by James Hunt
“Clearing some of your stuff off of my desk would be thanks enough.”
Cooper smiled and pulled out of the storage unit’s parking garage and headed back to the station. The ride back was much slower than the ride there, and with the adrenaline subsided it took all of her strength to keep both hands on the wheel and her eyes open. She tried to keep a tight grip on the wheel, because every time she loosened it, she felt her hands shake.
Unanswered questions plagued her mind the entire drive back, and by the time she reached the station her head was screaming. She immediately went back to her office and stared at the tangled mess of suspects on the wall. She took Kate’s picture and plastered it in the center and studied it in silence until Hart entered.
“Hey, the captain wants to see us.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cooper replied, her gaze still locked on Kate’s picture. She stepped closer, examining the smile on the woman’s face. “She really thought he loved her.”
When Cooper and Hart stepped into the captain’s office, he was leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk, his clothes messy and baggy around the tired frame that barely kept them in place. “Close the door.”
“What’s this about?” Cooper asked and raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”
“Yes. You do.” Farnes slapped down a file on his desk and jammed his index finger into it. “Everything you need for your case is already taken care of for you. All you need to do is sign off on it, and we can end this mess.”
Cooper cocked her head to the side. “Sign off?”
Hart stepped forward, doing his best to balance addressing his superior officer and not trying to sound like a pussy. “Sir, I can promise you that both Detective Cooper and I have handled this case with all of the correct procedures. If you’re worried about us having gone outside the book on this one—”
“Shut it, Detective, or I’ll have you back on the streets working traffic.” Farnes pounded his fist into the table, his face flushed red and the loose skin around his face wiggling from his exertion. “This case is over. The woman killed herself out of a misguided guilt for murdering Irene Marsh.”
“You can’t really think it was Kate Wurstshed behind all of this.” Cooper pushed off the wall and didn’t stop until her legs were pressed up against Farnes’s desk. “DNA samples were found on Kate’s body. She was raped. On top of that none of Kate’s DNA was found on Irene Marsh’s body. Kate Wurstshed was a puppet for someone else.”
“How many cases do you think this precinct receives in a year, Detective?” Farnes looked to both of them, but neither answered. “How many homicides do you think we deal with? And how many of those are actually solved?” He shook his head. “I’m not going to waste any more resources on this farce when there is other work to be done.”
Cooper pressed both palms flat against the desk and hunched over. “No DNA. No motive. It wasn’t Kate Wurstshed. Why do you want this swept under the rug? What are you trying to cover up this time, Farnes?”
“Enough!” Farnes’s voice snapped the chill out of the air, and Cooper and Hart backed off. “You will drop this, and that is that. There are no other victims. There are no other leads. That woman’s death put a pretty little bow on this, and you’re not going to find a better solution. Now get out of this office before I have your badge!” Farnes huffed and puffed, and after a prolonged silence Cooper finally left, leaving the paperwork Farnes had wanted her to take on his desk.
Hart chased after her and caught up down the hall, gripping the file in his hand. He noticed Cooper looking down at it, and shrugged. “I just took it so he’d shut up. I’m not going to actually fill it out.”
“No?” Cooper shook her head, her tone sarcastic. “I don’t know. It would suck to be busted back down to traffic duty. You have a baby on the way to think of, Hart.”
Hart grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “Hey. I know you don’t trust anyone. But you keep down that road, and you won’t have that badge for much longer either.” He let go of her arm and held up the file. “I’m not putting my name on this.” He stepped back, letting one of the officers pass between them. “All we have to do is find another lead. We do that, and Farnes won’t be able to shove this down our throats.”
For the first time in a long time Cooper felt the camaraderie she felt when she first joined the police force. She nodded, and the two returned to their office. “Have we heard back on the warrant for the bank account?”
“No, and I don’t think Farnes would approve that now anyway.”
“Right.” Cooper examined the board of suspects, with Kate’s picture in the middle. “She kept talking about a ‘him.’ That’s who we need to find.” She furrowed her brow, remembering something else that she’d said in the storage unit. “I don’t know why he chose you.”
“What?” Hart asked.
Cooper paced back and forth. “Kate said that the killer chose me for something.” The thought festered in her mind, and she was unsure of why it bothered her so much. “Let’s recheck Barnesby’s and his people’s alibis.”
“Got it.” Hart went to step outside and then stopped. “Hey, I’m heading to the mess hall. You want anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You look like you just crawled out from the grave.”
“I just need to stop drinking alone.” Despite the comment she agreed to a turkey sandwich, and the food restored the clarity in her mind. She pulled out her phone, looking to call Barnesby’s secretary, and saw that she had a missed call. It was Beth’s husband. She selected the voice mail and listened.
“Adila, it’s Tim. Is Beth with you? Her flight landed thirty minutes ago, but she wasn’t at the airport. I checked with the airlines, and she never even got on the plane. I’ve tried calling her, but I haven’t been able to reach her. If you know something I don’t, give me a call back.”
The beep signaled the end of the message, and Cooper felt her pulse quicken. She scrolled through her contacts and dialed her sister. The phone rang, but only went to voice mail. She tried it again and received the same outcome. She left her lunch on the table and made a beeline for the missing persons unit.
Both Hall and Diaz were at their desks, Diaz with his feet propped up, reading a paper. “I just heard about Wurstshed. That’s some crazy shit.”
Cooper ignored the small talk, her eyes glued to Diaz’s computer screen. “I need you to track a cell number.” She knocked Diaz’s feet off the table and spun his chair to face the computer.
“Who’s it for?”
“It doesn’t matter, just do it.”
Diaz complied as she fed him the numbers. A loading bar filled the screen, and the program slowly searched the area, honing in on the signal. Finally, the computer pinged a location, and Cooper furrowed her brow in confusion. Diaz looked up at her. “Cooper, whose phone is this?”
The room spun in slow motion, and Cooper felt her blood run cold. Without another word she sprinted from the office, racing through the precinct. She sped through the halls, ricocheting off walls and people, her tunnel vision blocking everything from her mind except the thought of getting to her sister. It took Hart catching up with her and pinning her against the wall to bring her to a stop.
“Whoa! Cooper, what the hell are you doing?”
She heard his questions, but she couldn’t force herself to speak. She just stood there, her brain and heart racing at breakneck speeds. She muttered under her breath, but it was barely above a whisper.
“What?” Hart asked, leaning closer.
Cooper swallowed and gritted her teeth, forcing the raging chaos of her mind into submission. “I think my sister’s in trouble.” She peeled Hart’s hands off her and took a few deep breaths, staggering in a zigzag pattern down the hallway. Confused, Hart followed.
Once in the car Cooper hit the lights and blared the siren, the tires smoking as she floored the accelerator through traffic. She gripped the whe
el tightly, and her knuckles flashed a ghostly white. Sweat poured from her forehead and her palms grew sweaty against the steering wheel’s leather. She passed a truck in the left lane, nearly hitting a car in oncoming traffic, but refused to slow her pace.
With her apartment building in sight Cooper slammed on the brakes, the front of the squad car mounting the sidewalk outside of her apartment. She flung the door open and sprinted up the front steps of her apartment building, with Hart close behind. She fumbled her keys, eventually guiding them into the lock and pushing the door open. She leapt the steps two at a time, and when she arrived to the third floor her heart was in her throat.
“Cooper, what’s going on?” Hart asked, following her up the stairs.
But she didn’t answer. She reached for her gun. She squeezed the pistol tight at the sight of her apartment door broken down. “Beth?” Her voice ricocheted through the apartment, but no one answered. It was dark, and the light from the hallway only spilled inside far enough for her to see the first foot and a half of the living room floor. She raised her pistol, aiming into the darkness, Hart right beside her, his gun aimed into the same unknown. She reached for the living room light switch that rested on the wall, and the room was cast from darkness.
The living room was empty, save for a phone that sat in the middle of the floor. Cooper hyperventilated as she dropped to her knees, recognizing the phone as her sister’s. Hart retrieved it, but Cooper was staring at the wall to her left. The gun slipped from her hands as she read the large, curving letters written in red crayon: Come and get her.
Death Notes Bloodied Words
Chapter 1
Nearly the entire living room was cast in darkness, with only shadows visible. The outline of a nearly empty whiskey bottle rested on the dusty floorboards, and was accompanied by a 9mm Glock and a Baltimore Police Department detective’s badge. Adila Cooper sat cross-legged within an arm’s reach of all three and curled her fingers around the liquor bottle’s neck. She kept her bloodshot eyes glued to the wall ten feet away and pressed the rim of the bottle to her lips. The burn of the whiskey had faded hours ago; now it only dulled the rage that coursed through her veins.
Despite the early-morning hour the apartment was hot. Sweat and liquor squeezed through her pores, and Cooper wiped the matted and tangled bangs off her forehead. She set the bottle in her lap, still keeping her fingers curled around the neck, and blinked the dryness from her eyes. The staring contest with the message written on her living room wall had lasted all night, leaving her with more questions than answers.
The distinct red from the crayon the killer loved to force his victims to write with was the only color in the room. She repeatedly traced over every letter in her mind. It caught the eye like blood and violence, contrasting against the white wall. She didn’t know how many lives he’d taken, but his recent victim was more than just a case file on her desk; this time he’d taken her own blood.
The liquor sloshed back and forth as she tipped the bottle back once more, finishing the last drops of whiskey. She sloppily set the bottle down, and it rolled forward and stopped at the wall. The first rays of dawn crept through the cracks of the blinds to the window behind her and slowly dispersed the darkness. The raid was scheduled in two hours, and with any luck she’d be able to stop the killer before he had a chance to add her sister to his list of victims.
It was a strong lead. Cooper and her partner had been able to tie a bank account used in the killer’s last murder to an address on the west side of the city. Up until now the killer had been smart. But he’d fucked up this time, and Cooper wasn’t going to let him slip through her fingers.
Cooper reached for her badge and ran her thumb over the eagle that sat perched above the shield. She curled her fingers over the badge and slipped it over her neck. She reached for the Glock and pushed herself off the floor. Her knees buckled once she was on her feet, the rush of blood causing her head to feel dizzy. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, regaining her footing. She holstered the weapon and squinted at the wall one last time.
All of the anger and hate that had simmered through the night boiled over. Cooper felt the rage flow freely like the whiskey in her veins, gaining momentum to push her over the edge, a selfish desire begging to be released. She placed her finger over the first letter written on the wall then traced the words, slowly, deliberately. She pressed harder with every curve until the tip of her finger flushed white. Nearing the end, she curled her hand into a fist and punched the wall. The dull thud echoed through the living room, but the contents of the empty liquor bottle numbed the pain of the impact.
Cooper punched the wall harder. Then again, striking the wall repeatedly, her blows growing faster with every hit. The skin on her middle knuckle cracked and blood seeped from the wound, each subsequent jab staining the white paint red. She screamed. The drywall cracked. One last punch broke the wall’s plane.
Breathless, Cooper yanked her hand free, dust sticking to the blood that covered her knuckles. She flexed her fingers, her joints cracking. She stepped backward and rubbed her hand until she collided into the wall behind her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the message the killer had left glued to the inside of her eyelids: Come and get her.
***
A restless quiet filled the car, broken only by the occasional cough, the rip of Velcro from the bulletproof vests, or the clash of the rifle’s metal. One of the officers adjusted the straps on his helmet, his fingers trembling with adrenaline as he pulled it tighter. Every head bobbed along with a dip in the road, and bodies smacked into one another.
“Two minutes!” The orders echoed through the radios as the driver eyed the young SWAT member in the very back of the van. The rookie felt the calm before the shit storm they were about to descend into. In their briefing they weren’t given much information, only that their suspect had previously murdered someone and currently held a new hostage. Though they weren’t given any names, everyone knew the victim’s identity.
The rookie glanced up to the detective in the passenger seat, only the left back of her body in view. He nudged the guy next to him and then motioned up front. “Is that really her?”
The seasoned SWAT officer adjusted the rifle in his lap. “Yeah, that’s her.”
The rookie tried to conceal his nerves and fiddled with the straps on his vest. “Is it true she testified against her old partner a few years ago?” He’d heard nothing but stories, and ever since he was transferred to the precinct he’d lacked the courage to go and speak with the detective himself.
“Yeah.” The officer motioned for the rookie to lean in closer, and they hit another dip in the road and knocked helmets. “Personally, I think she’s a vindictive bitch. When she wants something to go her way, it does. And in the rare case that it doesn’t?” He shook his head, raising his eyebrows. “God help the pair of balls that tries to stop her.”
The rookie’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed what felt like sandpaper. He snuck another glance at the detective and noticed how calm she looked. The way the others spoke of her, he half expected to see some concubine with devil horns sticking out of her head. “You think she falsified her testimony?”
The other SWAT member shrugged his shoulders. “That’s above my pay grade.” He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, patting the rifle across his lap. “I just go where they tell me to. Try not to get shot while we’re in there. I don’t want to have to get to know someone new again.”
“One minute!” the driver barked, and everyone coiled like racers at the starting line, waiting for the pull of the starter gun. The rookie shoved his thoughts about the detective to the back of his mind and closed his eyes, hoping that whatever hell the woman was leading them into was something he could survive. He squeezed his rifle so tight he felt his hands ache through the gloves.
“Listen up.”
The rookie quickly opened his eyes and saw the Devil Detective herself: Cooper. She stood in the small g
ap between the front and back of the van. She’d removed her sunglasses, exposing her hazel eyes. They looked tired but angry.
“Our suspect is smart. He’s dangerous. And he has a hostage. You will hold your load until I give the order to shoot. I don’t want any of that fucking cowboy shit today. And you do not take a shot unless you know our hostage is secure.” Cooper took a step forward, looking each of them in the eye, and when her gaze landed on the rookie he felt his blood turn cold. “I don’t give a shit how good you think you are. You won’t be as good as him. Understood?”
The unanimous “yes, ma’am!” rang through the back of the van, and the rookie brought his rifle to stand-by position and focused all of his energy into not shaking.
“Thirty seconds!” the driver yelled, and Detective Cooper returned to her seat.
The van squealed to a stop and the rookie’s mind went blank. The fear and power of the moment before those doors opened wasn’t like anything he’d experienced, and when the sunlight finally cracked through the van’s back doors and he felt that tap on his shoulder, giving him the signal to move, the world around him passed quicker than the speed of a bullet.
***
A knuckle popped, and Cooper winced. The mangled flesh over the knuckles on her right hand was still bloody from the barrage on her living room wall. She flexed her hand a few times, ridding herself of the stiffness, then glanced over to her partner in the driver’s seat. Hart kept both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. The muscle along his jaw tightened. She knew he was nervous. All of them were nervous. A sea of shaking hands, jumping legs, and sweaty palms surrounded her, but she only needed them to do their job and provide the blunt force needed to raid the house.
“Thirty seconds!” Hart yelled, keeping his eyes on the road.
The beautiful day did little to improve the neighborhood they drove through. Broken fences, yards more dirt than grass, and sagging roofs lined the streets. Rusted bikes and old jungle gyms lay broken and unused, and blinds were drawn as people hurried back inside their homes at the sight of their convoy. Cooper counted the street numbers on the mailboxes and spied their target three houses down.