She didn’t have any idea what he waited for. It could be a drug deal or payoff from one of Don Vendetta’s henchmen. It might be another rendezvous with his mistress or even a second mistress. She wouldn’t put anything past a sleaze like Kramer.
Another possibility occurred to her as the time ground on. He might have caught wind of her tail and decided to park here in order to throw her off the trail. Once she grew tired of waiting, he would take off to carry out his real objective. If that were his plan, he would have a long time to wait; she wouldn’t let him go that easily.
The door of Kramer’s car opened; the captain practically leaped from the vehicle. He ran into the park with his gun drawn. Only a suicidal cop would enter the park at this time of night, even with a gun. That was part of the reason Lieutenant Donovan—often described by the department shrinks as “reckless”—arranged to meet the Scarlet Knight in the park. It was about the only way to guarantee no one from the department followed her to the rendezvous.
Whatever Kramer was up to, she wasn’t about to let him do it unobserved. She climbed out of her car, took the pistol from her holster, and then followed him inside. It didn’t take long for her to see why Kramer had entered the park.
A cop lay on the ground. Lieutenant Donovan couldn’t see the officer’s face, only his or her shoes, which were police issue. To reinforce this, she saw a police cap on the ground.
Kramer squatted over the body as Lieutenant Donovan approached. “I heard it over the radio,” he said. “She’s still alive. Barely.”
Lieutenant Donovan looked down and resisted the urge to scream when she saw Lois Early on the ground. Lois bled from a gash in her chest, which must have missed her heart or else she would already be dead. As it was, Lieutenant Donovan’s best friend on the force had already turned pale and her eyes glossy. “Lottie,” she croaked.
“Don’t talk, Lois. An ambulance is coming. You’ll be fine.”
Lois shook her head. As a twenty-year veteran of the RCPD, she would know a fatal injury. She groped around until Lieutenant Donovan took her hand.
“Did you see who did it?” Lieutenant Donovan asked.
“Black,” Lois said. “Black.”
“Hang on, Lois. Hang on. Please.” Her friend’s head lolled to the side. A final breath rattled out of her. “Lois!” It was too late.
“I saw who did it,” Captain Kramer said.
“Who?”
“That Scarlet Bitch. She was next to the body when I got here.” Kramer pointed towards the band shelter where Lieutenant Donovan frequently met the Scarlet Knight. “She took off running that way.”
“That can’t be. The Scarlet Knight doesn’t kill people.”
“I tried to tell you she’s nuts. She must have finally flipped.”
Lieutenant Donovan looked down at the wound in Lois’s chest. A gash, like that made from a sword, a golden sword like the Scarlet Knight carried. But why? Why would she do such a thing after five years?
“Hey, check this out,” Kramer said. He motioned to Lois’s right hand. Stuck to her bloodstained fingers was a clump of hair—red hair too light to belong to Lois. She had probably torn it from her attacker in the struggle.
Lieutenant Donovan took the pack of cigarettes from her pocket. After she emptied it on the ground, she tucked the red hairs inside. She had a good idea who these belonged to, but she would have to wait for the lab’s analysis. In the meantime, she would have to tell Lois’s family she had been killed in the line of duty—and that her killer would be brought to justice if Lieutenant Donovan had to search Hell itself.
***
The Dragoon stomped out from underneath the bridge like a troll in a children’s story. He broke into a run and loped along through Robinson Park. While the gangs continued to avoid the park after what the last Dragoon had done to them, there were still plenty of vagrants and petty criminals around.
The Dragoon stopped in front of a bench, where an old man shivered beneath a blanket of newspapers. The Dragoon seized the old man with one hand to lift him into the air. The vagrant woke up, but got out nothing more than a yelp before a claw rammed through his throat. The Dragoon’s eyes lit up. “Vermin,” the Dragoon snarled. With one claw, he sliced into the man’s chest as he had done to the Morenos. In a single thrust the Dragoon tore out the man’s heart.
He fell upon a half-dozen others in the park that night. Only one managed to put up any resistance; he got off a shot that glanced off the Dragoon’s armor. The Dragoon slaughtered them all; he yanked the still-beating hearts from their chests. These he piled into an old milk crate to return to the master.
The sun had started to come up in the park when the Dragoon finished his work. “That will be enough—for now,” the master’s voice hissed in his ears. “Bring them to me.”
The Dragoon chugged out of the park, unconcerned about who might see him. No one could stop him now.
In the morning, Becky Beech woke up to her alarm. As she ran a hand over her face, she couldn’t remember much of the dream, except it involved someone screaming. With a shrug, she rolled out of bed.
Chapter 15
Even in a sophisticated, cynical city like Rampart City, the murder of a cop like Officer Early sent ripples of disgust through the populace. Emma felt the disgust more acutely than anyone other than Lieutenant Donovan or Early’s family because she had been there when it happened. If she had arrived a minute sooner, she might have saved Officer Early’s life.
For that reason, she spent the next three nights without sleep to comb the city for any sign of the murderer. Not even Don Vendetta’s henchmen could provide any leads this time. If anything, the don’s organization seemed as baffled about the crime as Emma. “Why would we want to bring down heat like that?” one of the don’s thugs asked.
That was a question Emma couldn’t answer. The don was evil, cruel, and vindictive, but she wasn’t stupid. To blatantly murder an honest cop would gain her nothing except contempt. As well, it would motivate a jaded and corrupt police force to break with her. Don Vendetta had nothing to gain with Officer Early’s murder and everything to lose.
The only solution Emma could devise was that a rogue element of the don’s crew had set up the murder, perhaps as the prelude to a coup. That or Mr. Graves’s theory of a lone psychopath. Emma didn’t like either option; either case would make it difficult, if not impossible, to track down the killer in a city of millions.
On top of this was a news item that didn’t receive much attention: the murder of a dozen homeless men and women in the last three days. The peculiar aspect to these killings was that each had his or her heart removed in the same fashion as the Morenos. Worse yet, a half-dozen of the victims had died in Robinson Park on the same night as Officer Early while the police investigated their comrade’s murder. This certainly gave credence to the lone psychopath theory.
During what little spare time she could wrangle over the last three days, she studied up on serial killers. Most operated in a similar fashion as who wags in the Rampart City Times had dubbed “The Heartbreaker Killer.” They chose a particular type of victim and repeated the same manner of execution over and over again, perhaps to obtain a perverse thrill. Or perhaps for some deranged moral reason. In either case, Emma—with Mr. Graves’s help from the Sanctuary—had tried to monitor the city’s homeless population to find the killer when he struck again. She hadn’t found anything yet, not even a footprint of the killer. Meanwhile, the bodies continued to pile up.
Emma sat now at her desk and faced a sea of paperwork. She had become accustomed to little sleep, but after days with no sleep, she was at the point where no amount of Red Bull could keep her from yawning every two minutes. Visions of stretching out on the couch in her office for a little nap rose in her mind.
But she couldn’t; there was too much work to do. Invoices, budgetary projections, and memos all beckoned to her. They needed to be done or else the director would take away her promotion, if not fire her altogether. T
hat might not be such a bad thing. A return to the geology department, where she could be a scientist again would be welcome at this point.
The thought to ask for such a demotion occurred to her, but she quickly rejected that notion. It went against her nature to give up on anything. And it wasn’t as if the assistant directorship was a challenge; it was just horribly dull. There was so much more she could—and should—be doing at this point. The Heartbreaker Killer’s arrest was at the top of her list.
In the middle of a yawn she heard a knock on the door. Leslie stuck her head inside. “Dr. Dreyfus would like to see you,” she said.
“Oh, sure.” Emma shoved some of the paperwork to the side of her desk and then straightened in her chair. She gave herself a quick slap to the cheek in a vain attempt to wake up.
The door opened and Leslie ushered Dan inside. He sat down across from her desk with a concerned smile. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“Just a little tired.”
“I could come back—”
“No, it’s fine.” She stifled another yawn. “Is this visit business or pleasure?”
“A little of both. You remember me saying my wife was planning a dinner party to show off the house?”
“Yes.”
“She thought—we both thought—it would be good to invite some of the museum’s biggest donors. Wine and dine them a little.”
“I see. This isn’t really a museum-sanctioned event, though.”
“I know. She thought—we thought—after the party we might donate some of the artifacts to the museum. Temporarily, of course.”
“That’s an interesting idea. I’d have to discuss it with the director. When are you holding the dinner party?”
“A week from now. Or so we hoped.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I can’t make any promises.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll be able to talk her into it.”
Emma supposed it would be easy enough to convince the director of the idea’s worthiness; the director never turned down an opportunity to glad-hand the donors. “I hope so.”
She waited until Dan left before she rested her chin on a pile of papers for a little nap before she went to see the director.
***
She woke up to another, sharper knock on her door. From the time on the clock, she had been asleep for only five minutes. She managed to get her head off the desk before Leslie opened the door. “Dr. Earl, there’s a man here to see you.” From the way Leslie clung to the edge of the door, Emma knew her secretary was trying valiantly to keep this man out. “He’s very insistent.”
“Who is it?”
“He says his name is Mr. Graves.”
“Percival Graves?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, he’s an old friend. You can let him in.”
Leslie released her grip on the door to allow Mr. Graves to burst inside. He waited until Leslie shut the door before he whispered, “We need to get out of here.”
“What? Mr. Graves, what are you doing here?”
“I was down in the Sanctuary, trying to find that killer.”
“What about the retirement home?”
“They think I’m with my son. Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Graves went to Emma’s window to look down at the street. “We have to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“The police are coming.”
“For what?”
“To arrest you, lass. For the murder of Officer Early.”
“Me? I didn’t—”
“There’s more, I’m afraid. They know you’re the Scarlet Knight. They’re coming here with the SWAT team.”
“Oh my God.” Emma joined Mr. Graves at the window to look down for a sign of the police. Her tired brain couldn’t keep up with all of this. How had the police decided she was the killer? And how had they pegged her as the Scarlet Knight?
She thought back to the scene of Officer Early’s murder. She had left before the police arrived on the scene, but maybe one of them had seen her. She had been in her armor, so they wouldn’t be able to recognize her. “You’re sure about this?”
“I heard it on the police radio downstairs. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“All right, let’s go.” Emma opened the door. “Leslie, Mr. Graves is taking me out for lunch. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” It pained Emma to lie to her secretary, but at this point she didn’t have time for the truth. If Mr. Graves were right, the police would be here in a few minutes. She could imagine Lieutenant Donovan at their head, ready to take Emma downtown for interrogation. Given what Emma knew of the lieutenant, she expected it to be a very intense interrogation and at the moment Emma didn’t have many answers to give.
With Mr. Graves behind her, Emma started towards the elevator. She didn’t get far before she heard Leslie call out her name. Emma went faster. Leslie continued to shout her name. When Emma felt a hand on her shoulder, she spun around and struck a defensive pose. Her secretary took a step back to stumble into Mr. Graves.
Leslie held out Emma’s purse; Emma blushed as she accepted the bag. “I’m sorry. Self-defense course.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma punched the button for the elevator. She twitched impatiently as she waited. Her body tensed as the elevator pinged to indicate its arrival. She braced for the doors to reveal Lieutenant Donovan and the SWAT team, all of them armed to the teeth.
The doors opened to reveal only an empty car. With a sigh of relief she stepped inside and waited for Mr. Graves before she punched the button to the ground floor. “You’re not going to the Sanctuary?” Mr. Graves asked.
“We want the cameras to see us leave. Otherwise they’ll search the building—the whole building.” Despite the sub-subbasement’s remote location and hidden walls, Emma had little doubt Lieutenant Donovan would sniff out the Sanctuary. The only way to protect its location would be to not give her reason to search the building.
She wrapped her arm around Mr. Graves to tug him along as they hurried towards the front doors. She watched the security guards to see if they had received any orders from the police to detain her. One of them waved to her. “See you later, Dr. Earl.”
“I hope not.”
***
They made it down to the front steps before Emma heard the first police sirens a few blocks away. Though it was impossible to tell, she imagined Lieutenant Donovan at the head of the column to lead the charge. She hurried Mr. Graves around a corner, past a little Turkish café. One of the owners waved to her; she returned the wave. That would help provide an even better clue to the police that Emma had left the museum.
One of the city’s many alleys lay next to the café; Emma pulled Mr. Graves into this alley. He waited while she pried off a manhole cover, always grateful the city didn’t bother to lock these down. She let Mr. Graves go down the ladder first so she could replace the manhole cover behind them.
She had also memorized the conduits around the Plaine Museum so she could always find her way to the Sanctuary without the need to ask the Sewer Rat for directions. She wondered briefly if he would show up to harass them.
He left them unmolested as they made their way to beneath the Sanctuary. Mr. Graves kept a hand on her shoulder like a blind man. “I can’t figure it out,” he said as they walked. “How did they know you were the Scarlet Knight?”
“I don’t know. It might be a bluff.”
“We can’t risk finding out, I suppose.”
“No, I guess not.”
They continued in silence to the ladder beneath the Sanctuary. Emma went first to open the hatch that led into the Sanctuary. She stood to the side then for Mr. Graves to go through so she could seal the hatch again. As she did, Mr. Graves opened the hidden wall that led from the old bomb shelter to the Scarlet Knight’s hideout.
She had just tightened the hatch when she heard Mr. Graves scream.
As she turned around, she faced a nightmare. Mr. Graves collapsed
on the ground beside the hidden door; a black blade stuck out of his chest. A black shape ducked through the entrance to the Sanctuary and unfolded itself to its full height. A pair of red eyes glowed at Emma. The Black Dragoon had found the Sanctuary.
The Dragoon raised the four claws that remained on his right hand. “Now you will die,” the Dragoon rumbled.
“Another will take my place,” Emma said. She tried to sound courageous, but failed miserably. She surveyed the bomb shelter to look for some way of escape. It would take too long to open the hatch to the sewers or to call the elevator. She was trapped. And the Scarlet Knight’s armor lay behind the Dragoon, inside the Sanctuary. She could call it to her, but she wouldn’t be able to put on the helmet before the Dragoon could run her through with one of his claws.
“After I take the armor my master will finally be able to destroy it so there will never again be a wretched Scarlet Knight.”
“We’ll see about that,” Emma said, but it was a feeble comeback. There was nothing she could do at this point but hope to draw the Dragoon away from the Sanctuary so she could dart inside. If she could get the Sword of Justice, she might be able to at least force the Dragoon to retreat.
Emma backed a few steps away to feign as if she were headed to the elevator. Her body, so tired and lethargic earlier, discovered untapped sources of energy to bring her to full alertness. She kept her eyes focused on the Dragoon to wait for him to strike. But the Dragoon would probably play with her first to savor her pain.
The Dragoon took a step towards her, his claws raised. He fired one off the right hand; Emma easily ducked under this and saw the claw whiz overhead. She heard something electric spark—the elevator controls. This must be part of the Dragoon’s game. “Why don’t you do it already?” she said.
“In time,” the Dragoon said. He took another step towards her. A second claw leaped from his fingers. Emma rolled through the mud; the claw embedded itself in the wall. Before she had time to breathe, she had to roll back the other way to escape a third claw.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 68