“Well, I appreciate you waiting for me to see the body.”
“Anything for a professional such as yourself,” the M.E. gushed. Fascinating. Darc had never seen this behavior from the doctor before. For some unknown reason, that fact caused the gray clouds to threaten Darc’s internal equilibrium once more.
The coroner turned to the rest of the C.S.I. team, giving them their assignments for the cleanup and removal of the body. He then nodded to Mala, followed by a much briefer acknowledgment of Darc. Trey received no eye contact whatsoever, and Bill might as well have not existed.
“Seriously?” Trey barked as the doctor left. “Am I the only person here who thinks that guy is a total ass?”
“Oh, no,” Mala agreed. “You couldn’t be more right. He’s an ass of the highest order.” Hearing Mala discuss her negative feelings toward the M.E. caused a sensation of warmth to arise in Darc, starting with the chest cavity and radiating outward. This was strange. Mala continued, “He did give us some good information to go off of, however.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Trey groused. He looked down at the body being taken care of by the C.S.I. unit. His forehead scrunched up in what Darc took to be thought. “There’s something about this…” He trailed off.
“Yes?” Mala probed. “What is it? Sometimes feelings or impressions can be very helpful. Our intuition often leaps ahead of our reasoning abilities.” She looked sideways at Darc. “Well, for most of us, anyway.”
“I dunno,” Trey answered. “It’s just… Both of these murders remind me of something. They seem so familiar.”
Bill, who had now finished his sandwich, interjected, “Yeah. There is something freaky about them. Like they’re straight out of a movie or something.”
“That’s it! That’s exactly it!” Trey snapped his fingers and pointed down at the corpse. “It’s just like that film with Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt.”
Darc felt the strands of logic snap together at that statement. “The film you tried to make me watch during your aborted attempt to instruct me in popular culture. The two detectives investigating a string of deaths related to the seven deadly sins.” The glowing strands of logic retreated, settling back into quiescence. One lone thread continued to vibrate. Something was not perfect here.
“Yes! That’s the one!” Trey yelled. Then he stopped, his face wrinkling up in some undecipherable expression. “Hold on. You actually watched that? I thought you were reading some case file or something.”
“I was,” Darc responded, nonplussed. “But reading does not preclude me from hearing the dialogue. I am quite familiar with the entire plot of the film.”
“Dude. Sometimes…” Trey breathed. “Okay, whatever. That’s exactly what was bugging me about these two cases.”
Mala nodded. “I see it now. The first was similar to the killing that matched up with the sin of pride.”
“You’ve seen it?” Trey asked, his voice cracking in what sounded like surprise. Or puberty. Considering the fact that Trey was a grown man, surprise seemed a better fit.
Ducking her head for some odd reason, Mala’s mouth twitched upward slightly. Perhaps these were the first signs of Parkinson’s?
“I’m a fan of Brad Pitt.”
Trey moved the facial muscles surrounding his eyes, causing his eyebrows to move up and down independently. “I see. Confessions of a psychologist. Juicy stuff.” He straightened his shoulders. “All right. Moving on. The second one looks an awful lot like gluttony, don’t cha think?”
Mala pursed her lips, looking down at where the corpse had lain. “Yes, it does. Sort of. This guy wasn’t morbidly obese.”
“I dunno,” Bill stated, slapping his abdomen. “He’s bigger’n me, and the last time I went in for a checkup, my doc said I was borderline. Guy doesn’t understand the beauty of a good handmade milkshake.”
“That may be true enough,” Mala said. “Still, there’s the whole bees and honey thing.”
“Yeah,” Trey put in. “Not perfect, but then again, the killer probably didn’t want people thinking he was just a Hollywood copycat. No real creativity in that.” Both Darc and Mala stared at him after that comment, and Trey held up his hands. “That seems to be a pretty big deal to serial killers. At least according to Jeremy.”
“He has a point,” Mala stated. “Most serial killers that don’t want attention are far more careful than this one. He’s looking for acclaim. Recognition of some sort.”
“Right. Well. Once we get the M.E.’s report back, we should know more. We’ll see what our killer shoved down our vic’s throat, at least. You know, other than the honey. That could be important.” Trey turned to head back toward the elevator.
Leaving Mala and Darc essentially alone for the first time since she’d escaped. Dark gray filled Darc’s consciousness. His throat muscles seemed to contract in an unusual fashion, making his breathing difficult. Additionally, his heart began to beat at a rate far exceeding his resting rate. Was he ill?
No, he determined. He was not ill. Darc was having a reaction to being close to Mala. The scent of her hair, a combination of strawberries and something more earthy, wafted toward Darc, increasing the gray fugue in his mind.
He wanted to say something, anything, but could think of nothing. So he remained silent until Mala, with one more curious look into Darc’s face, turned and followed Trey out to the elevator.
Darc should follow. It would make sense to follow. He needed to continue working the case. In order to do so, he needed to leave the building, get in a car, and head back to the precinct building. And yet…
His feet rooted to the floor, Darc remained. He heard the distant bell signaling the arrival of the elevator. Still he stayed immobile. Long moments after he was certain the elevator had left, Darc stood as if mounted on a taxonomist’s stand. Dead. Filled with cotton or polyurethane batting or some other stuffing agent.
And all because he had no desire to share an elevator with the one woman Darc wanted to spend all his time with. Even the time during which he was engaged in other endeavors, regardless of the fact that he would be unable to interact with her in a satisfactory manner. Logic had no bearing here.
As he finally managed to lift his feet from off the floor, Darc could think only of how much he did not find any of this pleasant.
*
Things were kinda almost normal again.
Janey hated it.
She was going to school, which was weird, because it was a new place where she didn’t know anybody. And people were trying to get her to talk. She didn’t want to talk. The only person she talked to was Popeye, and that was just because if she didn’t, he would get all snippy with her. He was such a bad bear.
And she was going to live with Mala. It was only a few days away, but Janey couldn’t wait. They had put her back in the home. Mala had said it was for the best. Something like it was easier to adopt from there instead of from detective custody. Was that what she had said? Janey couldn’t remember.
But the home smelled. And even though the boss lady smiled at her, it seemed like she was saying something else with her eyes. Something about how Janey wasn’t a good girl because she’d left and stuff.
But at least Mala came to visit her every day. That was nice. It was Janey’s favorite part of the day. Sometimes when Mala left, Janey would draw pictures of her and pretend the picture was still talking to her. She had such a pretty voice. Janey would pretend that Mala was snuggling with her and reading her bedtime stories like Mommy used to do.
Maybe she could even get Mala to make up stories like her daddy did. Was that just a daddy thing? Janey didn’t know. But those were her favorite stories, because they were always about her. Not Janey. Her old name. But still her.
But when Mala would leave to go home and the lights would turn off and Janey was all by herself, sometimes she would get scared. The shadows would stretch out toward her and there was something beeping where she couldn’t see it and she couldn’t run or scream or anything a
nd tears would fall down her face and Popeye would get mad and say stop crying, stop crying, why are you crying?
Sometimes she hated her bear.
Just a few days. Then she would be with Mala. Just a few days. That wasn’t too long, right?
Janey lay in the dark and listened to her pillow throb.
*
Trey bounded out of the Land Rover without waiting for Darc to mosey out, saw who was waiting for him in front of the precinct building, and almost hurled himself back in. It was Charity King. How the hell had she managed to make it back here before him? Trey could’ve sworn she’d been parked out in front of the apartment complex when he left.
The woman was assertive, he had to give her that. And, apparently, she had a GPS that knew all of the shortcuts. Trey had to figure out how to get that hookup. Charity maneuvered herself to make sure she crossed Trey’s path as he sped toward the front entrance of the building.
“So, Detective, what did we find at the apartment complex?” the reporter asked.
“Uh, ‘we’? What, have you got a frog in your pocket?” Trey countered, swerving to get around her. At the last second, Charity darted in front of him again, blocking his route. Man, she was good at that. She was like some kind of ninja reporter. He could continue and bowl her over, or he could stop. Since he was sure there was a camera trained on them somewhere, Trey went for the second option and stayed planted.
“There’s another murder,” Ms. King crowed.
“Are you asking, or telling?”
“Come on, Detective. I saw the M.E. arrive with the C.S.I. unit.”
Trey nodded. “Yes. You are very smart. And observant.” At that point, Darc finally caught up to him. It was like someone had taken his speedy partner and replaced him with a defective model. At least now maybe they could tag team the reporter.
“So…?” Charity prompted.
“So… we’re in the middle of an investigation,” Trey answered. “No comment.”
Ms. King frowned, her forehead wrinkling up in a way that still managed to be attractive, and her eye line flickered over to the far side of the street. So Trey had been right. She had a camera over there recording this. And Trey had already said too much.
He used her momentary distraction to slip past her. Trey turned around, walking backward to see her reaction. When it dawned on her that she had lost the subject of her sting operation, she swore, a very unfeminine curse word, and turned her attention to Darc.
There was a moment when Trey was sure she was going to attempt to ply her wares on the tall detective. But something in his eyes must have stopped her, as she made no move to keep him from following after Trey.
Perhaps the reporter was even smarter than she looked.
*
Ah, the writhing of the wicked. If it did not pain the servant of the Lord so much to see the city immersed in so much corruption, it would almost make the servant laugh.
But the Lord’s work must continue. It was ironic, truly, that those who chose to follow Beelzebub would call this mission criminal. Could they not see that each and every so-called victim was an abomination before the Lord?
Of course they could not. The sins and atrocities of this mortal coil had blinded them all. It was a miracle that they could navigate their way through the city without colliding into one another more often than they did.
The Emerald City? Green and verdant? It was a lie told by a madman to an insane asylum, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Sometimes, during a break or lull in activity, the servant of the Lord would take a walk through the streets of this cesspool, counting the unhappy faces that passed by. When the faces reached fifty, the break was done.
The breaks were always very short.
No one was happy. Even when they appeared happy, laughing, smiling—all one had to do was wait. Follow for a few minutes, and the smiles would fade into frowns, the laughter would evaporate like dew on grass in the midmorning sun, the pleasantries would turn to vile excoriations.
At those times, the servant of the Lord felt the spirit quail within, retreating from the acid of the sin and degradation of the human spirit. The atrocities committed by man on men. The erosion of the offspring of Adam and Eve.
The servant was so tired. So very, very tired.
But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
Sometimes all it took was a single passage from the scriptures to lighten the burden that rested so heavy on the shoulders of those that would serve God.
The servant went forth in the strength of the Lord, ready to accomplish all.
CHAPTER 13
Mala jogged from her car to the DSHS offices. This was beginning to feel like a second home to her. A second, completely dysfunctional and thoroughly depressing home in which she was stuck in an upside-down mortgage.
She had been maybe thirty seconds behind the two detectives, ready to take what they had discovered from the crime scene and begin processing it all. Working out the clues. Taking random pieces of information and forming them into a mosaic of actionable plans that could take down this killer before more people died.
Instead, she had hopped into her deep-blue Prius and found the cell phone that she had neglected to take in with her. Sure enough, there were a missed call and a voicemail waiting for her—a call from her friendly neighborhood social worker.
As she stepped past the double doors, she caught a whiff of the inside of the building. It was a combination of cheap disinfectant cleanser, old paper, and the tears of small children.
All right. Perhaps that last one was unfair. Mala knew that the department served an honorable purpose, and that the people working within had all, at one point, probably wanted to help make things better. Unfortunately, the system as it was set up managed to suck the life out of not only the families the department served, but most of the people who did the actual serving. It was not a profession that treated its workers well.
Case in point—her new social worker.
Getting moved to a new worker was not such an unusual thing. Mala’s case had been cleared and passed along to another part of the inner workings of the DSHS. And now that the case was in less than friendly hands, once more she found herself embroiled in a mess of epic proportions.
The new social worker to whom her case had been reassigned was a woman named Joan Bladworth, who looked exactly like her name sounded. And it seemed that the community of social workers was quite small. Richard, the teacher of the P.R.I.D.E. classes who had counted Mala absent when she had been called out on an emergency, was Joan’s best friend. No matter what Mala did to reach out to the woman, her efforts were batted aside and crushed underfoot.
The woman lurked behind her desk, the sides of her stomach flowing over the armrests on either side of her ergonomically designed office chair. As Mala approached, Joan looked up, a demonic gleam darting out past her defenses before she replaced it with a placid smile.
“Ah, Dr. Charan. Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“Certainly, Ms. Bladworth. What is it that you need?”
The social worker shifted in her seat, the chair complaining underneath her. “Well, there are a couple of things I thought we should talk through.”
“And you didn’t feel that these are things we could have discussed over the phone?” Mala responded, doing what she could to keep her tone light.
Ms. Bladworth did not deign to give Mala’s question a direct response. “We have some concerns about your support system.”
“My support system? I don’t follow.”
“Yes, well, neither do we, to be candid. You’re single, not dating, have no family to speak of, no church group. You don’t even have a hobby that would allow for some normal friendships to develop.”
Mala felt her blood begin to boil. Keeping her temper might end up being a serious problem here. Normal
? Who did this woman think she was? No, Mala didn’t have any hobbies. She was a doctor. Doctors didn’t have much downtime for screwing around, with friends or without.
“Well, Ms. Bladworth, I can certainly understand your concerns. However, as a licensed child psychologist”—Mala did what she could to keep from overemphasizing those words—“my leisure time is minimal, and most of my associations are made with people at work.”
“Raising a child can be difficult, and a strong support system can mean the difference between a successful placement and a situation where the child is further traumatized. Which brings me to the more significant issue.” The social worker pulled her lips together in a prim line. “As you know, we are tasked with making sure that the children we assign out to homes are in places where they will be safe and secure.”
Mala nodded. “Of course.”
“Well,” the officious worker pouted, “it’s come to our attention that Caitlyn was exposed to a series of horrific events surrounding a murder case.”
It took Mala a moment to register that the woman was talking about Janey. The name she had gone by before sounded almost foreign to Mala’s ears. It didn’t seem to fit her at all. Mala make a mental note to ask her which she preferred when Mala saw her next. She shook her head at the social worker.
“That’s hardly a secret, Ms. Bladworth. It’s the reason she’s without any family. Her parents were mur—”
“Yes, yes, I know that,” Joan spoke over the last of Mala’s sentence, her volume rising. “What was shocking was the amount of violence she was exposed to after that. Under your guardianship.”
Mala swallowed against a throat gone suddenly tight and dry. This was bad. Even a social worker who liked Mala might balk at giving custody to someone who might put a little girl in danger’s path. But for the person slouching in front of Mala, it would take nothing more than a flick of the finger on her computer mouse to scuttle Mala’s plans.
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 13