8
Surrounded by lush green space, the war memorial stood out at the top of the hill.
Alexis walked the pathway up the slight rise to meet her informant. She received the request for a meet in the usual manner. Two words were posted to the comment section of her blog under the name E. Ness: Great post.
She put her shoulder into the cold wind. If he called a meet, then he must have more on Miller. She crested the hill and saw the moon hanging in the clear night sky. Passing the darkened memorial, she sat on the second bench to wait.
Her informant appeared from behind the cement pillars of the memorial. He kept his face in shadow and took the seat next to her.
Her mind flashed back to their first meeting here on another cold night …
… He stood with hands thrust in his pockets and said, “I won’t give you my name.”
“That’s fine.”
He sat on a bench and motioned for her to do likewise. “I decide when we meet. And when we do, we don’t look at each other. If anyone sees us, they won’t suspect we’re together. No one can know about this.”
“I understand,” she said, “Tell me why you’re here?”
He exhaled, and she watched his breath condense. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I know you want to bring Nathan Miller down but, to work together, I need to know why. You have your rules, that’s mine.”
“It matters to you?” he asked.
“This is a dangerous endeavor. I have to know I can trust you. For that, I need to know why it matters to you.”
He nodded and asked, “You ever heard the name Reggie Winslow?”
She thought it sounded familiar but allowed him to continue.
“He’s been in the news of late. Murdered as part of a gang initiation. I knew him before though. I grew up in a rough part of the city. Hollins has always been a haven for corruption and gangs. Rather than help the neighborhood, the police profited from the misery. Reggie was different though—he was a beacon of hope who spent his life running the community center and preaching to all the kids about the right path. He saved many from the gang life, including me.”
After a moment, he continued. “He told me I could be a positive agent of change—I could stop the corruption and make a real difference. I looked up to him, so I believed him.”
She shifted forward on her seat.
“But, I lost my way,” he said, “I stopped caring about Hollins, the gang problem, and even Reggie. I was out, and I wanted to stay out. About a week ago, Reggie asked for my help. He knew a kid who was teetering on the brink, about to fall into the gang life. He wanted me to speak to him—to show him the better way. Reggie thought I could be the shining example for this kid.”
He took a deep breath before he said, “I told him he was being naïve. Gang life was all Hollins would ever know, and he should get out like I did. His disappointment in me was palpable. We didn’t speak again. The kid chose the gang and murdered Reggie for his initiation. He didn’t deserve to go out that way. After all the good he did, he got a pauper’s grave from the city and a funeral attended by few. He deserved better. I owed him better. You ask why I’m doing this,” he said, “I owe it to Reggie to see his dream through—to see Union City rise from the muck …
… Her informant coughed to clear his throat and brought her out of her memories. With mordant wit, Alexis said, “Thanks for the head’s up about those thugs.”
He looked around the empty memorial and sighed. “I don’t know everything he does you know. Are you hurt?”
“I’ll live.”
Alexis struggled with the effort not to look at him. As always, she thought it overkill. “You called the meet,” she said. “What have you got?”
Ness sighed again. “I need out. I can’t do this anymore.”
Shocked, Alexis opened and closed her mouth, searching for the words. “Can I ask why?”
“He’s tearing the city apart,” Ness said. “Turning over every rock to find out who talked. If he finds out—”
“He won’t,” Alexis interrupted. “No one outside of us knows anything.”
Ness laughed bitterly.
Alexis shook her head. “No one knows except you and me. Not even my assistant knows your identity. Miller can turn over all the rocks he wants—you’re safe.”
“Heh,” Ness asked, “Do you even know the meaning of the word?”
Alexis, sensing encouragement wouldn’t work, switched tactics.
“You approached me, remember? You said you wanted to change things—to make them better. Did you think it would be easy? They were never going to give up without a fight.”
Ness stood and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “It’s my life. If he finds out I talked he will end it.”
“It’s not just your life! You got me involved in this, don’t hang me out to dry. Please.”
Ness said nothing, and Alexis tried again. “I know you’re scared. I can’t make you continue this, but we’re close. We really are. Look what we’ve done already.”
Ness scoffed. “What have we done? I gave you everything, and you got him a slap on the wrist. I told you about the protection ring, the extortion, the bribery, and all you managed was to give him a two-week vacation.”
Alexis bristled at his tone. Standing, she said, “I crucified him in the media. If you want to finish him, I need more than hearsay and conjecture. I need evidence of a crime, something solid to take to the AG’s office.”
She stared at his back for a moment before he walked a short distance away. She started to protest when he stopped. “What do you need?” he asked.
“Evidence that will stand up in court,” she said. “He’s protected, so it needs to be indisputable. Can you get me that?”
With a solemn nod, he answered, “I can.”
Alexis cinched her jacket tighter. “We can do this together. We can make a real difference.”
“Just promise me one thing.” She waited a moment before Ness said, “If they find me dead, promise me you’ll bury the son of a bitch.”
9
Heavy flakes of snow fell on the darkened streets outside the wall.
“Did you feel that?” a displaced woman asked, rubbing her shoulder as snowflakes swirled around her.
His long hair pulled by a sudden wind, her companion answered, “Yeah, what was that?”
Racing through the city streets faster than sound, Blur zigged and zagged to avoid or cause collisions as he saw fit. At a staggering pace of eight hundred and seventy-three miles per hour or three hundred and ninety meters per second, he ran unseen to the world around him.
But to him, everything was clear. As he ran, he saw the tiniest detail of his surroundings. His eyes missed nothing. At his breakneck speed, his feet barely touched the pavement.
He sped down Ninth Street and left the road behind. Heading down the embankment, he whipped across the surface of the river. His momentum kept him aloft over the water and sent a plume of spray high in his wake, marking his passage.
On the other side, he raced past the ruins of Bennington Place—once a shopping mall, now a derelict monument to capitalism used by the displaced to avoid the elements. He considered wreaking havoc within. No, business before pleasure.
Blur arrived outside the giant pine doors of St. Luke’s Church and came to a halt. A wicked grin parted his lips.
Even at rest, the buildup of kinetic energy kept him vibrating and obscured his features. All that could be seen were his sadistic smile and the indigo hue of his friction proof suit.
In the space of a thought, he moved inside the church. Standing beside the stoup of holy water, he vibrated with anticipation of what was to come.
The heavy doors behind him shut with a bang which startled the parishioners scattered throughout the pews. From the altar, the priest saw him and stopped his sermon.
His appearance in this place, no doubt, conjured up images of Old Testament demons in the
minds of those gathered.
As the priest opened his mouth to say something, Blur sprung to action. He zoomed up the chancel, placed one hand on the priest’s chin, one behind his head, and twisted his head clear around severing the spinal column.
Croaked screams rose but ceased quickly as five more parishioners died in the same violent manner. Blur raced about the church, savoring the joy of the deranged. He dispatched another seven souls before returning to the spot he entered.
He stood there a moment as his victims succumbed to gravity and slumped over dead in their pews. His task complete, he smiled at the grim result and was gone again in the blink of an eye.
10
Their cruiser coasted to a stop next to the curb in front of St. Luke’s Church. Leaving the warmth of the interior, Nathan tightened the collar of his trench coat with his real hand.
The police cordoned off the block of Rosewalk at six-thirty this morning when the first cruiser arrived on the scene. In the two hours since they’d found few answers.
His feet crunched the fresh snow along the walk to the large pine doors and the carnage behind them.
Beside him, Quinn finished knotting his tie and said, “You’ll notice where we are again—outside the wall. Just saying.”
Nathan frowned. “Try not saying.”
“Detectives?”
They turned to see a stout officer approaching them. “You must be the homicide detectives?” He extended a gloved hand.
With a curt nod and clipped handshake, Nathan made the introductions. “Detective Miller and Detective Baker. What have we got Sergeant?”
“Sergeant Corveau.” He grimaced. “You two had breakfast yet?”
“Is it that bad?” Quinn asked.
“Let me put it this way, Walters was first on scene, a hardened thirty-year man.” He pointed to the rotating lights of an ambulance across the street. “That’s him on the tailgate there—the one with the complexion of a frog.”
“Who discovered the scene?” Nathan asked.
Corveau checked his notes. “Regina Jackson. She works as the Pastoral Minister here. Came across the scene when she arrived at six to open for the day.”
“What the hell does a Pastoral Minister do?” Quinn wondered aloud.
Corveau and Nathan both gave him a look. “Relevance,” Nathan said, “Find some or keep it to yourself.”
To Corveau, Nathan asked, “She still here?”
“Yeah, but…in a bad way.”
“Homicide scenes will do that to you,” Quinn said.
“Any survivors?” Nathan asked.
Corveau shook his head.
Nathan waved at the doors. “Lead the way Sergeant.”
With a silent nod, Corveau turned around and ushered them inside the church.
Behind the pine doors, the air was humid and tinged with a metallic scent. The macabre scene stood in stark contrast to a house of worship.
Quinn whistled. “Jesus.”
Kneeling next to a pew, Nathan asked, “Has anyone touched the bodies?”
“No sir,” Corveau said, “We’re waiting on the M.E. to pronounce.”
Nathan stared a long while at the remains in the pew. The body slumped forward and stiff with rigor, head twisted around, so the dead eyes pointed heavenward.
With a grunt, he turned his head to take in the rest of the carnage. “Well, Rook, what’s your impression?”
“We’re looking for multiple attackers.”
“Because no one tried to run?”
Quinn nodded. “A neck snapped like this, and I guarantee you run—unless you can’t.”
“Or it happened fast,” Nathan said. “This is a fair size space and bodies are lying all throughout. There would’ve been panic after the first kill, and yet no one made it out of the pews. Why?”
“Multiple attackers.”
Nathan rose. “Makes a certain amount of sense, and yet—”
“You have a better explanation?”
“Can you imagine the strength needed to twist a head around like that? You see something like that, how many people would it take to keep you from moving?”
Quinn contemplated the question and found no answer. Nathan cocked an eyebrow at him. “You see my point.”
Quinn asked, “If this is a single attacker, how did they kill everyone without them moving? No one moves that fast.”
“Questions abound.” Nathan turned to Corveau. “We know who the victims are yet?”
Corveau nodded. “We’ve scanned all the Identchips.”
“Forward us the results.”
“What are you thinking?” Quinn asked.
Speaking aloud as much to his partner, Nathan said, “There had to be a reason for all this. Forget the how for now. We find out who was here and, maybe, we find out why.”
“This had to be random,” Quinn said. “The perp had hours before we found the scene. Extracting the chips wouldn’t have been a problem. And if they were after someone specific, they would’ve taken the Identchips to make it harder for us to find them.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Nathan said. “Never underestimate human stupidity, Rook.” Nathan left the pew. “Just take a look at where we are.”
Corveau joined him at his hip while Quinn followed behind them to the doors.
“Be sure to send us that list of names ASAP,” Nathan said. “I want to get warrants started for tracking data.”
Corveau nodded as they exited the church into a blast of cold air. “Will do. Anything else you need?”
Nathan scanned the area with a thoughtful expression. He cinched his collar tighter and asked, “Any scanners in the vicinity?”
Corveau shook his head. “The church had none. We can cast a wider net. We might get lucky though, given the neighborhood, I doubt it.”
“Do it.” Pointing at Quinn, he motioned with two fingers for him to follow.
“What’s up?” Quinn asked.
“There’s nothing we can do right now. There were no witnesses so, until we get the victim list or an image on tape, we have other priorities.”
As they approached the cruiser, Quinn asked, “Where are we going?”
Nathan opened the door and said, “To see an old friend.”
Nathan rapped on the storm door of the clapboard white siding home.
Beside him, Quinn shifted his feet and asked, “What are we doing here?”
Nathan ignored the question as he took in their surroundings. Once affluent—before a wall encircled the city—the neighborhood was now dotted with homes falling into disrepair.
Even inside the wall, some neighborhoods never recovered from that decision.
“Well?” Quinn said.
“I told you before,” Nathan answered, “We’re seeing an old friend.”
“And I told you on the ride over here,” Quinn said, “I don’t believe you could have friends.”
Nathan gave him a look as the door opened.
Eli Wurth squinted a moment at them before he reached a hand into his jacket, patted his sweater, and found his glasses. With them in place, he focused on his visitors with eyes that matched the defiant set to his jaw. He showed a gap-toothed grin. “Nate, my boy. Come in, come in.”
Nathan stepped forward, and Eli hooked his thumb toward Quinn. “Who’s the stiff?”
“Quinn Baker,” Nathan answered, “my department issued partner.”
Eli looked him up and down. “It’s a shame you can’t pick those.”
With a tap on his shoulder, Nathan agreed, “Isn’t it though.”
“Are you guys finished?” Quinn asked as he moved past Eli.
“Bah.” Eli gave him a dismissive wave. “Relax, Rook. We’re just teasing.”
“You’re looking good,” Nathan said as they entered the sitting room.
“And you’re still terrible at small talk I see,” Eli said. “He awkward with you too, Rook?”
Quinn smiled.
“I wouldn’t call him eloquent.”
“Ha!” Eli laughed. “Take a seat, boys. Can I offer you a drink?”
Eli moved to the sideboard and poured himself a scotch.
“I’ll take one,” Nathan said.
“And you, Rook?” Eli asked.
Quinn shook his head.
“Don’t drink huh?” Eli said.
“Not this early.”
Eli grabbed the two glasses and moved to the wooden rocker next to the stone fireplace. It was a department gift for his thirty years of service and took convincing by Nathan to keep him from turning it into kindling.
“The sun is over the yardarm somewhere on the globe.” Eli took a pull of the amber liquid. A white cat jumped into Eli’s lap and made itself at home. Setting the glass down, Eli nodded toward Quinn. “So how do you like it here in our fair city?”
Quinn answered with a shrug. “It’s not bad.”
Eli stroked the cat. “Got some nice perks too.” He cocked his eyebrows. “Am I right?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Eli leaned over to grab his glass. Pointing it at Quinn, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nathan swallowed a shot of his own before he said, “Quinn doesn’t partake.”
Eli laughed hard enough to spill some of his drink and upset the cat’s solace. With a look at Nathan, he asked, “Fuck. Are you serious?”
Nathan gave a slight nod, and Eli returned to scratching his cat. “Well I’ll be,” he said, “We got ourselves an honest man here.”
“Something wrong with that?” Quinn asked.
Eli finished his drink before he answered. “No, nothing, Rook. Just surprising is all, didn’t think we had any honest men left here.”
He slid forward and rose to make himself another drink, sending the cat to the floor. With his back to them, Eli said, “You know the thing about an honest man, Rook?”
Ice cubes clinked against the glass as he dropped them in. He poured scotch over them and watched them crack before he turned to face them. Lifting his glass to Quinn, Eli said, “You can never be sure if you can trust them. It’s a paradox. You can trust a man who partakes. You know they aren’t going to turn you in because their hands are just as filthy. But an honest man …”
Singularity Page 4