7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series)

by Carolyn McCray

  As Darc pushed himself up to standing, Trey kept thinking one thing over and over. The thought was as persistent as it was terrifying.

  What if Darc never got it back together, and Trey had to figure everything out?

  It was just way too much for him to even consider.

  *

  As Darc followed after Trey, he watched his partner move with an urgency and assurance that Darc had never seen in Trey before. It appeared as though Trey were trailing a nimbus of glowing purpose similar to Darc’s threads of logic.

  Even as he recognized the change in his partner, he discovered the genesis of that transformation. Trey filled the void left by Darc’s immobilization. It was not a pleasant realization, and nor did Darc have any idea what to do to rectify the situation.

  Moving toward the entrance to the precinct building, Darc spotted a familiar face approaching. It was the chiseled features and Aryan genetic heritage belonging to the Deputy Attorney, Bryce Van Owen. The attorney moved to intercept Trey.

  “Detective Keane, do you have a second?”

  Trey, normally more than happy to put off a trip to a crime scene by having a conversation or two on his way out of the building, kept walking without slowing, giving the attorney a brief shake of the head as he passed him by. “Sorry, man. Got a possible crime scene waiting.”

  “Uh, okay.” Clearly, Bryce Van Owen was not used to being put off in that way. “But it was the latest case I was wanting to talk to you about. I’m not sure you have the right guy in custody.”

  “Tell me about it,” Trey muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Darc to hear. But Van Owen, who had fallen behind, was out of earshot. Darc’s partner then raised his voice to reach the trailing attorney. “We can discuss it once Darc and I get back. Sound good?” He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing out of the double doors that led to the parking lot.

  “Wow. I didn’t think your partner was so… focused,” Van Owen confessed to Darc. “Let him know I’ll be waiting for a call once you two get back.” The attorney spun on his heel and headed back down the hallway, either to talk to the captain or to check in on other cases, Darc deduced.

  As Darc pushed his way out of the double doors, he almost collided with Trey, who seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion with a tall, professional-looking brunette. They were almost the same height as one another, but the way the woman held herself, she appeared to loom over Darc’s partner. Fascinating. Darc decided that at some future point he would need to make a study of that phenomenon.

  “Look, Ms. King—” Trey asserted.

  “You can call me Charity, Detective. Please.” She flashed a smile that reminded Darc of certain breeds of shark.

  “Ms. King,” Trey continued. “I don’t care what you’ve heard through the grapevine. There’s nothing going on with the fingernail—”

  “Nail Biter,” the woman corrected him.

  “Whatever. There’s nothing to talk about.” Trey moved as if to pass her by, but the brunette countered, keeping him immobile.

  “That’s not what my sources say. They say there’s a cover-up happening in the department right now. That there were actually two killers.”

  Trey laughed, sounding for all the world as if what he had heard were the most ridiculous thing spoken by human lips. His facility with deception was impressive, Darc decided. Perhaps he could get his partner to write up a third set of rules regarding that topic, as well.

  “Your sources think that there are two crazies out there pulling fingernails off of corpses? Maybe you need to dig up some better informants, Ms. King.” Trey moved around the woman, successfully outmaneuvering her this time.

  “Well, you can’t stop me from following you, wherever you’re going,” the woman called out to Trey’s back. She sounded far less confident than she had a moment ago.

  As the two detectives moved away from the brunette, who appeared to be running as fast as she could in high heels to get into a nearby new van, Trey turned to Darc. He shook his head in obvious disbelief.

  “Dude. I never realized how hard it was to be out in front. No wonder you always just shoved your way past everybody.”

  “That was a reporter.” Darc made sure his tone conveyed that this was not a question, but an observation.

  “Yeah. She’s been sniffing around the Krauss case lately. Even came up with a media name for him. “Nail Biter.” Not bad, if you like that kind of on-the-nose stuff.” Trey sniffed.

  “Having her follow us to the crime scene could be uncomfortable, particularly if it relates to the Diamante murder,” Darc cautioned. The threads of logic were unclear, but the majority pointed to a causal link.

  “We’ll sic Mala on her,” Trey replied. “If there’s anyone that can stand up to that barracuda back there, it’s her.”

  The tenuous strands of reason dissipated at the mention of the doctor. Darc felt the creeping tendrils of gray wind their way through his mind, stifling thought, chilling reason, crippling inspiration. This pattern could not be allowed to continue.

  But as the chill fingers of his self-doubt penetrated farther into the recesses of his psyche, Darc realized that he might not have any choice in the matter.

  *

  There were times that Mala longed for the luxury of screaming at the top of her lungs, regardless of which ears might hear.

  This was one of those times.

  After finally being walked through the labyrinthine foster parent process by her hedgehog-loving new best friend, Mala had thought the nightmare over. But, apparently, it had only just begun. With a surprise inspection of her apartment. It seemed that Mala had been living in a veritable death trap for years without even suspecting it.

  Her hot water was too hot and needed to be turned down—to a level that Mala was fairly certain was not hot. Her medications needed to be under lock and key. Her cleaning supplies needed to be under lock and key. Her personal life? Well, that didn’t need to be under lock and key, because it would no longer exist.

  She wanted to be grateful for the process. It was one that weeded out the undesirable foster parents only in it for the cash payout. But having to place child locks on every single cabinet in the house? This was a girl who had been strapped up to a bomb set to destroy the entire downtown area of Seattle. Mala was pretty sure Janey wasn’t going to accidentally overdose on Ibuprofen.

  Thinking about all Janey had been through made this whole process both more urgent and frustrating in the same breath. Mala wanted to get her home to start the process of healing the poor girl’s battered psyche, but that couldn’t happen until all the hoops were leapt through. After being chased down by exotic venomous snakes and shoved into the chest cavity of a murder victim, the girl was not going to be traumatized by a few unpadded corners on a coffee table.

  The “deadly” problems now having been identified, Mala had a lot of work to do to make her home ready for Janey. Work that she had little time for, especially since the case was heating up with new crime scenes. New crime scenes that had come about after their prime suspect had been taken into custody. Not good.

  At least this crime scene was in a nice area. Up to this point, most of Mala’s experiences with cases had taken her to some pretty seedy areas. This was one of the more upscale neighborhoods. Beat-up Toyota Camrys from the late 90s had given way to brand new Audis and BMWs. And the streets were kept clean.

  As Mala approached the door of the upscale apartment complex, she noted a FOX news van parked out front. An attractive but severe-looking woman was leaning against the vehicle, attempting—and failing—to adopt a casual pose.

  From the door or the complex, a uniformed police officer trotted over to meet her. “Dr. Charan?” he asked.

  “Yes. I am Dr. Charan.”

  “I’m Officer Garren. I was told to keep you down here in the lobby until Detective Keane comes to meet you.”

  Mala felt her back stiffen at the implied insult until she stopped and realized that it was Trey who h
ad requested it. She knew Trey. Trey valued her as a strong woman. Not that he would probably put it that way. It would probably be closer to ‘She is one tough chick.’ But the end result was the same. There was respect there.

  So there must be a good reason for why he wanted her to wait down here. Mala might or might not agree with him, when it came right down to it, but she was pretty certain that whatever was up there was bad. The last time Trey had told her not to look at something and she hadn’t paid attention, she had regretted it. You couldn’t un-see things like that. Not without a lot of head trauma.

  So, she sat outside in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored lobby with mahogany accents, trying not to fume. At this point, she wasn’t sure whether she was fuming at Trey for trying to protect her or at herself for being a wimp.

  Mala didn’t have too long to wait. Trey bounded out of the elevator and ran up to her, bouncing around like an excited puppy.

  “The elevator has a glass floor. Totally freaky. You gotta try this.” He grabbed her hand and started back toward the door, which was just about to close. “Wait a minute. I wanted you to wait here.” He stopped, totally deflated. “And you probably should.”

  Chuckling at his erratic mood swings, Mala asked, “Okay, spill it. What’s so bad up there?”

  Trey thought for a minute. “Well, it’s not as bad as Father John, but you didn’t see a lot of that stuff. This is more… how should I put it? It’s intimate. It’s in-your-face murder. I thought it might affect you more.” He shuddered, his face turning white, then green. “It was more than enough for me. Darc’s still up there, flying his freak flag.”

  “Do you think I can handle it?”

  “Please,” Trey scoffed. “You can handle a lot more than I can. I just wanted to spare you the sight if you didn’t want to see it.”

  Mala thought about it for a moment. While it was true that she didn’t really care for the nightmares that sometimes came after seeing this kind of brutality, if she was going to be any help to this case whatsoever, she had to know what was going on. She could wait for the crime scene photos, but they would lack the immediacy of seeing the site itself.

  Time to face her demons. She squared her shoulders, turned to Trey and said, “Time to see that glass floor.”

  Trey nodded and led her over to the elevator. The floor was, indeed, glass. That was weird, and more than a little disconcerting. Mala decided that maybe she wouldn’t continue to look down while the elevator was still in motion. There was a scent of something floral in the enclosed space. Lavender? Jasmine? She couldn’t place it, but it was pleasant, and it managed to offset the vertigo caused by the transparent floor.

  As they rode up together, Trey filled her in on the details of the murder. “Okay, Doc, I’m gonna be honest with you, this one’s gross. Oh, hey, you don’t have an issue with bees, do you?”

  “Bees? What—?”

  “You’ll see when you get up there. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t allergic or anything. Anyway, according to the M.E., it looks like the victim was forcefed and then beaten in the abdomen, which made his stomach blow up.” Trey shrugged. “Not the technical term Dr. Hutchinson used, but whatever. Guy’s a stuck-up prick.”

  The elevator dinged their floor, and Trey put out one hand to hold the door open, the other to keep Mala from leaving. He faced her, peering into her face, and said, “There’s another part you need to know about. It’s pretty gross.” He paused, looking for all the world like he was gearing up for something. “The killer cut out the victim’s tongue.”

  Mala shuddered, but then thought about it for a moment. That, while extreme, didn’t seem to be enough to make Trey keep her away.

  “Is there something else you’re not telling me about this?”

  Trey ducked his head. “It’s what the killer made the victim do with the tongue once it was cut out.”

  Mala waited for a moment, expecting more information to be forthcoming. When Trey remained silent, she probed further.

  “So what did the killer do with the tongue?”

  Trey’s face went white, and Mala could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallowed. Whatever it was, it was not pleasant.

  “The killer forced the guy to eat it.”

  All of the sudden, Mala found that she wasn’t so sure this was the job for her.

  CHAPTER 12

  The symbol detached itself from the victim’s forehead, revolving in space, trailing gleaming spirals of color that left an indelible path carved into Darc’s mind. The symbol appeared to be two capital Ys attached to one another, once more with the upper arms connected by a horizontal bar. It was the Babylonian symbol for two.

  The second murder.

  Darc knew that Mala was on her way upstairs. The uniformed officer had scuttled in a few minutes ago, whispering to Trey that the doctor was here. After years of working with Darc, Trey must understand that Darc could perceive those suspirations, regardless of how miniscule they might be.

  The fact that Trey had wished to spare Mala from the shock of the crime scene was baffling to Darc. Mala was to be an integral part of this investigation, regardless of the havoc it would cause to Darc’s equilibrium. If he could deal with the inconvenience of emotion, she could handle some exsanguination.

  Plus, there might be elements of the crime that Mala, as a psychologist, could see that would remain hidden to Trey or Darc. He was honest enough in his assessments that he knew himself to be hampered as far as his emotions and empathy were concerned.

  Finding the connective through-lines of the killer’s psyche would be like wandering through a dense inner fog for Darc, whereas Mala could trace those ties as easily as Darc found logical paths. Glowing trails of colored lights…

  The pattern of the blood spatter from the victim lifted itself up off the ground and gyrated several times, glowing brighter with each revolution, then settled into its proper place, spitting out another image, a cipher that spoke of the force of impact required to create the spray. Pounds per square inch. Facts.

  The bees buzzing around the face of the victim traced another radiant motif that worked in counterpoint to the first, the bright lines merging and repelling one another in an endless dance of logic. The insects left traces of the golden viscous fluid that surrounded the mouth of the corpse, the design melding and mixing with the deeper-hued red of oxygenated hemoglobin. Honey and blood.

  “Okay, so the honey… that’s weird,” rasped a voice behind Darc. As Darc and Trey had arrived at the scene, they had encountered Bill Harris, a private investigator who seemed to have some long-standing relationship with Darc’s partner. Trey had seemed initially surprised to find Bill there ahead of them, but had quickly included the man in almost every detail of their investigation.

  Bill began circling the body as he consumed a pungent-smelling sandwich. Darc found this troubling on many levels, not the least of which was because the man seemed to think that Darc was obligated to converse with him until Trey arrived.

  In addition, the chatter of this ungainly man disrupted the flow of the symbols and patterns within Darc’s mind. The unattractive investigator shook his head as he leaned in to better observe the body.

  Darc segregated out the random interference that the man’s presence caused. As the noise of non-essential information was filtered out, the ciphers clarified, spinning and sliding into spaces where they would either land or continue in their purposeful movement.

  The soothing balm of the symbols was ruptured by the entrance of Trey, followed by Mala. Gray tentacles wormed their way in between the glowing letters, forcing apart the lines of logic.

  “Okay, Mala’s here. The party can start.” Trey glanced down at the corpse surrounded by a pool of blood and honey and winced. “All right. That might have been a poor choice of words. I can see that.” He looked up and caught sight of the P.I. “Hey, Bill. See anything useful?”

  “Naw. Probably nothing you haven’t already spotted. Just that the guy�
�s got more of a gut than me.” Bill scratched at his belly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  Trey glanced at him. “Wait a minute. Is that my pastrami on rye?”

  Bill shrugged. “I got hungry. Sue me.”

  Mala came farther into the room and nodded at Darc, paused for a moment as she observed the private investigator, and then reoriented to the room, her gaze drifting down to the body. The only indication that she was having a reaction was the stiffening of the muscles along her jaw.

  “Do we know who he is and what he did for a living?” she asked, glancing around the room.

  Trey answered. “His name is Robert Clayton. He was a sales team manager at the Philip Morris sales office over in Bellevue.”

  The M.E., Dr. Hutchinson, approached the loose grouping made up of Trey, Darc and Mala. “Dr. Charan, I presume?” His tone was cool, professional.

  Mala matched him tone for tone, but did it with a warm smile that seemed to defrost the cold exterior of the coroner. “You presume correctly, Doctor. You’re the M.E.?”

  “I am. It’s nice to have another university-trained intellect on the case.” The doctor flicked his eyes from Darc to Trey and then back to Mala. “I told Detective Keane that you would want to see the crime scene.”

  “Yes. He was just being chivalrous. He does that sometimes.” The smile Mala directed at the M.E. was all teeth. As far as Darc could tell from her expressions, Mala was either interested in the man or wanted to eat him. The latter seemed unlikely. The former cast a gray shadow over Darc so dense it seemed possible he could suffocate.

  “Well, as you can tell,” the M.E. said, returning his attention to the body, “the distended stomach is a direct result of force feeding. The victim seems to have been only moderately overweight. We will take the contents of his stomach back to the lab to ascertain what, exactly, he was fed. Although we do know at least one thing that was on the menu.”

  “The tongue?” Mala inquired.

  “Indeed. It was cut out of his mouth and then fed to him in one large chunk. I thought at first it might be the cause of death, but it appears that it was not asphyxiation. It’s possible his stomach ruptured, as there was obvious blunt force trauma to the abdomen and upper torso, enough to cause the blood spatter found close to the body. Again, we’ll know once we get him back to the lab.”