“Dude,” Trey said, looking at Darc. “You had breakfast? Most important meal of the day.”
The detective didn’t turn from his examination of the shoe, but Captain Merle did.
“Thank you, Officer Keane,” The captain said, shaking Trey’s hand once more. “You’ve been a great help. We can now rule this out as a John losing it on a streetwalker.”
“So. This one of Harry’s?” Trey asked. When the captain showed some surprise, Trey continued. “Come on. You can’t turn on the TV without hearing about Seattle’s favorite serial killer. What is it, like five now?”
“Six and counting. If this one turns out to be another, the total will come to seven.” The captain rubbed the same spot on his forehead and turned back to face the dryer and the body within. “We should know pretty quickly once the M.E. shows up.”
“We would know right now if you would simply allow me to move the body,” Darc chimed in, his inspection of the shoe complete.
“Dude. I’m vice, and even I know not to touch the body.” Once again, the bald detective completely ignored what he had to say. Trey was more than a tad surprised by Darc’s statement. For someone who seemed like such a tight-ass, moving a Vic without the examiner present seemed like it was way outside standard procedure.
Maybe there was more to this guy than was evident at first glance. But whatever that “more” might be, Trey just couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. He’d done his job here. Time to get back to bed.
“All right, guys.” Trey nodded to the two in front of him. “I’m out. Let me know if there’s ever anything more vice can do for you gents.” He tipped an imaginary hat at the captain, whose lips twitched slightly in an upward direction. Okay, so one out of two wasn’t so bad.
Although the thoughtful look the captain was giving Trey as he turned on his heel to leave was more than a little disconcerting.
* * *
The annoying vice cop was gone. The manner in which Officer Keane had ascertained the veracity of the brand of shoe had been mildly impressive, but upon further reflection, Darc assessed that the possibility of needing that kind of expertise in a future homicide was less than 1%. Statistically, not of extreme importance.
Darc turned to the captain, ready to press his case on the merits of early body removal, when more noise came from the front of the Laundromat. It was the C.S.I. team, including the M.E., making their way through the glass door with all of their equipment. The examiner’s assistant, Billy, was looking around the area, a large grin plastered on his face. The medical examiner himself had surpassed Darc’s estimate by two full minutes, which indicated that Dr. Murray had more than likely exceeded the posted speed limit. By quite a large margin.
Considering the nature of the request Darc was about to make of him, it might be advisable not to bring that bit of intelligence to bear in his conversation with the examiner. This was another of those murky gray areas for Darc, but it seemed that one of his previous partners had mentioned something along those lines. If only Darc could get a codified system of rules for social interaction, the whole process could be streamlined.
“What have we got?” Dr. Murray called out as he moved toward the back of the Laundromat. Darc started to respond that they had no idea what they had because they had, as yet, been unable to move the body, when the captain spoke in his stead.
“Looks like it may be one of our Hairless Harry Vics.”
“Well, let’s get in there and see, shall we?”
Darc assumed that Dr. Murray’s use of the plural pronoun was not literal, as he had already been blocked once from touching the body, or even the door to the dryer. The C.S.I. team swarmed over the area, snapping pictures, taking swabs, lifting fingerprints. This was the other difficulty with having to wait for the M.E. There were always delays above and beyond the simple wait for the man to arrive.
While he was waiting, Darc pulled one of the investigators aside and put in a request for the team to pull video footage from all the traffic cameras in the area. While not probable, they might be able to track the killer by his license plate number.
The captain spoke to Dr. Murray, his tone respectful. “Doctor, if the body shows the other markers, make sure to take samples from under the fingernails. The one DNA sample we have so far showed the perp to be male, but was too badly degraded for any further analysis. I’m hoping we can get something useable here.”
The examiner nodded, his attention fully riveted to the body now emerging from its mechanical cocoon. Moving toward the body, the doctor pulled on his latex gloves, prepping for his initial inspection. His assistant was jabbering away at the doctor’s side.
“I hope this is one of Harry’s. That would be awesome. Have you noticed the consistency of the size of the Roman numerals? Almost like it was stenciled on before he made the cuts. And how he managed to shave them down while they were still alive, get their clothes back on them and still escape? This guy’s the real deal.”
“Billy, please,” the M.E. muttered. “Could you maybe ratchet the enthusiasm down a notch? It’s a little creepy.”
The assistant did seem to know quite a lot about the case. Darc wondered if perhaps Billy had been assisting on the other autopsies. If not, the amount of detail indicated some intensive research on the part of the young man. Curious. The M.E. and his assistant arrived next to the dryer and prepared to extract the corpse of the young lady.
Realizing that once the M.E. was fully engaged with the body he might not get another chance, Darc moved in closer to the doctor. When it was necessary to gain someone’s attention, there was a protocol. The mechanics of that protocol seemed straightforward, so far as Darc could ascertain, although this was moving into gray territory. It involved making a noise that could be interpreted as involuntary but that would elicit a response to the auditory stimulus.
Darc sneezed.
Dr. Murray started, spinning around on his heel to face Darc. The protocol had been successful.
“Detective Darcmel. Are you getting sick?” the examiner asked.
“No. It was a ruse performed to gain your focus momentarily.” As Darc replied, the doctor’s expression changed. His lips tightened into a straight line and his jaw clenched. Irritation or nausea. Nausea was a not-uncommon response to dead bodies, although a medical examiner should be well beyond such kneejerk reactions at this stage.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I need your permission to be able to move bodies before you arrive.”
The examiner snorted, a smile pulling his lips upward. Once again, Darc was left baffled by the gray world of emotional responses. First the captain, and now this doctor. What about his request had been amusing? Dr. Murray dug around in his equipment, looking for some sort of tool to help him in his examination. He spoke over his shoulder.
“Hey, there are days where I feel like I could use all the help I can get.”
Finally, a response that made some logical sense. Darc turned to see if Captain Merle had been listening in on their conversation, when his attention was drawn to the front entrance.
Officer Keane was back, carrying a brown paper sack and a drink holder in one hand, and holding the door open with the other. He was leaning against the doorframe, chatting with an attractive woman in a sharp suit and a turtleneck. Something about her attire, combined with the precision of her hairstyling and speech, caused several glowing lines of logic to separate themselves from the conversation and wind their way inside of Darc’s mind. As the lines began to coalesce, Darc saw the pattern just as Captain Merle moved toward the entrance.
“Is that Officer Keane over there chatting with a reporter?” he growled.
The gleaming lines confirmed the fact that the woman with whom Keane was speaking was, in all probability, a reporter. Darc followed the captain up to the front of the Laundromat.
The reporter had long, flowing dark hair, and blue eyes that had been accentuated by makeup with an expert’s touch. She appeared to be wearing fals
e eyelashes, as well. Her figure was full through her torso, slim through the hips and legs. Calculating the circumference of her chest, Darc assessed that she wore a size 36D bra. The woman was an almost exaggerated version of the feminine ideal. It was no wonder the vice cop seemed entranced by her.
Something about the way the captain approached must have alerted the woman, as she smoothly detached herself from the conversation and turned her attention to the new threat. The reporter extended her hand in greeting.
“You look like you’re in charge here,” the reporter oozed, turning up the wattage on her smile. The captain ignored the hand, but the smile only flickered for a moment. “My name’s Tracy Hendricks. I was just about to ask this gentleman if he knew whether or not we have a confirmed Hairless Harry attack here.”
“You’ll have to wait for that information, just like we will. I hope you can understand that discussing the details of a case can keep us from closing it. I trust that keeping the citizens of Seattle safe is as much a priority for you as it is for us.” The coolness of the captain’s tone belied the meaning of his words.
“Certainly,” Tracy demurred. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your investigation.”
“Then if you wouldn’t mind staying back from the entrance to the crime scene…” the captain tossed over his shoulder as he turned to walk back into the Laundromat. “Keane, I need to talk with you.”
“Uh, sure,” the vice cop gave the reporter a half smile and slid the card she offered him into the pocket of his hoodie before joining the captain at the back. “Oh, hey,” Keane said, holding out the bag in his hand towards Darc. “This is for you.”
Darc took the bag and opened it up. Inside the bag was something wrapped up in brown paper. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast, dude. Remember, most important meal of the day? You’re looking a little low on blood sugar, so I got you a bagel with cream cheese and lox. I’m personally more of a breakfast meat kinda guy, but it was a kosher deli, so… no delicious pork, ya know? Oh, and a beverage to wash it down with.” He held out a plastic cup filled with what looked like fresh squeezed orange juice.
Curious. Casting his mind back, Darc realized that he had not eaten since lunch yesterday, when Detective McGarren had left. And while Darc’s mental capacity at his weakest surpassed others’ at their finest, there was no reason not to be functioning at the highest level possible.
He took the cup from Keane, placed the straw in his mouth and took a long pull. The flood of fructose from the juice immediately jolted his mental functioning to a higher level, and the acidic wash of the orange was… pleasant.
“Oh, and here.” Keane handed the captain the other cup from the cardboard drink holder, a paper cup with a lid. “You look like the kind of guy who takes his coffee black.”
“Ah, yes. Yes, I do,” the captain replied, a strange look on his face. It was the look of a man who seemed to be making up his mind about something. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing, Cap. So… what’s up? You wanted to talk to me?”
“Hm. Right.” The captain took a pull at his coffee, then continued. “I have to ask… don’t they teach you in vice not to talk to the press in the middle of an investigation?” Captain Merle’s brow was furrowed, casting a shadow over his eyes.
“Yeah. Of course,” Keane answered, a confused look on his face.
“Then what was all that about?”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the investigation. I was talking about Downton Abbey.” The vice cop must have seen the look of non-comprehension on the captain’s face, so he continued. “You know, the British series? Masterpiece Theatre? Airs on PBS?”
“But I heard you,” the captain continued, his face turning a bit red. “You said something about ‘the case’.”
“Yeah. Bates. You know, from the show. It’s totally a weak case. Completely circumstantial. Man, I love me a good English drama. And I guess the reporter’s a fan too,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, apparently to catch another glimpse of the reporter. “‘Sides, you have to admit she’s smokin’ hot.”
“Well, steer clear of her from here on out, no matter how ‘hot’ she is. We need to keep a lid on things until you’ve finished up this case.”
“Sure thing,” Keane replied, then stopped. “Wait. What? What do you mean, ‘until you’ve finished up this case’?”
“You’re going to be working this case with Darc. I have a phone call to make to your superior officer, but I’m certain he’ll release you to me. This case is important enough, and we go way back.”
That, without doubt, was the most ridiculous idea Darc had ever heard in his life.
CHAPTER 3
Trey was… well, Trey was pissed. And flattered. But mostly pissed.
“You want me to work a homicide?” Trey asked, trying to keep his voice from going up an entire octave. When his voice got into the stratosphere like that, it had a tendency to crack, and he sounded like a kid going through puberty. Not exactly manly. “You know I’m not even a detective, right?”
“This is a temporary arrangement, just for this case. Let’s call it a trial run,” the captain replied. “Although, if it goes well, I may be requesting a permanent shift. Pending the result of your detective’s exam, that is.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve known me for like—what?—five minutes? All due respect, sir, but are you smoking something?” Trey couldn’t believe what was happening here. It was like he had stepped into some kind of alternate reality. Maybe he was getting punked.
He looked at the captain. No, there was no way that face was joking. Ever.
“Keane, you’re doing this. It’s either you or me, and it’s not going to be me. Detective Darcmel’s a certified genius.” The captain nodded in Darc’s direction. The bald man inclined his head, apparently taking the praise as nothing more than his due. “He’s also a pain in the ass. He’s had five partners in just the last year. No one can get along with him. Sorry, Darc, but it’s true.”
“There is no need to apologize, although I don’t understand the reference to buttocks. The level of irrational behavior amongst those professing to be detectives is abysmal.” Darc stopped for a moment, then continued. “Although your statement was not completely factual. I have had five partners, but it was over the course of exactly eleven months and five days.” Darc then turned on his heel and stalked over to where the M.E. was working on the body.
“And there it is in a nutshell.” The captain leaned in and spoke in a more quiet tone. “He’s got Asperger’s.”
“Ass who?” Trey had no idea what was going on here.
“Asperger’s Syndrome.” The captain sighed. “Google it, Keane. Look, there’s not a chance I’m going to end up watching over him. You’re on this case. Time to start working it.” He turned to walk toward the entrance.
“Wait. So I’m basically here to be his babysitter?” Trey called after him.
Captain Merle turned back and gave him a long look, a slight twinkle in his eye. “Pretty much, son.”
And then he was gone.
Well, it was official. Today officially sucked. And it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Trey wasn’t normally even awake by now.
And, apparently, it was about to get even better. Darc stepped forward and gazed at what seemed to be Trey’s right eyebrow. It made Trey feel like he was about three feet tall. Trey didn’t like feeling three feet tall. He didn’t like feeling five feet seven inches tall, which was his actual height, so feeling even less than that was not okay. Darc’s tone managed to be as impersonal and nonspecific as his eye line.
“It will be important for the success of this case for you to stay out of my way as much as possible.”
“Um, yeah. No problem, dude. You heard the captain. I’m basically here to babysit you, not interfere with your mojo.” The thought of actually engaging on a homicide case was giving Trey hives. No need to get more caught up in this thing than he needed to be. Besides,
the thought of dead bodies made him queasy.
“We need to go now.” Before he had even finished speaking, Darc was moving toward the exit. He spoke over his shoulder at Trey. “You will drive.”
“Where are we going?” Trey asked, but there was no response from the detective as he stepped out of the Laundromat and into the street, causing at least one car to slam on its brakes to keep from hitting him. Trey rushed out, holding his hands up in an apology to the irate driver who had failed to get Darc’s attention with his swearing. “Sorry, dude! Working a case!” Trey flashed his badge.
Okay. Apparently, babysitting included bodyguard and chauffeur services, as well. Whatever. Trey would take care of the brainiac until this case was over, then he’d hightail it back to vice, no matter what that crazy captain had to say about it.
He’d pick drug dealers and strippers over this any day of the week.
* * *
Darc had not said a word to Officer Keane since they got in the car. On the inside of Darc’s mind, the glowing paths of light were overlaid atop a map of Seattle, telling Darc where he needed to go. When the lines indicated they were to turn left, Darc pointed left and Keane dutifully turned the wheel.
The fact that Darc was not speaking had not kept Officer Keane from emitting a steady stream of words. Darc was beginning to believe that his temporary partner might have some sort of disorder. So far, the man had touched on baseball, bacon, the original Star Wars trilogy and his thoughts on plastic surgery. But now it seemed that Keane had turned his attention back to the case at hand.
“So… are you going to tell me where we’re going and what we’re doing there?”
“There should be no need to inform you of our destination,” Darc replied, breaking his silence. “A good detective would know without asking.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a detective, am I?” For a man who was in the middle of driving, Officer Keane used his hands more than seemed prudent. “Besides, this is my first homicide. I don’t know what freaky stuff you guys do. Give me meth labs and sleazy C.I.s. They make sense. Serial killers don’t.”
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