by Shutt, Tom
“You don’t think it’s cruel to keep him alive like this?” she asked, gesturing to the life support equipment piled around his bed.
“Killing is a mortal sin,” Benjamin said. His eyes met hers, and they carried a different kind of intensity this time. “Death leaves a mark on the soul, one which cannot be washed away and which remains in place until it is our time to be judged. Mine is sullied without a doubt, but my actions have always been for the greater good. I am confident in my decisions.” He placed a spotted, wrinkled hand on Henry’s shoulder. “If I took the life of my own blood, I couldn’t—I would never be able to live with myself.”
“It could be a kindness to your grandson,” Alex suggested.
Benjamin refused to acknowledge what she said. “Will you speak with Arthur Brennan?”
If the old man before her was right, Brennan was her best chance at remaining alive. Without his help, a serial killer would remain at large. Someday—perhaps not today or tomorrow, but at some time in the future—that murderer would track her down for what she was. Alex didn’t know what she was getting involved in, but somebody was hunting people with powers, and she was a pragmatic survivor to the end.
“Fine,” she said eventually. “I’ll talk to him. Any idea where he lives?”
Chapter Eleven
Brennan woke early, just as the murky black of night was giving way to a wan gray morning.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and picked his laptop up off the floor. It turned itself on at his touch, and he navigated to his email. He frowned at the results and refreshed the page again to be sure. No new messages.
It was odd, but he had butterflies in his stomach ever since he had sent a private message to Clara Thompson. He hadn’t approved of the idea of online dating, yet now he was refreshing his inbox like a lovesick teenager.
I need to see a shrink. He closed the laptop again and rose from bed. It was cold out from beneath the blankets, and he quickly covered himself with heavier clothes. He heard the distinct sound of dry cereal being poured into a bowl and headed for the kitchen.
“I sent a message to a prospective date,” Brennan announced.
Greg looked unimpressed. “Congratulations.”
“Remember that agreement we reached last night? The one where I meet beautiful women in exchange for you finding a job?”
“Oh, right.” His nephew sighed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
In spite of the wording, it didn’t sound like sarcasm. “Good,” Brennan said. “Hey, I’ve got to run.”
“Did Sam get back to you with something?”
“No, not yet. But I realized last night that I’ve been looking at this case all wrong.”
Greg shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Oh yeah? How so?”
“I’m looking for a serial killer, someone who seemingly knew all of these disparate victims, or at least had a purpose for tracking them.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“It does, but that’s not going to work here. The victims have nothing linking them, no common acquaintances or even tangible locations they visited.”
“What about intangible locations?” Greg suggested. Brennan gave him an even look. “What? You used to track people before, right? As a Sleeper? Maybe they have something mentally in common.”
“No,” Brennan said. “I can’t do that right now, it’s too exposed.”
“Too exposed to who?” Greg’s question was met with pointed silence. “Fine. So what are you looking for, dear uncle?” he asked with fake cheer.
“When I went to Kelsi Woodill’s apartment, her roommate was there moving out some of her things.”
“You think she did it?”
Brennan shook his head. “No motive, and she looked pretty disturbed by the whole thing. Besides, she has even less of a connection to the other victims than our phantom suspect. No, she didn’t do it. But while I was there, I noticed that her apartment is on the fourth floor and has a balcony overlooking an alley.”
“Point of entrance?” Greg guessed.
“Exactly. There are no security cameras covering the alley, and the girls never felt a need to lock their balcony door. Who would even be able to reach that balcony?”
“Someone who can fly?” he suggested. “But that still doesn’t explain why she was targeted.”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” Brennan said. “Remember, I’m not looking for the why of it just yet. It’s not a matter of who knew all the victims, but rather how they were all reached. My question before wasn’t rhetorical. Who could actually reach that balcony?”
Greg stirred the milk in his bowl. “Maintenance workers? They have cherry pickers, right? One of those could reach the fourth floor.”
“Someone would have heard or seen something that big.”
“What are you thinking?”
“The killer most likely climbed up, scaling each balcony until he reached the fourth floor, which suggests a considerable amount of strength.”
“So you’re looking for a massive man with bulging thews? That should be a fun arrest.”
“Nah, too much muscle can be inhibiting, especially when he’s looking to climb straight up four stories. It’s all about your muscle-to-weight ratio; a big guy with thick, veiny arms is going to be a lot heavier than someone with a medium build and a lot of lean muscle. Judging by how the roommate heard nothing and nobody happened to walk by in the street as all of this happened, I’m confident our killer was fast as well as strong.”
Greg frowned at his uncle. “How does this help—Hey, where are you going?”
Brennan grinned as he grabbed his jacket. “Fast, strong, and clearly dealing with anger management problems? I’m going boxing.”
ф ф ф
The closest official boxing arena was a dive of a gym in southwestern Odols, owned by a man named Cassius. Upon entering, Brennan was met with a wave of sound from clanging weights, thumping punches, and grunting men. While his ears dealt with the noise, his nose was likewise assaulted by the scent of talcum powder, disinfectant, and body odor. Lots of body odor.
Cassius’s place was born out of an abandoned warehouse, refitted to accommodate the dozens of men who were testing the limits of how much muscle could be amassed before their skin tore open. Some of the men gave a new meaning to the term “ripped.”
A large raised platform dominated the center of the room, a regulation-sized arena for boxers to square off against each other. Two women were sparring at the moment, though it was difficult to make out their faces in any greater detail; they bobbed and weaved too quickly to be seen, each reacting to the other’s jabs.
Brennan was half a dozen steps inside when a man approached him. He wore a plain white tank top that stretched perilously across his pecs and left his gorilla arms out on full display. His dark skin strained to contain the bulging muscles beneath. He moved with the casual arrogance of someone who worked out regularly and could likely hold their own in a fight.
“Cassius Clay?” Brennan asked.
“You’re looking at him.”
“Detective Brennan, OPD Homicide,” he said, flashing his badge. “I have to say, you look shorter in person. And a lot more alive.”
Cassius’s eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing you don’t have many friends, Detective.”
“With a winning personality like mine? You’d be surprised.”
“Doubtful.” He crossed his arms, casually displaying the tools he used to pummel opponents in the boxing ring. “What do you want?”
“I need to ask you a few questions about someone who might be a regular here.”
“Why?”
“You hear about the murders happening all over town?”
“Of course,” Cassius said. Brennan let his words sink in for a moment, and some of the arrogance fled his face. “Oh. Oh, damn.”
“Exactly.”
“You think one of my guys would have done this?” His arms flexed slightly thicker as he tensed u
p.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Cassius motioned for Brennan to follow him, and they started walking through the gym, presumably to the office in the back. “It’s terrible to hear about those poor people, just a damn shame.”
“The faster we can bring this guy to justice, the better.”
“Do you have a name?”
Brennan rubbed at his neck. “Not yet,” he hedged. “But we’re narrowing it down.”
“Narrowing it down,” Cassius grunted. “What makes you think I can help?”
“We’re looking for someone strong, limber, and quick. Most likely male,” Brennan said, eyeing the female boxers. “But we don’t know enough to be sure.”
Cassius waved an arm out the office window. “Take a look around, Detective. Every one of my members matches your description. Some have history with the law, but they’ve been on the right side since they joined up here. I run a clean business.”
His tone was defensive, but Brennan knew he was telling the truth. Despite his imposing physique, Cassius was just a man who didn’t want trouble. Maybe he took the preventative route, becoming so big that nobody would dare cross him. In a way, it was the same tactic Brennan used, though he resembled a solid tree more than a bulldozer on steroids.
“So none of them would be capable of killing?”
Cassius scratched at his nose. “A few of them are capable, sure, but they’ve reformed. If I hear they’re causing trouble, they’re out of here, no exceptions. They have a problem, they come here to work it out. Besides, everyone keeps each other in check, so I haven’t had any problems.”
Brennan frowned. “How many ex-cons come here?”
“Look, Detective, I know you look down on people like us. Before you ask, yes, I served time. I’m a changed man,” he said. “We all are. Everyone out there right now is looking to make a fresh start, or simply escaping to somewhere they belong. You don’t have to be a criminal to feel like an outsider. Here, they can be among friends.”
“Friends?”
“People less likely to kill them,” he amended. “My point being, they aren’t criminals anymore.”
“What about non-convicts?”
“Fewer of those around here. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“No, it’s—thank you,” Brennan said. He held out his hand and shared grips with Cassius. It was an effort to keep his disappointment from showing. “You just vouched for a couple dozen men. Narrowing down the list of suspects is extremely helpful.”
Cassius nodded. “You know the way out.”
Brennan left the office and glanced around the gym. He met a few pairs of eyes from some very large men, but they were curious stares, not threatening. He tried not to breathe too deeply as the smell of body odor wafted through the warm, stale air. The boxing square was empty, but the rest of the gym still buzzed with activity. His steps were inaudible over the din. He very nearly reached the door when he felt a large, fat hand tap on his shoulder.
He turned to see a short woman of strong stature. Blonde strands of hair were matted to her sweaty forehead and her face was flushed. She breathed heavily, as if she had just been sprinting, and her pale skin was pulled taut across her high cheekbones. Brennan realized that what he had thought was a meaty fist was actually her almost child-like hand inside a red padded boxing glove.
“Lieutenant,” he said in surprise.
“Brennan.” She nodded stiffly, her eyebrows frowning severely. “What are you doing here?”
He hesitated. Bishop had given him a direct order to stay away from the case, and now she had caught him red-handed working a lead. “Looking for a new place to work out,” he lied quickly.
“Uh-huh. And you’re waving your badge around to make a fashion statement?”
“I thought there might be a discount for law enforcement. What are you doing here?”
“Is there something wrong with where I blow off steam?”
Brennan eyed the hardened criminals—ex-criminals—that were paying attention to their conversation. “Not at all. This is a lovely place.”
“All right, smartass, you don’t have to be here, you know.”
“I was just on my way out.”
She caught his arm as he turned. “Hey, Brennan, hold on. Father Dylan told me that a homeless man came to him looking for shelter a couple nights ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“He said you sent him.” Bishop’s eyes shined as she spoke. “He told Father Dylan he’d been sent there by an enormous freak; I couldn’t think of anybody else that fits that description.”
Brennan had completely forgotten about the man he’d evicted from the tunnel in uptown. He was even more surprised to hear that his advice had been heeded after all. “Good,” he said. “One more vagrant off the streets.”
“Brennan! I know you didn’t do it out of duty.” Her voice softened. “You actually believed the Church could help him.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. His allegiance to a higher power had been lost a long time ago. If there was an actual Him up there, Brennan would be His last choice for a messenger.
“He’d like you to come by when you can.”
“The homeless guy?”
“Father Dylan.”
“Oh, right. I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”
Bishop placed a padded fist on her hip. A scowl chased away the slight look of admiration from her face. “What would that be?” she asked harshly.
Oh, shit.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and was struck with inspiration. “It’s, um, kind of embarrassing.”
“Try me.”
“Well, um—” Brennan made a show of looking nervous, wringing his hands and forcing some mumbling. “See, Sam and Greg set me up with an online dating profile. And it, uh, got a match.”
Bishop’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “Oh? You’re doing online dating now?”
“I’m not, it was their idea.” He realized sounding defensive only made him seem guiltier. “Anyway, I have to get back to the apartment.”
“Have you set a date yet?”
“We’re not getting married.”
Bishop grinned. “You idiot. I meant an actual date. Get together, have food, make love.”
“On the first date? That seems quick.”
“You’re so naïve, Brennan,” she said, shaking her head.
“I’m heading home to shower. You should get one, too,” he added. “You smell awful.”
She punched him playfully on the arm. It hurt a little. “You try being fresh after juking and jabbing for the better part of an hour.”
“I am always fresh,” he said, earning another smile from Bishop.
“Straight out of the hood. And you wonder why you’ve been single for so long. All right, I’m going to let you get out of here, but one more thing.” Bishop rose up on her toes, and Brennan inclined his head to hear her whisper. “If I catch you sniffing around this case again,” she said, her voice deadly soft in his ear, “I am placing you on suspension. I don’t know what you’re doing here and I don’t want to know. It ends now. Nod if you understand me.”
His chin dipped shallowly.
“Good,” Bishop said, resting back on her heels. She had switched from friend to lieutenant and back again in less than a minute. “Go on, get ready for your date.”
Brennan watched as she walked away. He was too stunned to move. His partnership with Detective Bishop had been a relatively short one, ending when she received her office and the promotion it signified, but he thought they had developed a fairly good rapport in that time. She’d been hard as nails, true, but not without a measure of kindness. Lieutenant Bishop, on the other hand, was an entirely new woman.
Or maybe the same woman with new trappings of power, Brennan thought sullenly.
“Hey, I’m glad I caught you!” A loud voice drew Brennan from his thoughts. It was Cassius. He walked up level with Bren
nan and followed his gaze at Bishop’s retreating form. “She’s one hell of a fighter, that one. You two have history?”
Brennan grunted. “Not the romantic kind.”
“Shame. No big loss, though. You’re not her type.”
“You’ve known me all of five minutes and suddenly you’re Mister Insightful?”
Cassius shrugged his enormous shoulders. “I call it like I see it.”
“You were excited to catch me?” Brennan prompted.
“Right. I got to thinking about what you said, and one of my regulars hasn’t shown up in a couple weeks. Big guy, mostly kept to himself. He had tats on his arms, but not the kind you get from doing time or running with gangbangers.”
“You didn’t notice when one of your regulars went missing?”
“Hey, someone comes in every couple of days, maybe once a week, you don’t pay too much attention.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Been almost two weeks now since I’ve seen him, though.”
“Does this big guy have a name?”
“Johnny Appleseed.”
Brennan gave him a level look.
“What? That’s the name he gave, and he paid in cash. I didn’t ask any further.”
“Who runs a clean business but deals in cash?” He ignored Cassius’s scowl and sighed. “I’m not here to shut you down, just looking for our killer. Do you have a photo of Johnny? I can’t look around the city for a bruiser with ink, not unless I’m looking for a fight.”
Cassius chuckled. “I don’t have a photo, but I think I know where you can find him.”
“Home address?”
“Hah, if only. No, there was a pub he used to talk about. It was called The Tap, or something like that. He talked about it like it was his second home.”
“And you’re fine with just turning in your friend?”
“If he’s a murderer, he ain’t my friend. But as a business owner, I have to worry if one of my clients isn’t going to be around next month. If you find him there, let me know, one way or the other.”
In spite of himself, Brennan found himself liking Cassius. He was a straightforward enough guy who didn’t tolerate nonsense in his gym. He clasped hands with him again before stepping out into the cool, relatively fresh air of the open city street.