“That is also correct. I am having difficulty identifying this issue, as it falls outside of any logical analysis I can make.”
Trey waved his hands back and forth in front of his face. “Whoa. Hold the phone. You’re saying I was right two times in a row? That really never happens.” Trey held up a finger, cutting off what Darc had been about to say. “Stop. I don’t want to hear the percentages this time.” His finger remained poised until Darc closed his mouth. “So, what are we going to do about this?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Darc moved down the points as the streams of logic laid them out. “I am unable to self-diagnose, as I cannot see the area that is the issue. You are not qualified to diagnose the problem, or treat it if once you do discover it. Mala is not here. There is a crime scene that needs our immediate attention. Therefore, we do nothing for the time being.”
“But that means you have to listen to me.” Trey had folded his arms across his chest. An indication of intransigence, or perhaps his partner’s body temperature had dropped.
“I always listen to you,” Darc replied.
“No, you always hear me. Those are two completely different things. What I’m saying is, if you’ve got some unidentified personal issue that’s affecting your work, you need to trust me when I tell you something’s wrong. And maybe even follow my advice.” Trey spread his hands, mimicking a scale with balancing arms on either side. He lifted one hand. “This is reason. You’re top banana here, and I’ll always trust what you say about it.” Then he lifted the other. “This is emotion. And you gotta pay attention to me when we’re there.”
As filled with discomfort as this situation might be, Darc could see that Trey’s reasoning in this regard was clearer than his own. Darc nodded, submitting to the lines of logic that wove their way between them both, tying the two men together. They needed one another in order to keep Darc’s issues from tainting their work.
Trey seemed to take in the nod, his forehead creasing. “You just agreed to trust me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
On the outside, it would more than likely appear that Darc also did not know how to respond. But on the inside, the glistening fibers of light were dripping globs of color, bleeding their gleaming from one strand to the next, occasionally pooling on the floor of the mental space that was their playground.
Inside, Darc was weeping.
CHAPTER 16
It had all been Popeye’s idea.
Well, maybe that wasn’t true. Not exactly. It had been Janey’s idea, but Popeye was the one who told her to do it. Usually Janey tried to be super good, but being super good right now didn’t seem like such a good thing. Being super good would make the grown-ups think that they knew what Janey was supposed to do. They kept saying stuff like that. I know you’re scared, Caitlyn, but this is the best thing for you. They didn’t even know that her real name was Janey now. Dumbos.
Janey wasn’t supposed to use words like that, but it was the only thing she could think of.
Popeye and Janey had talked it over on the way to the first place. Not talking like people could hear. That would be silly. The lady that took her away from Darc would have heard, and then they never could have made the plan. That lady probably would’ve taken Popeye away from her, and even though Popeye was really naughty sometimes, Janey didn’t want him to be taken away.
So they talked quiet. On the inside. Like the inside voice that Mommy used to tell Janey to use when it was Saturday morning and Mommy and Daddy were sleeping. But even quieter.
She had put all her clothes in the trash bag that the lady gave her. A big, black one, like the ones that Daddy would fill with grass when he mowed the lawn in the summer. All of her clothes and things stuffed into a bag.
But Janey never took her clothes out of the bag. Not even once.
Because Popeye and she had a plan.
They were going to get out of this stupid place where the kids were mean and the room smelled like a hospital and everybody talked to her like she was dumb. She wasn’t dumb. Just because she didn’t want to talk didn’t mean she was dumb.
She could talk. She had called out to Darc. Yelled his name when the lady was dragging her away. The lady was stinky. Okay, that wasn’t very nice, but she shouldn’t have taken her away from Darc. That was just mean.
So Popeye and Janey had come up with something good. Well, it was bad, really, but it was going to get Janey back to Darc and Mala, so it was good, right?
When she got to the first house, she had seen a big fish tank with lots of fish inside, swimming around. All the kids liked the tank, and Janey could maybe even see why, even though the fish seemed kinda bored. They were pretty, but all they did was swim around and around until it made her a little dizzy.
Popeye agreed with her. Those fish were so, so, so bored. So, when all the kids were asleep that night, Janey snuck down and took them out of the tank. She filled up the tub in the bathroom and put all the fish inside. They did seem to swim faster then.
The next morning, yells broke out in the bathroom and by the tank at almost the same time. Janey had made sure she got her arm wet all the way up to her shoulder when she moved the fish, so when the grown-ups started looking around to see who did it, they knew it was Janey.
Then she found out that the other kids didn’t like Popeye. Not only did they not like him, they were scared of him. Janey thought that was silly, so she introduced them all to Popeye. Really close, so they could see him good.
They didn’t like that much.
She got moved to the second house that afternoon.
The second place needed decorating, so she used her red and black crayons all over the walls. By the time the other kids started screaming and crying at the pictures she’d drawn, Janey was on her way to the third place.
They tried to give her “vitamins.” Please. She wasn’t stupid. When the grown-ups caught her running around pinching the other kids in their beds later that night, she was on to her fourth home. She hadn’t pinched them that hard, the babies. She felt a little bad about that one.
But the next place had a hamster, and Popeye told her the hamster wanted to be free. So she let him go outside, but then smeared ketchup on her hands. The grown-ups hadn’t been very happy with her after that.
The fifth place needed to have its floors watered. They looked really thirsty. All it took was plugging up all the toilets and flushing them all a bunch of times.
The sixth place tried to give her lots more vitamins. They even watched her while she was supposed to swallow them. But Janey was smarter than that. She just kept the pills in her hands until they left the room. When they’d found her running away with her garbage bag full of clothes, they’d just looked at each other and picked up the phone.
Now she was stuck in the seventh place. It had only been a couple of days since the first one. She wondered if her Mommy and Daddy would be mad at her, or if they would be proud. Darc would be happy. Janey wasn’t sure about Mala. She thought Mala would be happy, too, because Mala wanted Janey to be with her. But she didn’t know for sure quite yet.
This was the worst place so far. They locked her in her room, so Janey had started banging her hands against the door and slamming her body against the ground. She was careful to make sure she didn’t get too hurt, but the grown-ups got scared looks on their faces and then took her to a room that had lots of mats and pillows on the floor so she couldn’t hurt herself.
So, she did the only thing she could do. She pulled out her markers and started drawing all over herself. Red, black, and a little bit of orange. Those seemed to be colors that grown-ups didn’t like.
She was in the middle of painting a mouth with lots of pointy teeth on her arm when a man from the house opened the door.
“Caitlyn, there’s someone here to see you.”
It was Mala.
Janey grinned through the red and black ink on her face. Mala stretched out her hands and Janey ran and g
ave her a huge hug and it felt like Mala would never ever let go of her ever ever. It felt so good.
Mala was happy.
Janey had done a good job.
Popeye started complaining then, but Janey patted his head and told him it was okay. He had done a good job, too.
They both had.
*
It had been a little bit of a shock, seeing Janey like that. Mala had an idea of what had been happening since Janey had been taken to the first home, but when she came into the impromptu padded room and saw Janey covered in ink, Mala wondered just how troubled this little girl was. Mala would have sworn that Janey was not the kind of girl who could do the things the social worker had detailed in the blunt text she had sent Mala late last night.
But when Janey’s face lit up, Mala could think of nothing more than getting this precious little one out of here as fast as humanly possible. When Janey ran to her and buried her face in Mala’s waist, a suspicion started worming her way into Mala’s mind. It wasn’t possible, of course. Janey was a smart and capable girl, but there was no way that she… Was there?
But as Janey grabbed up her garbage sack of belongings, the suspicion grew into a distinct possibility. Janey hadn’t unpacked. As far as Mala had been informed, Janey had been there most of the day yesterday, and all of the previous night. Why hadn’t she put her clothes away?
Janey scooped up her ratty bear from off the bed. The bear looked at Mala out of his lopsided eyes, the green stitching of his patched wound almost florescent against the tattered brown fur of the rest of his body.
The head of the group home, who had identified himself as William Nagle, had done what he could to keep the chitchat to a minimum. “You will, of course, need to keep giving her the medicine that’s been prescribed to her.” He handed Mala several bottles, all of which contained various drugs intended to calm her down. She took the vials without comment. Wow. When Mala had guessed that Janey was being sedated, she’d had no idea how bad it had really been. How was Janey still upright?
Mr. Nagle set down the paperwork Mala needed to sign, then nodded once before exiting the room. He didn’t say goodbye to Janey.
As for Janey, she hadn’t stopped smiling since Mala walked in. Mala hadn’t had time to notice it before, but Janey had a dimple on the left side of her face that only showed up when her smile was full.
The dimple was in full evidence right now.
Mala reached down and took Janey’s empty hand. But when she made contact, she found the delicate hand she clasped wasn’t quite as empty as Mala had thought. There, grasped in Janey’s palm, were about fifteen pills. Mala couldn’t tell from just looking, but her guess was that they corresponded to the bottles Mr. Nagle had given her.
On purpose. Janey had done it all on purpose.
Mala couldn’t help it—she started laughing. It was the kind of laughter that took over her entire body. Bending down to get on the little girl’s level, Mala took Janey in her arms and gave her a huge hug.
“I am so proud of you,” Mala whispered in her ear. “But don’t you ever try to pull that stuff on me.” She winked at the tiny girl in her arms. Janey’s grin somehow managed to stretch even wider across her face.
It was amazing how much she could come to love this damaged creature in such a short period of time. If someone had asked her a few weeks ago if she would be willing to turn her life upside down like this, she would probably have said no. Now, she couldn’t think of any option that would keep Janey out of her life.
And somehow, the fact that Janey had made the choice to misbehave in order to get back to Mala made it all just… click. She was doing what had to be done. Because, for better or for worse, they belonged together. Mala knew that with a certainty.
Janey was hers.
And she—for now and forevermore—was Janey’s.
*
As Trey stepped out of the Land Rover and into the ever-present gray mist that was a Seattle morning, he spotted the FOX news van and groaned. Seriously, how did this woman seem to know how to get to a crime scene even before the cops did? Trey had called her a barracuda before. Now he was reconsidering. Barracudas came off nice when placed next to Charity King.
“Detective Keane!” The pretty reporter waved, looking for all the world like she’d just caught sight of her lunch. “Would you like to comment on this serial killer who has Seattle quaking in fear?”
Please. Any large city usually had at least a couple of serial killers operating at any given moment. The only difference here was that the victims weren’t the invisible—prostitutes or the homeless.
Not that he was about to say that on camera. “No comment.”
“No comment?” Ms. King pressed, her teeth bared in a vicious mockery of a smile. “No comment on the third brutal slaying in the space of less than a week? No comment on the fact that the man you have in custody is clearly not the killer?”
She was good. Trey had to give her that. She managed to say exactly the right thing to set his teeth on edge and make him want to fire back something witty. But anything at all would be an admission in one way or another, and he wasn’t about to go back to face Merle after speaking to a reporter about an open case—with a camera in his face. That wasn’t just stupid, it was career suicide.
Plus, there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be gleaned from seeing the look of frustration on Charity King’s face as Trey pushed past the cameraman and stated once more, “No comment.”
And why was it that no one ever bothered to question Darc? His partner was trailing behind him, but there was no attempt by either Ms. King or her camera operator to stop the bald man. Trey had to figure out how Darc pulled that off. Was it something in his expression? Or did his partner just radiate some scent that confused his predators?
Trey turned his attention to the Tudor-style home where he and his partner were headed. They were in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle, another area of wealth—and power. The registered homeowner here was a Mr. Kyle Carson, one of Seattle’s highest-paid defense lawyers. According to the office scuttlebutt, Carson had gotten off more criminals than the rest of the top ten defense lawyers combined. He worked most often for the high-end drug dealers, and it was an open secret that he was in the pocket of the Colombian cartel Norte del Valle.
As Trey and Darc neared the door, it swung wide and out rolled Bill Harris. Bill always managed to look like he was walking on the deck of a ship instead of on solid ground. He must have been a sailor in a previous life. Or a pirate. Yeah. Bill would definitely have been a pirate.
“Hey!” Bill called out. At Trey’s side, Darc winced. It was a smaller reaction than he’d had back at the precinct, but Trey felt a surge of almost parental satisfaction in the response. That’d teach him.
“Hey, Bill.” Trey took pity on his partner and muted his response. “What’ve we got in there?”
“Dunno. Unis wouldn’t let me into the room where the body was.” He turned to look over his shoulder and called into the house. “Jerk-offs!” Turning back around, he gave Trey a sheepish grin. “Sorry, man. That wasn’t really a what-would-Jesus-do moment, was it?”
“Don’t stress about it. The uniforms like the abuse. Why else would you ever become a cop?” Trey motioned for Bill to precede them into the house. As Trey stepped over the threshold, he could barely take in what he was seeing. The place looked like the Rococo age had thrown up all over the house. Everything was gilded and ornate, with mirrors facing one another all the way down the entryway.
Trey glanced back to make sure Darc was following, and so managed to catch the tall detective’s reaction as he entered the space. He recoiled, his gaze darting from one side of the mirrored hallway to the other. Trey felt the stirrings of sympathy deep within him. It was hard enough to take it in as he was. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like with a hangover.
The hallway opened up into a great room with a vaulted ceiling with… was that a mural painted on the ceiling? Really? Who was this g
uy? Seriously. Who painted cherubs on their ceiling?
In the corner of the great room was a uniformed cop standing guard in front of a spiral staircase that led up to the second story. He caught sight of the motley group coming in and trotted over to meet them.
“Vic’s upstairs in his office. It’s not pretty.” He looked past Trey to Bill, who was standing behind him and off to one side. “And sorry about your friend there. Captain’s cracking down on visitors to crime scenes.”
“No worries… Gutierrez, isn’t it?” Trey asked. The officer nodded. “Just know that Bill here is working with us on this case. I’ll talk to the captain about it. Make sure he knows.” He thrust his chin toward the upstairs. “And as for being pretty… they never are.”
“Yeah. Guess not. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Trey did a double take at that. It wasn’t like the uniforms to comment all that much on the crime scenes. There was usually some amount of competition in the department as to which cop was the most stoic when it came to the murders.
It must be bad.
Trey worked his way past the C.S.I. unit members who were busy taking pictures, dusting for prints and putting things into little baggies. From long experience, Trey knew how important their work was, but sometimes it just seemed like they were bees swarming around their hive. You knew they made honey. You knew they pollinated plants. But you still didn’t love having them around most of the time.
And then Trey walked into the office and forgot all about the crime scene guys.
This was just nasty.
The first thing Trey saw as he entered the room was a hand. A well-manicured hand that was not attached to anything else. It was resting in a large pool of blood on the top of the desk, right next to a wicked-looking black knife and a cell phone. The phone made sense. After all, the guy was a lawyer. But the knife? That was an odd thing to see in a house like this. Mr. Kyle Carson didn’t seem to be the type of guy to collect knives or guns or stuff like that.
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 17