Desolate Mantle (Street Games Book 2)

by L. K. Hill

  She turned back to Seth. He didn’t scrutinize her as Josie had done, but he looked disturbed as he handed her a piece of paper with directions to Josie’s home.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, girl, but don’t trifle with Josie. People who do that have a way of disappearing.”

  “Thank you,” Kyra said coldly. “I wouldn’t have known.”

  Feeling a dozen sets of eyes boring into her back, she spun and stalked down the block. She didn’t dare look back, even when she turned the corner. She couldn’t keep from smiling a bit, though.

  ***

  Two hours later, she headed back to her hotel. She’d stopped to see Clyde and thank him for the performance. He’d talked with animation about how much fun it had been and how, if she ever needed someone to pretend to be a mugger or carjacker again, he’d be happy to oblige. For the normal fee, of course.

  Kyra shook her head, remembering his exuberance. If he wasn’t so twisted, he could be one of her brothers. She’d talked with him for longer than she’d planned to, and now it was nearly two-thirty in the morning. By three, the streets of the Slip Mire became largely silent and deserted. Kyra didn’t like walking them at that time. It made her feel isolated. And lonely. And sometimes she imagined danger in shadows that wouldn’t have bothered her hours earlier.

  She quickened her step, heading in the general direction of her hotel. Trudging through twisting alleys, she ran through everything that happened, and brainstormed how to fill the next forty-eight hours, until she had to go meet Josie.

  She still didn’t know what was going on at that warehouse in the Carmichael District, but obviously finding out would be harder than she’d originally thought. It would be worth the effort, though. Perhaps tomorrow night she would go there and try to glean more.

  She left a black alley and emerged onto M Street. Just as she’d thought, it was nearly deserted. A homeless person—not more than a gray lump in the red murkiness—murmured in their sleep, and up ahead a four-legged animal she couldn’t make out hurried across the road. Other than that there were no signs of life.

  With a sigh, she trudged on. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over her, and it was several miles yet to the hotel. As she walked, she allowed her thoughts to wander. Josie. Manny. Gabe Nichols.

  Soft voices reached her ears, and she froze. Up ahead, two hookers, both wearing short skirts and heels, walked with their backs to her. The one on the left had dark, shoulder-length hair. As they passed under a red light, Kyra could make out fish-net tights and—strangely—high-top tennis shoes. The hooker on the right was tall for a woman. She had bushy, waist-length hair. It was light compared with her friend’s, but under the red street lamp, it was impossible to say exactly what color.

  The presence of the two hookers surprised her because they hadn’t been there only a moment before. They must have stepped out of one of the alleys while her gaze was on the ground. For some reason, their sudden appearance spooked her.

  The tall, bushy-haired hooker turned to look down at the shorter one and Kyra pressed herself into the shadows of the building beside her, willing them to move on. They were partially obscured behind a thick wooden column that had once held a streetlight, but obviously hadn’t worked for ages.

  Then a deep, rolling, masculine voice reached Kyra’s ears. It made her heart slam against her rib cage. She had no idea why. She’d faced down Josie with a bald-faced lie, but for some reason, this unnerved her far more. She couldn’t make out what the voice had said, but it had come from up ahead of her. Leaning slowly out of the shadows, she tried to see where the man who owned the voice was. Had a john approached the two working girls?

  But there was no one. Up ahead, the two hookers were moving away from her again. Other than them, the street was empty. She leaned against the building on her right and rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted. She couldn’t have imagined that voice, could she?

  Then it came again. Wherever the man hid, he was too far away for her to make out the words, but the bass tones of male vocal cords were unmistakable. Chills dug at her spine, and Kyra wanted to be gone from this place, safe in a locked hotel room where she could shower and slide between clean sheets.

  The voice was unhinging her for reasons she couldn’t fathom. She glanced at the hookers again. They still meandered away in the distance, unaware of her presence. But where had that voice come from? When she emerged from the shadows, she didn’t want the man who owned it to see her. But she couldn’t hear him anymore, and she wasn’t staying on M Street until morning.

  Moving silently, she darted across the street and toward a dark alley that led away from it. Just before reaching the mouth of the alley, the male voice reached her ears again, louder this time. Was he getting closer? Alarmed, she lunged into the alley, but didn’t stop. The sense of danger was making her nerves raw and running seemed the best way to deal with it. She ran as fast as she dared through the twisty passages of the Mire, sometimes jogging, other times sprinting.

  She reached her hotel in record time and didn’t pause for breath until she’d turned the lock and thrown the latch.

  Chapter 4

  Gabe sighed, guiding the gearshift forward until it rested by the P. Another murder. Not just another murder, but another hooker. And only four days since the first one. His first thought, of course, had been whether this case would be connected to the one from two nights before. Two hookers, their bodies found within blocks of one another. The last thing he needed was a serial killer working in his jurisdiction.

  Shaking his head, Gabe got out of his car and headed for the alley. Of course it was a narrow alley. Wasn’t it always? The alley was so constricted that the victim, though not particularly tall for a woman, lying stretched across it, brushed both sides with her toes and fingers. She had dark, shoulder-length hair, and wore a short skirt, fish-net stockings, and high-top tennis shoes. Not the usual for a hooker, but Gabe had seen prostitutes wear far stranger things.

  As soon as he entered the alley, the smell hit him hard. He couldn’t smell it outside the alley, which meant it wasn’t overpowering, but squatting beside the body, his eyes began to water. The corpse was beginning to putrefy. The features were still easily distinguishable, but the face, shoulders and abdomen had turned greenish, and parts of them were showing signs of bloating. Gabe could see the brown line at the bottom of her arms and legs, where the blood had settled.

  For once, it wasn’t Bailey in the alley. The skinny man collecting evidence from the body was one Gabe had only met once or twice.

  “Hey—uh, Bob, is it?” Gabe asked.

  “Evening, Detective.” Bob gave him a nod.

  “You switch from day shift?”

  “Nah,” Bob shook his head while closing a collection envelope. “Got called in for a busy night. Bailey’s already working a double.”

  Gabe nodded. “So, what’ve we got?”

  “Dead prostitute.”

  “I can see that,” Gabe said dryly. “Tell me about her.”

  Bob shrugged. “Treated pretty roughly. She’s got bruises on her face and arms. I’ve found two gunshot wounds, and several stab injuries.”

  “Both?” Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Which came first?”

  “Hard to say,” Bob said, reaching across the body. He pulled the collar of her top down and to the right to expose her clavicle and upper shoulder. A nasty-looking bullet wound had punched through the flesh. Then he pushed the shirt up at the midriff, revealing two deep puncture wounds, roughly equal in size and shape. They must have been three inches across. Not just a knife, then, but a huge knife. “There’s plenty of blood at each injury site,” Bob said, “so only the ME will be able to tell what happened when. Given the amount of blood, I’d say she was alive for all of it, though.”

  “That’s some pretty brutal torture,” Gabe muttered.

  “Agreed. There’s more here.”

  He pointed with his pen to the hooker’s leg. Gabe leaned over, clicking on his mini flashlig
ht to see better. Deep lacerations marred the inside of both thighs.

  Gabe grimaced. “The inner thigh. Isn’t that a pain zone?”

  “Oh yeah,” Bob said emphatically. “Especially for women.”

  Gabe straightened his legs with a sigh. “Great. Another sadistic sicko.”

  “Another?” Bob raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. Second working girl in a week.”

  “Maybe it’s the same perp?” Bob said.

  Gabe shook his head. “Unless something specifically connects the two cases, I doubt it. The MO is completely different. Last girl was strangled. And the victimology is all over the place.”

  “Mm.”

  “Did the ME say how long she’s been dead?”

  “Given the green color, I’d say at least thirty-six hours, maybe forty-eight,” Bob answered. “She’s just starting to bloat. The ME wants us to work fast. Try to stay ahead of the decomp.”

  “I will say it’s odd to have two hookers murdered in so short a time,” Gabe said. “If they aren’t connected, I mean.”

  Bob shrugged. “Hooking’s a high-risk profession.”

  “Yes, but that’s just it. The girls know that. Usually, when one of them ends up dead, they close ranks and watch one another’s backs more closely, at least for a time. We don’t see much violence for…I don’t know. A few weeks, at least? Ugh,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Not that any of that really means anything. Especially if it does turn out to be the same guy.”

  Gabe spent another hour at the crime scene with Bob, going over every detail. There wasn’t much to go on beyond what Bob first told him. No clues in the alley around the body, no strange hairs collected. The body carried no ID—no surprise there—but they printed her. Basically, not much to draw any conclusions from until the ME’s report came back.

  After getting a good impression of the scene, Gabe began talking to the crowd of onlookers. The unies had found two women who identified the victim as Janny Talbot. Obviously working girls themselves, they knew her because they’d often worked the same corners as Janny. But, of course, neither they, nor anyone else Gabe talked to had seen or heard from her in days. Given her time of death, that wasn’t surprising, but no one had any light to shed on who she was with recently, or who was the last person to see her alive. Gabe sighed often throughout the night. Cases that began this way weren’t often solved.

  Chapter 5

  Kyra got close enough to the crime scene to peer into the alley, her heart in her throat, but backed away when she recognized the dark sedan that pulled up. Yanking her hoodie more tightly around her face, she melted backward into the crowd, careful to avoid Gabe’s line of sight. She’d backed up almost against the building across the street, when a hand landed firmly on her shoulder.

  Sucking in her breath, Kyra swung around, ready to attack if necessary. Sadie’s orange hair gleamed dully in the red lamp light, and Kyra immediately relaxed.

  “I thought that was you,” Sadie said quietly. “Where you goin’?”

  Kyra opened her mouth, then shut it. “Come with me a minute.” She led Sadie into an alley far enough from the crime scene that they wouldn’t be observed, but close enough to keep an eye on things.

  “What’s wrong?” Sadie asked, when they were safely secreted in the shadows. Tonight Sadie wore pants so short they might have been panties, and a skin-tight tank that enhanced her curvy assets. Her hair was pulled back from her face, her makeup so over-the-top, Kyra could make out the red blush and blue eye shadow even in the near-darkness.

  “Did you know that girl?” Kyra asked, ignoring Sadie’s question.

  Sadie hesitated slightly before nodding. “Her name’s Janny. We weren’t BFFs or nothin’, but I saw her a lot. Had us some small talk.” Her voice shrank until Kyra leaned forward to hear it. “She was nice.”

  “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

  Sadie nodded in the darkness. “First Mallory. Now Janny…I gotta get outta this place.”

  Kyra raised an eyebrow. “You want to leave? Since when?”

  Sadie shrugged, seeming self-conscious. “Havin’ a kid changes you. I never cared before. Now, I don’t wanna raise Annie here. I’m savin’ money, ya know? Gonna try and get a more ‘spectable place, a real job, even if it’s only a few miles away.”

  In Abstreuse, a few miles could make a huge difference. “Sadie, that’s great.”

  Sadie gazed at her in the darkness for a time. “If you don’t like it here, why’re you tryin’ to set up business?”

  Berating herself for opening the door to unwanted questions, Kyra shook her head and spoke quickly. “I have my reasons. So what the hell happened? With Janny, I mean. Was anyone else hanging with her tonight?”

  Sadie shook her head. “Don’t know. Hadn’t seen ‘er for more’n a week.”

  Kyra sighed, the sick feeling compounding in her stomach. “I had.”

  She could feel Sadie’s eyes widening in the darkness. “When?”

  “Probably right before she died.” She quickly told Kyra about seeing Janny with the tall hooker two night’s past, on her way back to her hotel. She left out the details of where she was coming from and going to. “Does she sound familiar to you—the tall, bushy-haired one?”

  Sadie didn’t answer for a long time. So long, Kyra became aware the other woman’s breathing had grown deeper. She put a hand on Sadie’s arm. “What is it?”

  Sadie jerked her arm away and took several steps backward. “No. Sorry. I gotta go.”

  Rather than stepping around Kyra, she turned and retreated further into the blackness of the alley. Kyra lunged after her and grabbed her arm. “Oh no you don’t. What do you know? Who is this tall woman?”

  “I don’t know,” Sadie said firmly. “Stop askin’ me.”

  “Sadie, it’s just you and me here. You can—”

  “You don’t know that,” Sadie hissed. “You never know who’s listenin’ or from where out here.” She shook Kyra off and started away again, but stopped after three strides. Then she turned. “If you want to…go back to my place and chat…about other things, we can do that.”

  “But when I said—”

  “I’m done talkin’ about this Supra,” Sadie said, desperation entering her voice. “Other things. In my apartment.” She emphasized the words, and a moment later, Kyra realized why. Sadie’s apartment wasn’t nice, but it was private. Mirelings were lazy by nature. If they happened to overhear something valuable in an alley and could sell it to the right person for the right prices or substance, that was one thing. Most wouldn’t go out of their way to follow anyone or listened through closed doors, so Sadie’s apartment was actually a safe bet.

  “Uh, right. Your place. We’ll…have a drink and talk about…men.”

  Sadie heaved a relieved sigh.

  Before she could say anything else, a loud voice made Kyra jump. She edged toward the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner.

  “But I can’t find him,” the voice protested loudly. Big Johnny was making a ruckus again. “I think they dragged him away. If you won’t help me I’ll ask the police officer.” Johnny tried to push his way toward the crime scene, with several Mirelings, mostly the working girls, making attempts to hush him and keep him still. Several of the uniformed cops noticed and were looked askance at Johnny, though none had approached him yet. If they did, the girls around him would likely scatter.

  Kyra glanced at Gabe, who still squatted over Janny’s body. Kyra needed to be long gone before Gabe started making his way through the crowd of onlookers, as he always did at a crime scene.

  “I doubt there’ll be much business after this anyway,” Sadie said, and Kyra jumped. She’d been so engrossed, she hadn’t heard Sadie come up behind her. Now the other woman motioned vaguely toward the cordoned-off crime scene. “Everyone’s too freaked out.”

  “Big Johnny was going on about something several nights back, too,” Kyra said. “What’s going on with him?”

  Sadie waved
a hand dismissively. “He keeps tellin’ everyone that someone he knows is missin’. A Jack something? I never heard of the guy. I kinda think Johnny made him up. Imaginary friend or somethin’.”

  Kyra frowned. “I’ve never known Johnny to make something like that up. Has he done it before?”

  Sadie shrugged. “Don’t know. But you know Johnny’s slow. I’m surprised he’s survived this long in the Mire. Maybe his mental state is just gettin’ worse, ya know?”

  Kyra nodded, but something about Johnny’s behavior seemed off. She made a mental note of it. Sadie had already turned and headed into the darkness of the alley.

  Throwing a last glance over her shoulder, Kyra fell in beside her. As they walked, Kyra cast a side-long glance at her friend.

  “What?” Sadie asked, not turning.

  “Johnny said something about his friend being dragged away. What do you think he meant? Who would do that?”

  Sadie frowned. “The Prowlers, maybe.”

  “But, I thought the Prowlers only lived past five layers deep. Johnny may be simple-minded, but he’s too afraid to venture that deep.”

  “They live past four layers deep, in the fifth layer,” Sadie corrected. “And that don’t mean they couldn’t come to the busy streets and snatch people up.”

  Kyra stopped dead. Sadie walked two more paces before realizing Kyra had stopped and turned back.

  “They do that?” Kyra asked. “Snatch people and drag them away, like Johnny said. Sadie, could this guy who’s killing working girls be a Prowler?”

  Sadie shook her head long before Kyra finished. “No. The Prowlers don’t work like that. Not anymore.”

  “Not anymore? What does that mean?”

  Sadie shrugged. “I’ve heard stories of them dragging people into the darkness, but I never actually heard of it happ’nin’ to anyone I know.”

  “So do you think it’s a superstition then?”

  Sadie gave her a blank look. “A what?”

  “Do you think they’re just stories people tell, because they’re afraid of the Prowlers, but the stories aren’t actually true?”