been broken and glued back together. He tapped the figurine hard enough on the ground to break it without too much noise. The broken half cracked open and Betty’s head fell off. In the body, he noticed a zip-lock baggie. When he slipped it out, he discovered a MIR card through the clear, wrinkled plastic.

  Whatever was recorded on it had to be the cause of Jade’s murder and his setup, but what was he supposed to do with it? If he had a portable TV or MIR friendly phone, he’d view it for himself.

  He noticed something stuffed inside Betty’s hollow head. Pocketing the card, he picked up the broken part of the figurine. Inside, he found a folded-up piece of paper. He opened it to discover a note from Jade.

  Nikolai,

  I hope you never read this, because it would only mean one thing—that I’m dead. If you are, there’s still a chance to expose the footage you’ve found. It has very important information on it that will affect the entire country, if not the world. I hope my clues will be enough to bring you here, and if you’ve made it this far, you’ve got to go farther and take this information to my friends. Remember what I told you about my best friend, Heather.

  He thought back to two weeks ago, when they’d been riding through Queens. Jade had wanted to see a movie at the only theater in the city that still played 35 mm films. He’d been driving her car when she’d steered him past a closed-down strip club built to look like an Arabian palace.

  “Hey, that’s where my best friend, Heather, used to work,” she had said.

  He studied the building as they drove by. “Where is she now?”

  “She was murdered there.”

  After that, she’d never spoken about her friend.

  There was no friend who had worked at the strip club. Instead, he believed that on their way to the movie theater—which they’d never found—Jade had deliberately brought him to that place. By saying her friend had been murdered, she’d had reason to bring the memory up to the forefront.