His Twisted Smile

by Chris Thompson

  A gory, dark crimson tear in Isabelle’s throat was causing arterial spurts of blood to spray up onto Gordon; each beat of her heart hastening her closer and closer to death. Looking into her fear-filled eyes, Gordon was paralysed for a fraction of a second, then his shock was pushed aside by his training and he moved one hand quickly to her throat, clamping down on it as hard as he dared in an attempt to control the bleeding. Isabelle tried to speak, her pretty, pale face now spattered in blood as she coughed and choked on her own life fluid.

  “It’s going to be okay, Izzy. Don’t try to talk, just stay still.” Gordon told her, reaching with his other hand for his phone, fumbling with the device in his pocket as he tried to retrieve it quickly. Isabelle tried to speak again, but her words were issued as nothing more than a pitiful gurgle of sounds that could’ve meant anything. She looked terrified, her eyes wide in horror as the terrible realisation of what had happened to her sank in… alongside the thought of what was inevitably going to happen. Gordon clamped down on her wound tighter, feeling the pulses of blood in his hand and watching as it poured out from the clamp of the palm of his hand and between his fingers. He managed to dial the emergency services, demanding an ambulance and the police to be sent urgently as there was a woman in critical condition who needed help. With the report placed, Gordon leaned in closer to Isabelle, shifting her so she was in his arms and supported as opposed to on the ground.

  “G…” She managed to say, the only letter he’d understood from her unintelligible utterings.

  “It’s okay. I’m here, and you’re going to be fine. Help’s on the way.” Gordon told her. Her head lay in the crook of his arm and she struggled to move closer to him, the panic on her face laced with an urgency, as though she was desperate to tell him something. For the first time Gordon allowed himself to acknowledge what he was feeling: pure, unadulterated terror. He’d seen enough wounds to know that Isabelle didn’t have long. She was dying and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His terror was momentarily replaced with rage and he cursed himself for not noticing anything suspicious in the street before the attack, and for the fatal miscalculation he’d made in his assumption that Derek or Harold wouldn’t escalate the situation so violently.

  “Gor…” Isabelle managed to say, whatever words she wanted to speak beyond that lost in a coughing fit that caused her to accidentally spit blood onto Gordon’s face as he leaned in to hear her.

  “I’m here. I’m here.”

  “Mmm--” She gurgled and Gordon couldn’t understand it at first. She repeated the sound and he thought he managed to interpret what she was trying to say.

  “Millie?” He questioned. Isabelle’s eyes widened suddenly for a second and he understood everything she wanted to tell him. She knew it was the end; she knew too that the only one left to tell Millie’s story would be him and was desperately pleading with him to keep going, keep investigating and find justice for her daughter… and for her.

  “I promise, Izzy, I promise I’ll find them. I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them pay for you.” Gordon repeated, the burning, stinging pain of repressed tears stabbing at his eyes. He saw a momentary flash of contentment on her face as it turned paler. Agony welled inside Gordon’s heart, the certainty that he was about to lose someone whom he had grown close to once again almost too much for him to endure. Isabelle reached up with one weak, bloody hand and stroked his face, painting it with her blood in the process. Gordon leaned as close to her as he could and kissed her lips, whispering private words of affection that he wanted to be hers and hers alone. Her fingers began to fall from his cheek and Gordon instinctively pulled her close, the bizarre, crazy notion in his mind that holding her closer to him might keep the life within her. He could feel the tears spilling out from his eyes over his cheeks, running down to create bloody teardrops that dripped from his beard. She let out a soft, final attempt at speech. It was impossible for Gordon to understand it, so all he could do was hold her close and kiss her one last time. It tasted coppery and there was no pleasure in it, unlike the other kisses they had shared. It was sombre, painful, and so terribly final; a depressing capstone to their short, passionate relationship.

  When it ended, Gordon pulled his head back and looked into Isabelle’s eyes. She was gone; the light had vanished from them and was replaced with an endless, glassy stare. As her muscles relaxed, the faint, subtle curls of what might have been a smile disappeared. Had she found comfort with Gordon in her final moment? Gordon couldn’t answer that. He hurt too much. The loss was raw and excruciatingly painful, creating a ragged hole in his heart that was slowly filling up with hatred. Up until that point it had been about finding the person responsible for Millie’s death and ensuring they were brought to justice. As Gordon shifted his hand from the torn hole in Isabelle’s neck so that he could close her eyes, he knew there wouldn’t be any arrest. Gordon was going to find whoever murdered Millie and Isabelle and he was going to kill them; he would deliver justice by his own hand, and he would start with whoever pulled the trigger that took Isabelle away from him. It was personal now.

  Gordon continued to hold Isabelle, shifting to a sitting position and holding her close while he listened to the sirens growing nearer. A few people came out onto the street to see what had happened now that they were sure the gunfire had stopped. Gordon was aware he was being looked at, and also aware that someone was approaching him and asking if he was okay. Gordon doubted he’d ever be okay again.

  Chapter Eleven

  The ambulance arrived a little after the police. Enveloped in a haze of loss and a lust for revenge, Gordon had been reluctant at first to relinquish hold of Isabelle’s body, but his years of standing beside victims just like himself and knowing they would do whatever they felt necessary to follow procedure and gather any evidence cut through the fog of despair and the need for retribution that had wrapped itself tightly around him. After the ambulance, more police arrived, as did the coroner’s vehicle. The first responding officers tried to take his statement, but the medical technicians were keen to examine his shoulder. Gordon was taken to the ambulance where it was found to be a minor flesh wound; the technician even went as far as to tell Gordon he was extremely lucky as the bullet had only grazed his shoulder. Gordon felt far from lucky. It’d only need some minor attention, the technician had been happy to impart, a couple of stitches perhaps, but Gordon stubbornly refused to be taken to the hospital, waiting instead for his old partner to arrive. He’d called Jones and demanded he come as quickly as possible, but discovered he was already on his way.

  The crime scene team arrived before Jones and were working to gather as much evidence as possible. They had taken pictures of the blood on Gordon and collected his clothes for evidence, handing him a plastic, white cover-all to preserve his dignity. Jones arrived a short while later and hurried over to Gordon, who was sitting with the cover-all around his waist between the open doors of the ambulance. A technician was applying some gauze to the shoulder wound, but Gordon was being dismissive as he had noticed his partner had arrived. Weller started to follow, but Jones waved her off and dispatched her to take some witness statements

  “Jeez, I’m sorry--” Jones started as he approached Gordon.

  “Don’t be sorry. I want to know everything they find out about the car. I’ve got a pretty good idea who did this, but I need proof.”

  “Slow down. Are you telling me someone connected to Leland did this? If so, then we--” Jones started.

  “Not this time. I’ll deal with this alone.”

  Jones looked at him, observing the fierce, likely frightening expression on Gordon’s face.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Jones asked the medical technicians.

  “He needs some stitches. As soon as you people are done with him we’re out of here.”

  “Yeah, it won’t take long.” Jones interrupted. The two technicians nodded and moved away, though the senior of the two indicated they wouldn’t necessarily be gone for long. Once
they were out of earshot, Jones approached Gordon and lowered his voice considerably.

  “What are you talking about doing, Crane?”

  “I’m not letting him get away with this, Jones. I’m going to make sure he pays.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you do this by yourself.”

  “You don’t have a choice!” Gordon said, rising up and raising his voice. “Leland had her killed and I’ll see him brought to justice!”

  “Wait a minute, Leland of Leland Security?” Jenkins asked, suddenly appearing from around the side of the ambulance. Gordon faced him angrily and the detective took a half step back.

  “Don’t you come near me you sack of shit! If you’d done your job half as well as you think you did then Isabelle would still be alive!”

  “Easy.” Jones instructed, resting a warning hand on his friend’s uninjured shoulder.

  “I don’t think--” Jenkins started, but Gordon cut him off, standing and taking an aggressive step forward while shaking off Jones’ hand.

  “That’s always been your problem, you don’t think! You do the bare minimum to cover your ass and then move on to the next case. Did you even bother to read anything about Millie? Did you research the victim at all before you decided she accidentally killed herself? No, you didn’t, because if you had, and had you possessed even half a brain, you would’ve seen something was wrong!”

  “Crane, you need to--” Jenkins started, but whatever he was about to say was cut off. Gordon slammed his fist into his face, knocking the detective to the ground.

  “Crane!” Jones called out as three uniformed officers started towards them.

  “It’s fine.” Jenkins announced, waving them off as he stood up and wiped blood onto his sleeve where Gordon’s punch had split his lip. “He’s just emotional.” Jenkins concluded.

  “I’ll get him to the hospital.” Jones said, getting a tight grip on his upper arm and pulling him back towards the ambulance. “Leave it!” Jones hissed at Gordon quietly.

  Glowering, Gordon allowed himself to be tugged away by his friend. The fury born with Isabelle’s death still consumed him, but he wasn’t going to focus it exclusively on Jenkins, although he had certainly earned his share of Gordon’s ire. Jones made sure Gordon got into the ambulance and then returned to his car, loudly telling his partner to hitch a ride back to the station with the uniforms. While Gordon sat in silence as the ambulance started up and drove away, he raked his mind for any small but significant detail about the car or any partial glimpse of the driver or passenger he might have had, but all he found in his memory was the dying face of Isabelle. He tried to counter the image with his police training - with the methods of investigation he could follow that would lead him to the ruthless, unfeeling monster who had taken her life. But her beautiful face, pale and stained crimson, remained at the forefront of his thoughts, reminding him that he would never hold her in his arms or kiss her sweet lips ever again. Amidst the hazy pain of loss, the realisation that it was his fault she was dead crystallized in his mind. He had poked the bear through his interaction with Derek and the altercation Gordon had engaged in with Harold’s goons in the alley behind the bar and Derek – or possibly Harold, Gordon was forced to concede - had pushed back harder than he could’ve imagined. The odds were that the drive-by was intended to kill him, but as Isabelle had been there it was something of a bonus for them, as they had a chance to kill the detective causing problems and the woman who hired him in one go. If they weren’t afraid of gunning people down in the street then it meant Gordon either needed to approach both of them more carefully - or a lot more aggressively. The former would be safer but, as the ambulance came to a stop, Gordon realised he didn’t care about himself any more. Whether he made it through this alive or whether he went to jail for delivering justice for Isabelle and Millie, he just didn’t care. All that mattered was finding out which of the Lelands was involved in Isabelle’s death and whether, contrary to his belief that it was Derek acting alone in regards to the serial killings, both of them were acting together.

  As his injury was minor, Gordon had to wait a short time to be seen to. Jones arrived after a while, with fresh clothes – jeans, a pale blue shirt and a black leather jacket - and the contents of Gordon’s pockets, which had been taken from him by the crime scene technicians. When he raised an eyebrow, Jones explained he’d told a uniformed officer to recover his property and use his keys to raid his wardrobe. Apparently, he and Jones had coincidentally arrived at the hospital at the same time. After sitting beside Gordon on the bed he had been allocated, Jones began the conversation carefully.

  “So, you and she were…” Jones trailed off, his intention clear to Gordon.

  “Yeah.”

  “For long? I mean, were you with her before the case or--”

  “It started after. I didn’t expect it, we were… We just needed each other. What we had, however briefly, was real.”

  “So, when you were saying you’re going to get justice, what did you mean? Are you going to bring him in or are you going to…” Jones trailed off.

  “I know what I want, but I guess it’s up to him. Or maybe it’s both of them, I don’t honestly know, but I swear I will before I’ve finished.” Gordon declared, not wanting to admit to his friend he was out and out considering murder.

  “Take me through what you’ve been up to.”

  Gordon, despite his anger and overwhelming sadness, methodically recounted everything he’d done in the service of Millie’s case, from the first day until that morning. He provided no details about his and Isabelle’s relationship, simply stating that they had spent two nights together. During their discussion, a doctor came in and brusquely informed Jones he had to leave. He saw to the stitching of Gordon’s shoulder, cleaning it and padding it in gauze with the instruction not to overexert the shoulder as it might rip the stitches. Automatically, Gordon thanked him, albeit a little gruffly, and then he was left alone. He started to put on his shirt but almost immediately a nurse came in with some cleaning pads and offered them to him. When he questioned it she told him it was for his face and he realized he was still streaked with Isabelle’s blood. He nodded as she left the room, then cleaned himself up as best he could, dressed and started out towards the exit. Outside, he found Jones smoking a cigarette and looked at him questioningly.

  “I know, I quit, this is just a pick me up.”

  “Call me as soon as you have something.” Gordon instructed him, starting to walk away.

  “Hey!” Jones called after him, causing Gordon to stop and turn; irritation clear on his features.

  “What?” He demanded shortly.

  “How are you going to get home?” Jones asked. Gordon, through the fog of anger, grief and determination, realized he had come by ambulance and didn’t have his car. Reluctantly, he nodded and followed his old partner to his vehicle.

  Jones drove them slowly back to Gordon’s apartment building; he made a few attempts at off-topic conversation, but Gordon ignored him for the most the part, responding only with grunts or silence. When Jones brought up the case, Gordon made more of an effort.

  “You’ve got a boatload of circumstantial nothing.” Jones told him bluntly. “You don’t have a witness, you don’t have a shred of physical evidence and you don’t have anything to place Derek even remotely near Millie the night she went missing. What makes you so damn certain?”

  “Something in the way Derek spoke to me; he’s totally crushed, as if he’s had all the fight knocked out of him. Either he’s weighed down with guilt or something else. Not to mention he and Millie were apparently going to meet to try to resolve something, and she wanted him to tell Josh that nothing of an intimate nature happened between them.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “That’s not proof of anything.”

  “I’ll talk to Derek again. I’ll get him to talk this time.” Gordon stated darkly.

  “That’s a great idea. Ma
ybe this time those goons will succeed and kill you too.”

  Gordon snapped his head towards his friend and glared.

  “You said I don’t have anything, so where’s the harm?”

  “Cut the crap, Crane. What you’ve unearthed and what happened today tells me one or both of the Leland’s are up to their balls in this one way or another, but if you’re stupid, you’ll end up dead or arrested for harassment.”

  “I don’t--”

  “Care, I know. But I do, brother. I’m not going to sit by and let you get yourself killed.”

  “So, what do you suggest? Sit back and let Jenkins declare Isabelle’s death a random act of gang violence in an area with no gang activity?”

  “No. I’m suggesting you let me take a run at Derek. It seems to me from what you’ve said that Derek might be the one doing the killing and his father might be working to cover up that fact. I don’t know if it was Derek or Harold who called the hit on you, but it came right after you talked to Derek so that puts him right at the top of the list.”

  “Jones--”

  “I’m a cop, do you really think Derek would go after an active officer the same way he would a private eye?”

  “If Derek’s kidnapping and murdering women I don’t think we can doubt he’d try anything.”

  “Just let me work, big guy.” Jones told him as he pulled into Gordon’s street. “Stay here, eat something, drink something and wait for my call.”

  Gordon said nothing, he simply nodded. The car came to a stop and Gordon let himself out. As he shut the door he turned and rested his hands on the car body, lowering himself so he could speak to Jones through the side window.