by M K Mancos
There wasn’t even a puddle of blood to indicate a posterior injury.
“Adler,” Shelia whispered in his ear. “Midnight is heading out.”
“Damn it.” He’d have to turn over the rest of the investigation to those arriving on scene. Since he’d seen it go down, he could only act as a witness anyhow, but still he wanted to be there when they found the bastards responsible. And it sure as hell didn’t stop him from being curious. Real curious.
He pushed to his feet and headed to the mouth of the alley. He gave instructions to Barney—never bothering to get his real name—and hit the street in time to see Midnight come out of Doxie’s and stand among the rest of the crowd gathered to watch the unfolding crime scene.
Morbid prick.
He was probably getting his rocks off knowing death was close at hand. But it didn’t look as if he was going anywhere soon. None of them did, even as the scene was cordoned off and barricades went up, the crowd leaned forward as a unit and stared into the darkness.
Josiah felt like asking if they would like him to move the body closer so they could all get a real good look at it. At least Midnight didn’t take off. He leaned over and talked to a girl made up like Dracula’s bride. She turned a reasonably attractive face up to him and smiled.
Were those fangs?
Jeez, thank God Emily hadn’t gone that far. Their parents would have flipped if she’d come home wearing fangs on any night but Halloween.
They melted into the background and Josiah went in pursuit.
“He’s moving,” he told his team who listened in on the transmission.
Josiah followed on foot at a discreet distance. Midnight and the Bride of Dracula ducked into a little coffee shop on a corner and stood in line at the counter. Brian Cogland, another detective on Josiah’s team, walked by him and headed into the coffee shop to stand behind Midnight.
The move was executed with such seamless ease, it made Josiah’s chest swell with pride. He waited outside and let Cogland take the lead. Even so, Josiah couldn’t help but feel that Midnight thumbed his nose at the cops at every turn.
The damn punk had no respect for authority, and even less for the women he preyed on. Though the police had yet to pin anything concrete on him, his name had begun to crop up in the stories told by a rash of sexual abuse victims dotting this side of the Hudson. Though none of them had come right out and accused Midnight, they damn sure implicated him in the activities occurring in the hours before the crimes. And then there were the dead bodies that dotted the city at locations Midnight frequented. Still, Josiah and his team had nothing to charge Midnight with at present, and that was not acceptable.
4
“What the hell was that?” Keely took her injured hand back from Samson where he’d grabbed it and held on as they ran to the dead end of the alley. Her palm still burned from the current that vibrated through the blade and handle of the sickle. She didn’t know which was worse, the pain in her hand or the fact that, for a few minutes, she’d been entirely invisible.
“You were sloppy.” He stopped at the corner of a busy intersection.
She looked up and tried to gain her bearings. In the distance, the lights from New York filled the night and painted the background like electric stars. The drama of the cityscape never failed to make her blood pump. Tonight, however, the city seemed larger and more imposing than usual and the urban hamlet of Water Point Station was as ominous as its behemoth sister across the Hudson River.
“That couldn’t be helped. You never told me how hard those things are to sever. Besides, I’m not talking about that, I meant the cloaking device you have strapped on your ass.”
He frowned up at her over the list. “The what?”
“You went all Klingon Bird-of-Prey back there.”
For the first time since he’d made himself at home in her kitchen, his eyes went completely blank. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Sorry. Not a word.”
“You’ve never seen an episode of Star Trek?” How could a heavenly being not have any knowledge of the most perfect franchise ever to arise in sci-fi culture? Keely found the concept hard to believe.
“No, I haven’t. I have more important matters to attend to than watching mortal television.”
“You’re kidding, right? Star Trek is in the lexicon. It’s part of the very fabric of human existence. Most of our science and electronic gadgets have evolved by chasing Gene Roddenberry’s dream.” She waved her arms about as she got geared up for a lively debate.
A car sped around the corner a bit tighter than it should and the horn blared. Samson pulled her from danger by the neck of her cowl.
“Quit trying to kill yourself. Physical death will only make your duties easier.” He released her and started walking down the busy boulevard.
Once again, Keely was forced to catch up with his longer stride. “Don’t you walk away from me. I deserve an explanation for why my hand is crispy and we both turned into Casper the Friendly Ghost back there.”
He stopped and observed the heavy foot traffic moving up and down the street. “I’ll explain once we’re finished for the evening. But for what it’s worth, Keely, I had no idea you’d get burned.”
“Well, I did.” She held up her palm to show him the marks.
“We’ll have to modify the handle so you won’t conduct the electricity carried in the cord.”
She blinked a few times, trying to process what he’d said. Of course. Electricity. The human body was made up of electric current. It made sense that at death that current had to go somewhere. Energy didn’t die, it merely changed forms. In the case of the human soul, it left the body and floated up toward the source, returning to its origins. When she severed the cord from the body, it caused a backlash of current to feed through the golden sickle and arc in her hand. It was akin to sticking a metal knife into a working toaster.
She mulled the problem over as they continued down Broad Street and turned left on Mercer. “I think I know how to fix it.”
He turned and gave her an I’ve-got-you-now smile.
“I still haven’t agreed to anything,” she pointed out as they headed to a small apartment complex. The foot traffic had thinned out some, leaving them pretty much alone. “Tell me what you did back in the alley.”
“Do you want the physics behind it, or a simpler explanation?”
“Just give it to me straight. You grabbed my hand and the next thing I know, instead of looking down at my breasts and feet, I’m looking at nothing.”
Samson rolled his eyes as if beyond it all. “We went into stealth mode. That’s how Scythes move around the world without being seen. Unfortunately, it may be a difficult skill for you to accomplish. We haven’t worked out all the kinks of your employment as of yet.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, thanks. I appreciate you pulling me out of that alley like you did.”
“Yes, well.” He put his hand up to indicate the apartment building. “Here’s our next client.”
Keely steeled herself for what was to come. For now, she’d have to hold the sickle with her hand wrapped around her robe and hope like hell it broke the connection.
They walked over a terraced patio and through a set of sliding glass doors. A woman lay on her back in the dining area of the small apartment, already blue from lack of oxygen. Her arm was still tied off with a rubber tourniquet. The needle remained in her arm.
Keely sunk to her knees beside the woman. “Oh, Christ, Samson, can’t we help this one?”
“I’m sorry. Once we get their names, it’s done.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “She doesn’t look that much older than me.”
“Thirty-eight.” He bent down close to Keely. “You can’t save them from this life, but you can let them go and begin another.”
“But her family?”
“Will mourn.”
Keely took out the sickle and held it with her sleeve covering the handle. S
he didn’t bother to use her left hand. If she was going to get burned again, better make it the hand that had already felt the bite of death that night. It would be hell having two hands she couldn’t use.
This time she prepared herself for the tough thread of the soul-cord. She concentrated on channeling energy to her shoulder before she swung.
The sickle cut true and the cord wafted up like a balloon string let go from its earthly tether.
Though she wasn’t particularly religious, Keely couldn’t help the little prayer that fell from her lips.
Samson helped her to her feet. For once his acerbic comments were absent.
Josiah stood across the street and stared into the coffee shop.
Exactly how long did it take to suck down a cup of java and charm the skirts off a woman? Pretty damn long apparently.
Entire civilizations could have been born and razed in the time it took Midnight to have an over-coffee conversation with Dracula’s Bride. What did they even find to talk about? Were they making plans to conquer the world with bad hair and porcelain fangs?
Midnight rose and helped the young woman to her feet. They headed out into the night and began walking down Hamlet Avenue to Broad Street. Cogland stayed put for now. After the suspect left the coffee shop, another detective would take over following the couple until they reached their destination.
Drummond Estes dressed like a stoner in a nostalgic Hendrix T-shirt and jeans with the knees blown out. He hadn’t shaved that day, so his five o’clock shadow was sitting at half-past eleven.
Estes started after the couple with a shuffling walk that wasn’t even close to his normal gait. He stopped at the corner and lit a cigarette. “They’re getting into a vehicle. Late-model Jetta.” He rambled off the license plate number and then stuck his lighter back in his pocket.
Cogland hurried out of the coffee shop and made it to his car first. He went in pursuit of the Jetta.
“I’ll back up.” Josiah rose from the bench and jogged back down the block to where he’d left the unmarked car.
Shelia met him there and pulled off her black wig. “Let’s move.”
She got in the car and lifted her dress to reveal a thigh holster. Ah, so that’s where she’d hidden it. Josiah had wondered, but hadn’t dared ask.
They drove away from the curb and started down the block in time to see one marked car and another unmarked bearing down on them. The radio crackled to life.
“Request back up at the Mercer Arms. Apartment D-12. Suspect is inside with possible victim. Screams heard.”
“Shit, the boy works fast.” And they hadn’t been close enough to the victim to get there before the screaming started. Good thing Mercer Street wasn’t that far away, less than a mile. It was the line in the sand between the upscale part of town and the section that had not as yet seen urban revitalization. And probably never would.
Josiah screeched around the corner. The car listed dangerously close to going up on two wheels. He ground to a stop in front of apartment D-12, where a small crowd of neighbors had already started to gather outside.
He headed up to the door with gun drawn and pointed downward. The crowd parted like Moses at the Red Sea for him. Shelia and the uniformed cops followed in his wake.
Masculine shouts filtered out of the apartment along with female sobs.
“I didn’t fucking do anything. We just fucking got here.” Midnight was up against the wall with his back to Cogland. He was being patted down and prepared to be cuffed.
“Shut up. It’s much easier to Mirandize punks when they keep their traps closed and listen to their right to remain silent.”
Josiah came farther into the apartment, following the sound of the girl’s sobs.
“Mom. Mom. Wake up, Mom.” She knelt beside the body of a woman. Her mascara and makeup smeared through her copious tears. She was too focused on the body before her to even care what happened to Midnight just a few feet away.
The tourniquet and needle were still in the dead woman’s arm, proof of the recent overdose. There was no doubt she was dead. Pallor on live individuals wasn’t supposed to take on that bluish-purple hue. No, he’d seen enough junkie deaths in his career to know one when he spotted it.
He felt her skin and wasn’t surprised to find it already cold, rigor mortis stiffening the body.
Whatever had happened in the apartment, Midnight probably wasn’t responsible. They had followed him directly from his place to Doxie’s tonight. He hadn’t made any stops along the way and he damn sure hadn’t come here before now. No, this was a wrong place, wrong time scenario.
Shelia knelt down beside the girl and tried to pull her away from the body.
“Why are you just standing there?” Dracula’s Bride pleaded. “Help her!”
Jesus, how do you tell a young woman her mother was beyond help?
He pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry, Miss.”
“No. No. No. No.” She leaned back down over the body, contaminating anything that could be used to determine whether the overdose was accidental or if a crime had been committed. Josiah hadn’t the heart to tell her to move.
He stepped away and radioed for an ambulance. They would be the ones to take her to the morgue and ensure she got into the medical examiner’s hands.
“Let me go. I tell you, I didn’t fucking do anything,” Midnight screamed over the wail of more sirens.
“Let him go, Cogland.” Josiah put his hand on the detective’s arm. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
Cogland turned an astonished expression to Josiah. “Say what?”
“There’s a body in the dining room. The girl’s mother. Looks like it’s been there for a while.”
“Shit.” Cogland grabbed his keys and released the angry Midnight.
“I am so suing you for police brutality and unlawful incarceration—”
Josiah cut him off with a gesture. “You ought to be thanking whatever deity it is you pray to that you arrived here so late tonight. If it had been earlier in the evening, I’d already have your ass booked and headed to arraignment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He swung the long fall of dyed black hair that covered one eye out of his vision.
“It means you lucked out this time, Midnight. Or should I call you, Thomas?”
The young man’s heavily lined eyes flew open and his mouth flapped a few times.
“Thomas it is then.”
Josiah headed back out into the parking lot to wait on the ambulance. The night had just taken another nasty turn and he hated like hell that the Goth punk had probably figured out he’d been followed since the beginning. If he hadn’t realized it now, it wouldn’t be long in coming and they’d have to tread more carefully in their investigation from here on out.
Josiah patted his pocket and gave a disgusted snort.
Why did he have to give up cigarettes?
5
Josiah sat at his desk a few mornings later. It felt as if the inside of his eyelids were made of sandpaper. Every time he blinked, he wanted to rip them off and throw them in the wastebasket. He’d gone to bed obscenely late and been up at the crack of dawn. Damn that Midnight, he’d been giving them all a run for their money since the night of the Franklin woman’s overdose.
Her name was Aradella Franklin. She was thirty-eight years old and had been in and out of rehab for heroin addiction since 2011. Her daughter, Ashley, had thought her mother was clean this time. The young woman had gone to stay with friends after they’d finally been able to pry her away from her mother’s body. Josiah hadn’t heard as yet what happened to her after that.
He rubbed his eyes then immediately regretted the action as pain made them water. The six cups of coffee he’d already consumed hadn’t done a damn thing for him either, except a bad case of the jitters.
His cell phone rang. Unlike most people, he refused to use a clever song or annoying ring tone. He had the sound of a normal, everyday phone. He wanted to hear a phone when it rang,
not something cutesy. He hated cutesy.
He looked at the number and let a slow smile come to his mouth. “I hope it’s good news.”
“Josie,” Dr. Amy Prescott, Medical Examiner, said from the other end of the phone. “You sound like it’s the morning after the night before.”
“You don’t even know the half of it, honey.” He smiled despite the pain in his eyes. He and Amy had been hot and heavy several years ago. The woman could think circles around him and played a mean game of tennis. She was also a closet nudist.
The memory made him smile wider.
“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime. Now, I get to be the bearer of glad tidings. Your body from the alley wasn’t a murder at all. It was a massive heart attack.”
He sat back in his chair. The metal springs squealed loud in protest. He knew he saw a weapon and the suspects had taken off. Had they tried to pick the body of valuables instead of calling for assistance?
That was even worse than having thought they murdered the guy. Josiah rubbed his mouth in thought. If he ever saw Blondie again, he’d lock her up on principle alone.
“Did you find anything else, or was that the extent of it?”
“Well, I’ll say this for the poor old guy, if his heart hadn’t gotten him, the end-stage cirrhosis would have. He didn’t have long to go.”
Josiah thanked her and ended the call. Natural causes. What kind of sick joke was that? He had people leaving the scene as if their Goth robes were about to ignite and they weren’t even the perps. That, in fact, there were no perps at all.
Some days weren’t made for getting out of bed.
He pushed to his feet and started out of the detectives’ room. Shelia met him halfway and handed him a report—fingerprint analyses to be specific.
“Take a look at those and tell me what you think?” She set her hands on trim hips and waited with one dark brow raised like Mr. Spock when he proclaimed something as “illogical”.