“Yep. Anyway, good old Dick was in the news last year after there was an incident over at Franklin High School where some seniors acted out some of the stuff in one of his books. Messed up some girls bad.”
“I heard about it,” Mala said, shuddering. “It was horrible.”
“Yeah. So, Mr. Softy here goes on this media blitz, raging about how his books were entertainment. Art.” Trey felt his bile rise up in him at the thought of what this man represented. “He wasn’t responsible, everyone should be looking at the parents, writers can’t be held responsible, blah, blah, blabbidy, blah.”
“While meanwhile the kids who were victimized got to be traumatized again every time they saw him on TV. I only caught snippets, but it was enough to make me want to claw his uncompassionate eyes out.” Mala didn’t show her mama bear persona every day, but Trey kinda dug it.
The M.E. interrupted at that point. “I think you will want to take a look at this,” he called out from next to the body. “It certainly seems to be one of the same group. Take a closer look.”
Where Dr. Hutchinson had cleaned away the blood from the forehead, another symbol could be seen. It was the same cluster of three Ys with bars across the arms of the letter, but this time there was another Y with a bar underneath the center of the top row, forming a sort of upside-down pyramid shape.
“Babylonian for four,” Mala murmured. “Well, at least we haven’t missed one yet. I guess that’s good news, right?”
But as Mala spoke, Trey could see Darc off to the side of the bed, his fists clenched at his sides. His body was rigid, and his head was cocked to one side. It appeared that every muscle in his body was clenched tight. Darc began to tremble from the clear strain on his system.
“Darc. Hey, buddy, you okay?” Trey strode over to his partner, placing a hand on Darc’s shoulder. The muscles were like cords under Trey’s fingers. “What’s wrong?”
The tall detective began to hyperventilate. “Four… not… can’t…”
“What’re you saying?” Trey pressed. “I don’t—”
“Seven…” Darc croaked.
“Seven? What the hell?” Turning to look at Mala, Trey begged her for help with his eyes. This was exactly what he’d brought her in for. Maybe she could calm him down better than Trey. It was worth a shot. He was about to ask her when a look of understanding crossed Mala’s face.
“I’ve seen this before.”
“What, this?” Trey shrugged. “Yeah, he does it. Not often, but when he does…”
“No, I mean I saw it during the last case. With Dante’s nine circles. He was trying to fit a piece of a puzzle in where it didn’t belong.” She took her attention from Darc’s face and connected with Trey. “Remember?”
“Remember? How could I forget? He almost launched himself off a catwalk, with me attached.” But even as he spoke, Trey could feel the tension drain out of Darc. His eyes cleared, and he straightened up.
“Mala is correct. That is the missing information which I could not decipher.” Darc nodded in her direction. “Thank you.”
Whoa. Darc had said “thank you” to the same person twice. In the same day. Trey glanced at the window, halfway convinced he’d see fire raining from the sky.
He was used to looking back on his own decisions and swearing a blue streak, but his text to Mala was proving to be exactly what the doctor had ordered. And that doctor was Dr. Mala Charan. Too bad no one but Trey would know what he had done.
“You are welcome, Darc,” Mala responded. “But do you have any idea what it is that you’re trying to force into place?”
“Not yet. But now that I am not attempting to force an answer that would fit an assumption, the logical pathways should open up.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then his body shuddered and his eyes popped open once more. “Of course. The seven sins.”
“Wait. What? I don’t understand,” Trey cut in, glancing from Mala to Darc. “What about them?”
“You mean the listing of the deadly vices?” Mala pressed.
“That was the mistaken presumption. I was taking the list from the modern version of the seven cardinal sins. Pride, lust, envy, sloth, gluttony, wrath and greed.” Darc’s eyes glistened with knowledge that Trey didn’t share.
“Oh, I see,” Mala uttered, her eyes glowing as well. “Solomon.”
“Hold up. You guys are doing it again,” Trey whined. “That thing where you understand exactly what’s going on but I don’t.”
“Sorry, Trey,” Mala replied, her tone apologetic. “It’s a scripture from Proverbs, which is generally attributed to King Solomon.”
“Yeah, I know who King Solomon is, but what does he have to do with—?”
Darc cut him off. “It is a list. It is from Proverbs 6:16-19. These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.”
“Really?” Trey asked. “That’s the scripture? Seven are an abomination unto him? Not nearly as catchy as the seven sins.”
“The first must have seemed like pride to you. And the second… what? Gluttony?” Mala asked Darc, as if Trey hadn’t spoken. Well, at least things were getting back to normal. Maybe now Trey wouldn’t have to shoulder the whole investigation.
“Yes,” Darc replied. “But the third and forth murders did not seem to fit within the pattern. The severing of the hand did not seem to match with the sequence from the film, although it could have been a reference to greed, with the hand being severed for thievery. It would not come together logically.”
“But now it makes perfect sense,” Mala continued for him. “The hands that shed innocent blood. He worked for the drug cartels. In the killer’s mind, he would be responsible for the deaths of anyone drawn into that life. And this one… a heart with wicked imaginings. Spot on.”
“Hold on!” Trey shouted, fed up. Both Darc and Mala turned to face him at once, their expressions mirror images of each other. But no matter how shocked they might be at him yelling, Trey refused to be left in the dark any longer. “Okay. I think I get that we’re working off of a different list. But what does that mean for our next steps? Are we any closer to catching this guy?”
“No,” Darc said. “Although now that I understand the pattern, the available information should not fight me.”
“Fight you?” Trey asked, befuddled. “Okay, skip that for now. The next one’s what?”
“Feet that are swift in running to mischief,” Mala answered. “That could be just about anything.”
“Right. So, at the end of the day, not so helpful.” Trey held up a hand, staving off the doctor’s rebuttal. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” Trey thought it through for a moment, then continued. “Actually, it has been a long day. For you guys, too.”
He could see from the way that Mala was standing that she was tired. Trey had no idea what she’d been doing, but just keeping up with a troubled young girl was more than enough. She had done what needed to be done here.
“Mala, why don’t you take Janey and head back home. There’s nothing more for you to do here tonight.” Trey wasn’t positive, but it looked like Mala was grateful.
Now for Darc. Looking over at his partner’s impassive face, Trey realized this one wouldn’t be so simple. “As for you, it won’t do any good to tell you to go home, so why don’t you head back to the station and look over the files with this new angle? Maybe something will jump out. I’m going to wrap things up here, then I’ll meet you.”
To his surprise, Darc’s only response was a curt nod. Wow. Was this what a partnership was supposed to look like? Where each partner listened to the other respectfully and actually did what was asked if it made sense?
Mala sighed, then turned to walk toward the door. “I only hope that awful reporter didn’t manage to follow me here. I don’t real
ly want to run into her again.”
“Hold up. Charity King was talking to you?”
“Yeah. She cornered me in my parking garage.” Mala shook her head, a dark chuckle escaping her lips.
“That’s it. I gotta talk to that lady. If you see her van, just give it a wide berth. I’ll take care of it after I’m done here.”
It wasn’t until Darc and Mala left, chatting with each other—since when did Darc chat?—that Trey noticed something about the crime scene that hadn’t hit him before. It was strange, but the more Trey looked, the more it made a weird kind of sense to him.
The crime scene had been staged to be as sickly fascinating as it could possibly be. The body in the exact middle of the bed, the walls sprayed with blood, the heart still beating while the dying man watched.
It was like it was all put together to play out in a movie. Or a TV show.
Or a newscast.
It wasn’t something that either Mala or Darc would see, but it was clear to Trey. And then a thought hit Trey like a body falling from the roof of a church. It was probably stupid, but feet that be swift in running to mischief sounded an awful lot like that irritating barracuda of a reporter. And if their killer really was close by…
Stupid. Totally. There were a billion different things that scripture could mean. Still, it would only take a second or two to check out. And maybe it would turn out that Trey texting Mala was a good decision on more than one level.
“Daniels, let the M.E. know that I’m stepping out for a minute. I’ll be back to help with any wrap up.” The uniformed cop gave Trey a nod. Moving out into the hallway, Trey trotted toward the elevator and was down outside the apartment complex in no time.
And there it was, across the street. The FOX News van.
Okay, so she was here. That didn’t mean anything, did it? She was always anywhere that there was any kind of action.
But Trey didn’t see her anywhere, and it wasn’t like Charity King to keep sequestered in her news van. The more he thought about it, the faster he walked. By the time he had crossed the street, he was running.
He arrived at the van and heard footage playback from inside. They were just looking at footage they had shot. No problem. That realization almost convinced him to walk away.
Ah well. He was already here, right? Trey knocked on the door of the van, three hard raps with his closed fist.
Nothing.
He grabbed the handle to open the door, but it was locked. Trey sprinted around to the other side of the van, testing each door as he passed. When he got to the driver-side sliding door, it finally gave.
And there, inside, was a scene out of a horror movie. Both Charity King and her cameraman had been slaughtered. But that wasn’t all.
Their feet, with the shoes still on, had been severed from their bodies and lined up in front of the door, on display for whomever was unlucky enough to see it first. And the unlucky bastard just happened to be Trey this time.
But was it unlucky? Trey knew Charity King more than anyone else on the case. He was the only one who would have seen the connection. Maybe this scene was laid out specifically for him. He glanced up at the makeshift production station that had been set up in the van and noticed a camera pointing right at the door where Trey was standing.
The light on the camera blinked red. It was recording.
A chill ran up Trey’s spine, and he reached into his pocket for his cell to call for additional backup.
Right before a bright and nauseating pain blossomed just behind his right ear and Trey fell forward into blackness.
*
At least the strands of glistening light were no longer fighting him.
Darc had been staring at the files of the case for over two hours now. Patterns were beginning to emerge, but they included an individual about whom Darc had little practical knowledge. It was Trey’s acquaintance Bill Harris. And at this point, Darc was unsure how he should proceed.
After looking through all of the evidence, it was the name that continued to come to the surface. It was surprising how obvious it was once Darc let go of his preconceived ideas about the case.
It had not been Mala’s influence. Well, it was possible that had been a contributing factor, but it was not the salient point. He had been resisting the natural movement of the logic pathways within himself, trying to bend them to his own ideas. He knew better than to do that. How often had he chided Trey for the same sort of mental sloppiness? And yet, when it was Darc with the problem, it seemed less clear.
A mistake he would not make again.
But with his newfound clarity, the name Bill Harris began to be outlined in a clear, bright light. Not the blue light of certainty, but light just the same. Bill had been at every crime scene but this last one, seeming to know at the same time as Darc and Trey did where the murders had occurred. Sometimes even before.
The crimes had a religious backdrop, and Bill had talked of his shame at calling someone a “jerk-off,” stating that it was not what Jesus would have done.
And then there was the matter of the knife.
Bill had so much information regarding that weapon. Information gleaned from his own years in the Special Forces, which service would have allowed Bill to purchase his own blade.
Perhaps the very one they had found at the crime scene.
He had called Trey back, letting him know that the blade had belonged to a former member of the Special Forces who had reported it stolen. But Darc had no way of knowing for sure if Bill was telling the truth.
It had been too late to contact the company that sold the knives, and there was no way of knowing for sure if the company would supply the name of the buyer without a warrant. So, for the moment, Darc was at an impasse.
But at the very least, the information warranted a talk with the private investigator. And sooner, rather than later.
The only real problem at this point was the gray. Once more, Darc had stepped into an area that seemed laden with the foggy cover of emotion. Bill was Trey’s friend. And Darc found that he wanted to honor Trey’s friendship with this man by talking to his partner first.
These emotions were awkward things.
In truth, Darc had worked out most of this information within the first ten minutes of examining the case. But he had continued to study the files, hoping his partner would arrive from the crime scene so that they could talk about this situation.
Darc found the delay surprising. He would have expected that Trey would take no more than an hour or so at the crime scene. Perhaps he should give his partner a call.
Darc began to reach into his pocket to retrieve his phone when a noise down the hallway caught his attention. It was late enough that there was only minimal staff left in the precinct building, and none of them generally came down this way.
As Darc stepped around his desk, he found himself face to face with Bryce Van Owen. While the lawyer was not the least likely person for Darc to encounter here at this particular time, he was certainly not someone who Darc had thought to see.
Bryce appeared somewhat disheveled, his hair sticking up from where he must have run his hand through his locks. His tie was halfway undone, his top button loose. He was also in the middle of eating what appeared to be a microwaveable burrito.
“Darc! Hey, man. What’re you doing here this late?” Bryce asked, his mouth half full of food.
“I am working on the case.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. In fact, that’s the reason I’m here. I just didn’t think I’d actually find you. I was just gonna leave a sticky note for Trey.” He held up a bright pink square of paper that had scribbles all over it. “But since you’re here…”
Darc gestured toward the chair beside his station, watching Bryce seat himself before taking his own place behind the desk. He waited for Bryce to continue.
“So, okay, I’m not sure how to say this. It’s been bugging the hell out of me for a while now.” Van Owen took a dee
p breath and then let it out. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy for those murders.”
That was interesting. Darc had assumed that once the next couple of murders had shown up that Captain Merle would inform Bryce of the situation. But, apparently, the captain had kept the information to himself, forcing Bryce to follow the information to his own conclusions. Very slowly.
“That is correct.”
“Oh, you mean you knew?” Bryce’s eyebrows shot up. Since this seemed an unusual time for the lawyer to be flirting with Darc once more, the expression was likely one of surprise. “I wish you had told me. I’ve been agonizing about how I was going to tell the great Robi Darcmel that he was mistaken.”
Darc did not understand. The trails of light quavered, bumping into one another in confusion. “You would do so by stating that you believed me to be erroneous in my assumptions. And you would have had a thirteen percent chance of being correct.”
“Those aren’t great odds, Darc,” the lawyer quipped. “Besides, I didn’t really relish going head to head with the department’s resident savant. Anyway, I’m glad we’re on the same page. I was pretty nervous.”
“There should be no trepidation in doing your work to the best of your abilities,” Darc lectured. “My partner has a success rate in this department of thirty-seven-point-two percent, and yet he maintains his employment status as a detective.”
“Yeah, well, I have to do better than that if I want to stay in my bosses good graces,” Bryce grumbled. “But now that all that’s out of the way, what have you guys got on the case at this point?”
Darc hesitated, again feeling the creeping mists of gray reaching out their tendrils to surround him with their blanket of non-logic. He felt that he should not share this information with Bryce, and yet here was a largely objective party. It might be possible to explain the situation to this lawyer. Calculating the possibility that Bryce was more skilled emotionally than Darc, the numbers came up at ninety-seven percent.
A near-certainty.
Using the most brevity he knew how to employ when talking about a case, Darc sketched in the information he had gleaned regarding Bill Harris.
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 22