Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4)

by Alex P. Berg

  9

  Shay and I headed west, in the direction of the army base. The churches and bars of the Delta district faded from view, replaced with row upon row of four- and five-story cookie cutter brownstones. Those in turn soon gave way to larger municipal buildings, many of them faced with banded columns and excessive amounts of polished granite. Down a cross-street, I even caught a glimpse of the famed Rucker Park, the city’s one and only attempt at convincing the populace that a cluster of a half-dozen trees growing out of a sidewalk did not, in fact, constitute a forest. From there, it wasn’t more than a few blocks to the edge of the New Welwic Main base.

  The camp sprawled across a good dozen square blocks of prime city real estate, easily demarcated by the seemingly endless olive green fence that ran around its perimeter. I trailed my hand across the paint-slicked fence boards as we walked, my mind drifting to my little brother Jack.

  I hadn’t seen him in well over two years, and much to my chagrin, I couldn’t with any degree of confidence say that I knew where in the world he was. I assumed he still drew breath, otherwise the army would’ve notified me via a sterile letter delivered with a stoic salute.

  I suppose I couldn’t blame him for his lack of written correspondence. We never enjoyed the sort of camaraderie that came naturally to most brothers, but who did Jack blame for that? Not our old man, of course, despite the fact that he never put forth the slightest modicum of effort after our mother died. He never noticed if Jack neglected to show up at school for a day, or even a whole week. He never chastised him for staying out too late, or beat him until he cried when he found an ounce of crank in his drawers. The old man was too far gone in his bottle, too lost in the possibilities of what could’ve been, to spare even an ounce of attention Jack’s way. And so the responsibility fell onto me.

  And how did Jack repay the old man’s neglect, when he finally came of age? In the only way a boy ignored by his father could. By following in his steps and joining the army, same as my father had long before I’d been born—and, of course, by continuing to place the burden of his festering anger, resentment, and lack of self-worth onto my shoulders, rather than on my father’s where it belonged.

  Steele’s voice reached through the cloud of my mind and brought me back to reality. “Daggers?”

  I blinked. “Hmm?”

  She nodded. In front of us stood the gate to the army base, guarded by a pair of burly young men holding halberds and wearing tan fatigues under similarly colored coats. I approached the pair and flashed my badge.

  “Morning, soldiers,” I said. “You mind pointing me in the direction of the MP offices?”

  The pair glanced at each other, and the one on the right responded. “Um…what’s this about, officer?”

  “Detective,” I corrected. “We’re investigating a potential homicide that occurred this morning over in the Delta district. Involved a trio of your own. Who I now need to speak to.”

  The soldier I was talking to glanced at the other. “You familiar with the protocol on this?”

  The second GI chewed his lip.

  “Look you two,” I said. “I’m fully aware the rules change when I cross the invisible line at our feet. I just need to talk to the suspects—who, I might add, were forcibly removed from my jurisdiction to your own. Now come on. Don’t make me get somebody out here to rake you over the coals for refusing to let us in.”

  The soldiers shared another look before the one who’d found his voice responded. “Alright. Go straight and hook right at the parade grounds. Building A two-thirty.”

  I nodded and walked on through, Shay at my heels. We worked our way up the main thoroughfare, past a pair of grounds filled with squads of soldiers training in hand to hand combat. Beyond them, other groups worked on their marksmanship, taking turns firing crossbow bolts into life-sized, straw-filled targets. Their movements were exact, well-rehearsed, and methodical. The very definition of military precision—which I’d always found to be a baffling concept. How could the armed forces be so organized when the body that funded and dictated their actions, the government, was the exact opposite?

  At the side of the marksmen, a team of army engineers wielding hammers and wrenches swarmed over one of those new-fangled Bock Industries reciprocating engines, although how they’d gotten their hands on one given the turmoil at Bock Industries, I couldn’t be sure. The engineers lifted and banged and cranked as they attached the engine’s drive shaft to what looked to my eyes like a ballista, except the implement of death in question had a large wooden drum sticking out of its backside.

  I nudged Steele. “What do you suppose that is?”

  My partner glanced at the contraption sadly. “I think that’s what the military would call ‘progress.’ Let’s hope we don’t see too much of it too fast.”

  I blinked, but I think I got the gist of what she meant. And for my brother’s sake, I hoped she was right.

  We turned at the parade grounds, which looked as if they’d been trimmed by the army barbers, and walked until we found ourselves at the MP offices—a squat, boxy building slathered with several coats of the ubiquitous olive green army paint.

  I pushed open the front doors and stepped inside. Corridors stretched out in three directions, but a low desk before me blocked my path. Behind it sat a pair of GIs, one male and one female. Both wore the same tan fatigues as the regular foot soldiers, but each had a white armband around their left arm, and on their right, an insignia patch with a prominently displayed pair of scales. It reminded me of my own badge, but instead of a soaring eagle holding the scales, a pair of swords crossed over them.

  The woman looked up from her desk. “May I…help you?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I’m Detective Daggers, and this is my partner, Detective Steele. NWPD. We’re here to retrieve the suspects you stole from us.”

  The woman sat up and clasped her hands. “Excuse me?”

  “Daggers…” said Steele, in that ‘let me take it from here’ tone of voice of hers.

  I ignored her and kept going. I had a plan. “Three of them. Sergeant Tim Holmes. PFC Kelly Chavez. Private Drake Delvesdeep. Heavy drinkers. Look like they hit a rough patch this morning. Surely you saw them come through here. They’d be hard to miss.”

  “I’m sorry, detective,” said the woman, “but I’m not familiar with any of those three individuals, and even if I were, I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters without prior authorization.”

  “Right, right,” I said. “Nobody keeps you abreast of anything. I get it. Your job is to sit here and make life miserable for people who walk in the door.” I leaned to my side to get a better look down the corridor behind the pair of desk jockeys. “Is that the sergeant major’s office back there?”

  The man stood. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat while we—”

  “It is, isn’t it?” I said. “Really, there’s no need for you to get up. I can show myself in.”

  I took a step to the side, and the young man moved to block my way.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir.”

  “And why not?” I asked. “What have you got back there? My suspects? Illicit hooch? Racy pinup mags?”

  The scowl he wore on his face said he didn’t care for my antics. Nor did he care who I was or what I thought I had the right to know. It did, however, tell me he’d be happy to put me down with excessive force should I be dumb enough to lay hands on him.

  I gulped. My strategy of being an asshole to force someone to come deal with me wasn’t going as planned. Or so I thought…

  A strong, smooth voice made me turn. “I’ll take it from here, Jenkins.”

  10

  A pure blood elf, roughly my height, stood at the mouth of one of the corridors to my side. A crisp, clean uniform fit snugly over his lean, muscular frame. His pointed ears stood out sharply over the ultra-short stubble at the sides of his head, but the hair at his crown had been given a little more leeway. Dark brown and swept to
the side with a touch of mousse, it lent his face a playful flair that contrasted with his straight nose and strong, smooth jaw. He peered at me judiciously with pale green eyes.

  “And who are you?” I asked.

  “Agent Elmorodil Blue,” he said. “ACIC.”

  “Bless you,” I said.

  Blue gave me a perfunctory smile. “It stands for Army Criminal Investigative Command. It’s essentially the army equivalent of your own civilian investigative unit.”

  Steele stepped forth and offered her hand. “Good to meet you, Agent Blue. I’m Detective Steele. Hopefully, you’ll forgive my partner Daggers for his occasional failed attempts at wit.”

  Blue took her hand, and his smile transformed from a polite one to a genuine one. “Forgive you? I don’t think that’ll be a terribly difficult challenge.”

  My cheeks warmed as something bubbled up from the pit of my belly, something hollow and biting and angry all at the same time. Something that made my jaw and heart clench simultaneously. Forgiving Steele wouldn’t be terribly difficult? What the heck did he mean by that?

  “Please, Detectives,” said the good-looking elf. “Accompany me to my office. We have things to discuss.”

  Without affording me the opportunity to come up with a clever response, Agent Blue turned and headed down the corridor, forcing me to follow. He led us past a cluster of cubicles before stopping at a door to a brightly lit corner office. He held his hand out in the direction of a couple of plain, solidly built chairs in front of his desk.

  Shay took one of the proffered seats, but I elected to remain on my toes, circling the room as I analyzed its contents. A three-tiered letter tray graced one corner of the elf’s desk, and an inclined wire file packed with manila envelopes perched on the other. Shiny, recently-waxed cherry wood dominated the chasm in-between.

  A pair of bookshelves sparsely populated with reference texts leaned against the left-hand wall, while framed commendations and awards stretched in a neat line, at face level, along the right. I stopped in front of a diploma declaring one Elmorodil Blue a graduate of the criminal justice program from Rutherford University. A shiny, embossed gold seal caught my eye, as did the words ‘With High Honors.’

  Agent Blue followed Steele and sank into the chair behind his desk. “First of all, detectives, let me apologize for how the situation unfolded this morning. I myself didn’t hear of the incident, should we say, until about an hour ago. At that point, Sergeant Major Keele had already made an executive decision to extract our soldiers from the scene.”

  “Wait,” I said, glancing back. “You’re not the sergeant major?”

  Blue shook his head. “I don’t rank quite that high—thankfully. I’m not sure I’d enjoy the responsibilities that go along with such a position. And for any other instance of misbehavior by enlisted personnel, I doubt Sergeant Major Keele would’ve made the trip himself. But when the events of the case suggest a possible homicide, our reaction must henceforth be different.”

  I moved to another wall-hung frame, this one containing a signed letter from a brigadier general thanking Agent Blue for his devotion and service. I frowned.

  “So, Agent Blue,” said Steele. “As you can probably imagine, Detective Daggers and I are feeling a bit out of our element following your intervention. How is this going to work, given we each have a legitimate juridical claim?”

  “Well,” said Blue, “if the evidence does point to a homicide, then we’ll be dealing with a felony crime committed on civilian soil, which would make this primarily a New Welwic police investigation. We’ll do our best not to interfere, but given the current three persons of interest—”

  “Suspects,” I said.

  Blue glanced at me. “Persons of interest. Given all three are army enlistees, ACIC will conduct its own parallel investigation. Again, should the evidence point to a homicide, we’ll let your jurisdiction take precedence, and beyond that, we’ll happily share evidence we’ve gathered to support the case, as I’d hope you’d be willing to do the same for us. But if the facts point to something else, we still need to make sure the three servicemen and women in question maintained themselves in a fashion befitting of the army’s code of conduct.”

  I glanced further down the wall at the rest of the plaques and awards. They made me want to puke.

  “So, Elmo,” I said. “Can I call you Elmo?”

  “I’d prefer Elmorodil,” he said. “Or Agent Blue.”

  I returned to Shay’s side and took the remaining seat. “Alright. Sure. Let’s talk about my suspects.”

  “Persons…of interest,” corrected Agent Blue.

  “It doesn’t matter what we call them,” I said. “I want them back.”

  “Do you, now?” he said.

  “I do.”

  Elmorodil’s chair squeaked as he straightened, and I heard a slight puff of air escape his nostrils. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Detective.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because privates Chavez and Delvesdeep and Sergeant Holmes are army enlistees,” he said. “All three signed contracts committing them to service in defense of the country. Part of that commitment demands they adhere to the code of conduct to which I already referred, but more importantly, that contract stipulates they must follow our rules, regulations, and commands. Because they’re army, they should be here, under our supervision, and in our care. Unless, of course, you have evidence with which to charge them for a crime.” The man lifted an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  “I can hold them in custody for twenty-four hours,” I said. “Breathe on them a little. See what slips.”

  “That’s unethical,” said Blue. “And to be quite honest, I highly doubt it would get you anywhere. These aren’t frightened street urchins or doped-up junkies, Detective. These are soldiers. Trained to stay calm under pressure.”

  I ground my teeth. Agent Blue knew too much for his own good—or at least for mine. He wasn’t about to bend under the weight of my abrasive personality or official sounding demands. He wouldn’t turn over the three GIs without some serious writs and warrants on my part, and even then he might fight it.

  “What if they escape?” I asked.

  “Daggers, this is a military base,” said Steele.

  Blue extended a couple fingers in Shay’s direction, as if to say she’d made his case for him.

  I sighed. “At least let us speak to them.”

  “What questions do you wish to ask?” asked Blue.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I tend to work off the cuff in that regard. Let my brain determine what’s pertinent as the situation unfolds.”

  Agent Blue clasped his hands together. “As I said, I’ll be happy to accommodate requests of that nature…assuming you can provide more concrete reasons for said requests.”

  I grunted, hoping the steam boiling inside me hadn’t yet started to pour from my ears.

  Shay cast a downturned lip and glance my way. “Let me again apologize for my partner, Agent Blue. He gets this way when he’s hungry. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us, and we’ll be sure to keep the communication routes open between us. Hopefully we’ll be able to piece this thing together in short order.”

  “Wait.” I waggled a pinky finger in my ear. “Did I hear that right? We’re collaborating?”

  “Yes,” said Steele as she stood. “We are.”

  Her tone brooked no rebuke.

  “Glad to hear it,” said Agent Blue, standing in response. “I look forward to working with you, Detective Steele.”

  The army investigator smiled, and I swear I caught a hint of the same from Shay. I did my best not to growl.

  11

  We left the army base and headed back toward the precinct, though we took the scenic route by sweeping through Rucker Park on the way there. Many of the trees had already lost their leaves, so the walk wasn’t quite as striking as it might’ve been a couple weeks prior with the park’s canopy ablaze in reds, oranges, and yellows. Not that I cared
. In the aftermath of my introduction to Agent Sweetcheeks, my mind had retreated into the dark hole it considered its safe place, taking with it the majority of my faculties.

  Shay tried to engage me in conversation as we walked. I think I managed to respond to a grand total of thirteen inquiries with some form of a grunt, frown, or ‘Mmm-hmm’ before she noticed.

  “In addition to her robe, did you accidentally slip on a pair of your wife’s underwear this morning, too?” she asked.

  I’d been dragging my eyes along the park’s cobblestone path as we walked. I blinked and lifted them to meet Shay’s gaze. “Say what?”

  “I’m saying you’re acting like your panties are in a bunch.”

  “Hardy-har har,” I said.

  We stood at the edge of an algae and lily pad-ridden pond, one surrounded by thick clusters of reeds and cattails. A lazy dragonfly alighted on the water’s surface, only to get summarily introduced to a goldfish’s gullet. Before me, the park’s vegetation abruptly stopped as it met the packed earth of a main thoroughfare. Had we already traversed the entire thing?

  “Seriously,” said Steele. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Steele tilted her head and gave me a skeptical double eyebrow raise.

  I grunted. Shay was almost as bad as my ex-wife Nicole in her ability to sniff out my bunkum and lies—and far more persistent in her search of a response. So I replied in the only way I knew how—by telling her the truth, but only a portion of it.

  “It’s that self-professed Agent Blue,” I said. “I don’t like him one bit.”

  “Self-professed?” said Steele.

  “Yes,” I said. “Detective, sure. Investigator. Why not? Officer. Well, given his military rank, probably. But agent? It’s not like he’s out there protecting generals and elected officials from assassination attempts.”

  “It’s a perfectly suitable word,” said Steele. “And I don’t know what your issues with him are. He seemed eminently professional.”