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

by Carolyn McCray

  What made chasing Darc down, keeping him dressed, and making him eat all worth it was that Trey could rely on him. Darc would bring it home. He’d done it again and again and again.

  But not now.

  Up ahead, Trey spotted the lean form of his partner under a streetlamp. The drizzle of rain caught in the light created a halo effect around him, outlining his bald head and spare form in an almost angelic glow. Like he was the answer to everything. Usually, Trey would totally buy into it. He’d seen Darc pull answers out of thin air in the past.

  The real issue this time was that Trey had a sense that the case wasn’t even all that difficult. If Darc were on his game, it would already be solved. If Trey were even a halfway-decent detective, it would be put to bed.

  But here they languished, in some kind of horrible limbo.

  Limbo.

  That was it. That was where he had seen this behavior from Darc before. It was like their last case. Darc had struggled with that one, too.

  What had been different about these two cases? Mala was involved with both of them, that was true, but Trey didn’t really believe that Darc being lovesick was keeping him from functioning as a detective. When Maggie had left him, he’d been despondent, sure, but he’d been even more focused as an investigator.

  Was it Janey? The girl had certainly softened the brittle detective. Darc seemed to believe that emotion dulled his deductive powers, but Trey didn’t buy that either. He’d never seen Darc more sharply honed than when Janey had been captured. Well, after he came out of that coma thingy.

  Truth was, Trey had no clue. About any of it.

  Acting on an impulse that he couldn’t completely explain, he picked up the phone to text Mala, in spite of Maggie’s voice nagging at him not to text and drive. Contacting the woman who was Darc’s biggest distraction right now might be a terrible, terrible idea, but Trey trusted her and her instincts. It was time to get some additional input. Not necessarily for the case, but for getting objective eyes on Darc.

  Perhaps the doc could head-shrink his partner. Get his brain cranking. It was a choice that would either blow up in Trey’s face or be the key to unlocking his partner’s potential. Or… it could just be a big ol’ fat nothing. There was always that possibility.

  Maybe that could be what Darc’s issue was. He was such a binary guy. It was either one thing or the other, black or white, yes or no. It was usually a fantastic trait as a detective, but perhaps in this particular instance it was working against him. Not allowing him to see the many other levels that existed between the two extremes.

  Again, Trey had no real clue. He was out of his depth here on pretty much every imaginable level. Which was why he needed Mala, regardless of the possible negative reaction from Darc.

  Trey pulled up beside his partner and leaned over to push the passenger-side door open, a smell of ozone wafting through the opening created. Darc climbed in, his clothing wet, his hair dripping.

  “Aw, man. You’re always getting my car wet.”

  “I am not always getting your car wet. It only occurs when I have been out during precipitation.” Darc looked straight ahead out of the windshield, seemingly interested in the splatters of water against the glass.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious. My point was… You know what, never mind what my point was.” Trey pulled back out onto the street and began to head to the crime scene. “Figure anything out?”

  “To what are you referring?”

  “C’mon, dude. I know you. You know I know you. Do we still have to do this dance?” Trey shook his head and reached over into the backseat for a towel that he kept there for these situations. He handed it to Darc, who began toweling off his hair. “You walk in the rain when you’re upset and trying to figure stuff out. So…?”

  “I have gleaned nothing about the case.”

  “Okay, Darc,” Trey responded, seeing that Darc was not going to let him in this time. Not unusual. Disappointing, but not unusual at all. “That’s not what I was talking about. But okay.”

  They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride.

  *

  The idea of working as a part-time consultant for the Seattle P.D. had seemed like such a brilliant plan. Mala could continue to work, bring in a salary, and bond with Janey. The reality, especially during a serial-killer spree, was somewhere south of that ideal.

  Trey’s text had been a bit of an enigma. After giving her the address where she was supposed to go, he ended with, We need your help. I need your help. It almost sounded like it was for something beyond just help profiling the killer.

  At least Janey knew the drill. It’s not like she’d never been to a crime scene before. And after the fiasco at the coffee shop, Mala wasn’t about to leave her with a babysitter. For all she knew, she’d come back to the sitter tied up with her hair set on fire.

  As Mala packed up a few essentials, including a blanket, some pillows, a couple of juice boxes, and some cheese crackers for Janey, she glanced over at her foster daughter, who was busy coloring on a piece of paper with some crayons. There was a moment of dread, wondering what horrific images Janey was calling up, but then she saw what colors the little girl was using. Pink. Yellow. Tan. Brown. Blue. No red, no black, nothing on the sinister side of the color palette. Mala breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “C’mon, Janey, it’s time to go.”

  Janey looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of footy pajamas that Mala had insisted she put on. It might be a long night, and Mala didn’t want her sleeping in her clothes. It was a strange enough thing Mala was trying as it was, taking her foster daughter to an active crime scene looking for a murderer. Having her in pajamas at least made her feel like she was trying to be a good parent.

  But Janey seemed less than impressed. The look on her face clearly said that wearing footy pajamas and wearing footy pajamas out in public were two completely different things. And even though they were Janey’s own pajamas, it was possible she was starting to get past the stage where pj’s covered in fuzzy animals was kosher.

  “I know, I know. But you’re probably not going to be seeing much of anybody tonight.” Janey wrinkled up her nose at that. “Okay, yes, you’ll see Darc and Trey, but I’m going to get one of the uniforms to watch over the car while you sleep in the backseat. It’s way past your bedtime, missy.”

  Heaving a huge sigh, Janey finally nodded her head and padded over to Mala. She held out her hand with the picture in it. It was a blue sky and a bright sun. There were two figures in the middle, a blonde girl and a dark-haired woman with mocha skin. And both of them were surrounded by a gold detective’s badge. Darc.

  “Is that why you were so upset tonight? You wanted to be with Darc?”

  Janey shook her head no, but then wavered her head back and forth like she wasn’t sure exactly how to answer. She pointed at the picture she had drawn once more. Mala didn’t know with certainty what Janey was saying, but it was clear that her acting out had to do with something she thought was important, both to her and possibly to Mala, as well.

  “Janey, honey, I know something was bothering you tonight, and that you’re having a hard time expressing it. But what you did was not okay. You could’ve really hurt Bryce… Mr. Van Owen. Next time if you don’t want me to do something, let me know. Even if you have to draw me a picture. Okay?”

  There was a moment’s pause as Janey thought this over. Then she nodded her head slowly. It was apparent that there was still something on her mind, but at least she seemed to be on board with the idea of not causing any more collateral damage.

  At this point, Mala would take it.

  She gathered the little girl in her arms. Janey was getting taller by the day, and it probably wouldn’t be too much longer that Mala would be able to carry her like this. She wanted to take advantage of every possible excuse. Footy pajamas wouldn’t do too well on pavement, so guess what? Janey was getting carried. Done deal.

  And Janey seemed to enjoy it. She snuggled in to Ma
la’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around Mala’s neck. It was probably Mala’s imagination, but she could swear she felt Janey’s heart beating against her own chest. Hard to imagine something more intimate and precious.

  Such a juxtaposition with where they were going and what Mala would be doing. This girl was a partial product of the very same kinds of acts Mala was seeking to avert. And while her approach with Janey might be controversial, it felt right.

  Bad things happened in the world. Janey knew that better than most adults. Pretending it was not the case would not lead to healing. Letting Janey know that there were ways to combat the kind of evil than men practiced upon men was something that would end up giving this little girl power. Power to live. Power to grow. Power to thrive.

  After a ride down on the elevator to the parking garage, Mala strolled over to her Prius and hit the button on the key to unlock it. She was about to open the door when a voice behind her caused her heart to leap up into her throat, cutting off her breath.

  “Excuse me. You’re Dr. Charan, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her tone clipped and professional. Mala whipped around, holding tight to Janey. The figure in front of her was a brunette woman in a tailored suit. Noting Mala’s response, the woman took a step back. “I’m so sorry. I’ve frightened you.”

  “Well, yes, to be honest,” Mala replied. “I didn’t expect to run into anyone here in the garage at this time of the evening.” She turned to put Janey in the backseat of the car, pausing a moment to lock the doors. Janey’s face peered out from the window, staring past Mala at the brunette, a curious look on her young face. It was the face of a child who could tell that something might be wrong but didn’t want to show any fear. She was a fighter, that girl was.

  “Yes. Your manager let me in. He’s a big fan of my show.” The woman smiled, showing a row of white teeth. There seemed to be a few too many teeth for the size of her mouth, for some reason.

  “Your show?” Mala pressed, confused. There was something vaguely familiar about this woman, but Mala couldn’t for the life of her figure what it was.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. My name is Charity King. I work for FOX News.” The woman reached forward to shake Mala’s hand, but Mala was still recovering from the shock of being surprised from behind in her parking garage. She wasn’t ready for anything more personal than an exchange of words, which she would be cutting as short as she could.

  “You’re a reporter?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Again, the excessive show of teeth.

  “Then our conversation is over, I believe,” Mala said with finality. “I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time.”

  “No waste of time. You answered the question I hadn’t asked yet,” the reporter purred, her smile growing downright predatory. “I had heard the department had engaged the services of a psychologist as a consultant. It seems I heard correctly.”

  There was nothing to say to that, so Mala stayed silent. But she wasn’t staying passive. Rather than wait for the next round to begin, Mala decided on tactical retreat. She moved to her door, opened it up, and stepped into her car.

  “Well, that’s hardly polite, is it, Dr. Charan?” Ms. King stated as she stepped in closer to the car. “I just wanted to talk to you about your experience with the Seattle Police Department up to this point.”

  Sure. Did this woman really think this was working? But within moments, Ms. King answered the question herself by heading back to the far corner of the garage where a news van was parked in the shadows. Mala never would have seen it if she hadn’t been looking for it specifically. Which she would be doing from here on out.

  As the reporter headed back to her vehicle, she called out over her shoulder, “Hope you don’t mind us tagging along behind you, Doctor. We’re just so curious about what you might be up to so late in the evening. And with a child in tow? Sounds like a story in the making.”

  Mala’s blood ran ice. This reporter was looking for information, more than likely on the serial killer case. But if she ended up reporting Mala to the DSHS, the placement could be ended. And what that would do to Janey, Mala didn’t even want to consider.

  That might be far-fetched, but Mala wouldn’t put it past this predator masquerading as a human being. The woman’s instincts were plainly that of tooth and claw, fang and nail. It didn’t feel like mercy or kindheartedness was in her repertoire.

  So, Mala would have to be careful.

  Oh, and find out anything she could that might trip this Ms. King up. Didn’t hurt to go on the offensive when it came to taming a beast of prey.

  CHAPTER 20

  Okay, so this was gross.

  Murders were never pleasant, but sometimes Trey wondered if the killers were just trying to outdo each other. But the worst thing about this was that, as brutal as this killing was, it didn’t even crack the top five. That honor was still held by good old Father John.

  Not that this guy wasn’t trying to give the priest a run for his money. Blood spatter covered each and every surface in the bedroom. The victim had been tied to his bed, each limb attached to one of the bedposts. There were also two straps that went around the body and underneath the mattress—one just above the waist, the other around the upper chest just under the armpits. And then it appeared the killer had cut out the victim’s heart. While it was still beating.

  The organ itself had been plopped into a container that contained some kind of fluid. The container was placed on a breakfast tray that was set up in a way to give the poor man a view of his own heart as it continued trying to beat.

  And how did Trey know that?

  Well, the heart was still beating.

  “Lactated ringer’s solution mixed with plasma,” Darc intoned from behind Trey.

  As Trey peeled himself off of the ceiling he thought to himself that he should really be used to Darc sneaking up on him like that. It’s not like this was the first time.

  “That’s it. I’m getting you a bell or something,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath. Turning around, he saw that Darc’s attention was riveted on the container holding the heart. “What did you say? And try to make sure it’s in English this time.”

  “The fluid into which the heart was placed. It is called lactated ringer’s solution. More than likely oxygenated. With additional blood plasma.”

  “Okay, what the freak is that?” The only word Trey really understood was lactated, and that was just because he liked anything related to boobs. The rest was just so much gibberish.

  “It is a homogenous mixture of one or more solutes dispersed—” Darc began. This was so not about boobs.

  “Dude. English. En-glish. Seriously. Just tell me why it’s there in that tray.” Sometimes Trey wondered if Darc listened to him at all. No, that wasn’t true. Darc listened plenty. Usually when Trey didn’t want him to. And then repeated whatever he had heard at the worst possible time.

  “The reason that the heart continues to beat is due to the solution. It contains ions that the heart needs in order to generate the electrical impulse for the contractions.”

  “So this had to have happened within just a minute or two, right? I mean our killer could be right around the corner?” Trey started to sound the alert, but Darc caught his hand before he could call the unis over.

  “A heart, given proper oxygen and the correct proportions of sodium, chloride, potassium, and calcium, could continue to beat for up to forty minutes.”

  Trey deflated. But not lots. “Still, that means we’re right on top of this one. Who called it in?”

  One of the uniformed cops perked up at that. “It was an anonymous tip. Didn’t stay on long enough for a location.”

  “Probably a burner cell. Jerk,” Trey growled. “He wanted us to find this. He’s taunting us.”

  “That sounds like a real possibility,” a new voice called out from the doorway of the bedroom. It was Mala.

  “Where’s Janey? You didn’t—?” Trey looked around, panicked.

  “Bring h
er up to the scene of a murder? No, Trey, I didn’t. Can’t think why.” Mala’s tone was drier than the Sahara. “I left her down in the car with Officer Perry watching over her. She wants to see you both, though. Although,” Mala continued, looking around at the walls. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to get away from this before she falls asleep.”

  “Yeah, it’s a doozy. Did you see that the heart was still beating?” Trey pointed at the tray. The contractions of the heart were getting fainter. If Darc was right about the forty-minute thing, they could have a pretty good timeline without waiting for the M.E. Speaking of which…

  “Hey, Daniels!” Trey called out to one of the unis. “Can you check and see what the holdup is on the C.S.I. unit? We need to find out if this guy has the same mark as the others. It looks like there might be, but he’s covered in blood, so it’s impossible to tell.”

  “I just heard over the radio,” Officer Daniels, a young cop with spiky brown hair, replied. “They got held up by an accident, but they should be here in a minute or two.”

  “So, do we know anything about the victim?” Mala asked.

  “Hey, you sound like a detective. Or at least a part-time psych consultant,” Trey teased, then sobered. “The vic was an author—if you can call him that. His name’s Richard Soft, which is ironic, considering. He wrote rape erotica. Nasty stuff.”

  The C.S.I. unit, accompanied by Dr. Hutchinson, pushed into the room, snapping photos and collecting samples. Trey grabbed Mala by the elbow to keep her from getting run over in the stampede.

  “Why is his name ironic?” Mala asked, distracted by the invasion. She then stopped, a look of dawning comprehension on her face. “Right.”