by Mary Stone
He considered the stairs before pressing the elevator button. Tomorrow. He’d start taking the stairs tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to get home and ease his aching muscles under a hot shower. Too much sitting. That was his problem. That, and too many damned reports to type up, along with all the bullshit meetings. Time kept marching on, and unless Fortis did something about it, he’d start accruing more aches and pains and keep getting slower.
He hated the notion of giving up his family here, but one day, he’d have to think about retirement.
Fortis yawned as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. One day, but not any time soon. Not at his age. He was still a few years away from the big five-oh. That joke with Chief Johnson earlier about stealing his job had been just that, a joke.
Fortis pushed the button for the lobby and debated calling his kids. Hearing their voices always lifted his spirits, even though he couldn’t believe how fast they were growing. Eddie was nine, and his baby girl was almost a teenager.
He still remembered the day they’d brought her home from the hospital, bald and toothless, with an angry red face and the softest skin. Forever ago now, but some moments, it seemed like only a week had passed.
Fortis reached for the phone in his pocket but stopped short of pulling the device out. Yeah, the kids were great, but calling them meant talking to his wife. He wasn’t in the mood for Marie to rake him over the coals about signing the stinkin’ divorce papers. Not tonight, and if he had his way, not ever.
Sure, he and the old lady had their fair share of problems, but so what? Name him one marriage that didn’t. Every last person he knew, detective or otherwise, had struggled at some point.
And okay, so a lot of police officers’ marriages went bust, but he didn’t care. His Marie was different. Special. The best damn thing that ever happened to him, even if he hadn’t always been the best at conveying that feeling.
The hell if he was giving her up without a fight.
Flowers. Maybe he’d grab some flowers and run by to see her as a way of showing her his appreciation.
Although, deep down, Fortis knew what she’d really appreciate was him picking a different career. Retirement was out of the question, but there was always the private sector. Security, or a P.I. Some of the guys who’d retired a few years ago were raking it in now.
The elevator dinged its arrival to the first floor. As Fortis exited, he tried to picture himself as a private dick. Hiding in the bushes while he snapped photos of cheating spouses through grimy windows or hunting down scumbags to help put them behind bars. Making his own hours, picking and choosing the cases he accepted. He could wear one of those fedoras, kick his legs up on his desk, and wait for a leggy blonde with a mystery to sashay in.
“Is Detective Kline in?”
The hourglass blonde in the tight red dress fizzled away as Fortis neared the man who’d asked the question. The stranger stood in front of the front desk, wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt and a black knit beanie on his head.
“I’m sorry, she’s gone home for the day, but I’m happy to take a message.”
Fortis slowed his pace. His gaze shifted from Loretta, the night clerk who sat behind the desk with a polite smile on her face, back to the stranger.
“No, I won’t put you through the trouble. It’s not an emergency. I merely stumbled across some information on an old case the detective was working.” The man sidled closer to the desk and flashed Loretta a smile. “I don’t suppose you could tell me when she’ll be back in? Or perhaps share an email address?”
The man’s face didn’t look familiar, and yet, something about him didn’t sit right with Fortis. His gut insisted that he was missing something.
Fortis never ignored his gut. When he’d been a rookie, back in the dark ages, his first boss had pulled Fortis aside and told him a story about how his dad’s old partner had ignored his gut once and ended up with a bullet to the head. The grizzled old veteran had glowered down at Fortis when he’d growled, “Ignoring gut instincts is how good cops die.”
In all his years on the force, Fortis had never forgotten that lesson. He wasn’t about to start now.
He strode up to the desk, positioning his body between the stranger and Loretta. “I was on my way out and overheard you asking our desk clerk about Detective Kline. I’m her direct superior, Lead Homicide Detective Fortis, and I’ll be happy to take that information on the old case down and pass it along.”
He studied the stranger’s reaction for any hint of emotion, but apart from a brief tightening of the man’s jaw over the interruption, his pleasant expression never changed.
Despite that, the hairs rose on the nape of Fortis’s neck. Smooth. This guy was smooth.
In his world, the slickest people were usually the ones with the most to hide.
“Thank you, Detective Fortis. How very helpful of you. I’m sure Detective Kline appreciates having such a conscientious boss.”
Was this asshole fucking with him? Fortis narrowed his eyes, but the man’s body language gave nothing away. The smile never left his face, and without anything concrete to go on, Fortis decided to drop it. The guy had a weird way of talking, but maybe he’d been educated at one of those fancy-schmancy schools abroad.
In that same smooth manner, the man relayed a story about the times he’d spotted a teenage boy begging for money in downtown Charleston many years ago but had only recently realized the boy had been declared missing. “So, of course, the first time I found myself back in Charleston, I wanted to do my civic duty and report this information to the proper authorities.”
“Of course you did.” Again, Fortis studied the stranger’s face. Beyond sounding like a hoity-toity prick, the man hadn’t said anything alarming enough to drag him into one of the interrogation rooms.
His gut pinged again, making its disagreement clear. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that that particular case was already solved.”
Since Fortis was watching him closely, he caught the stranger’s initial reaction. Or more like, the lack of one. The man showed no response to the news, which Fortis found weird. “For someone who came in to do their civic duty, you don’t seem all that excited about hearing the good news.”
Another tightening of that chiseled jaw, almost imperceptible, before the smile widened. The man clutched his hands together in front of his chest. “No, that’s wonderful news! My apologies. It sometimes takes me a few moments to process information, especially after a long day of travel. That’s my cue to retire to my hotel, I think. Thank you for your time, Detective. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Without waiting for a reply, the man pivoted and headed for the exit. When the door whisked shut, Fortis made a decision, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He strode toward the door that the man had just disappeared through, calling over his shoulder to the desk clerk. “See you tomorrow, Loretta.”
“Night, Detective Fortis.”
Fortis emerged into the brisk night air with damp palms. The glow spilling through the lobby doors and from the streetlights that lined the parking lot illuminated the darkness, but it still took him a couple of seconds to spot the figure on the sidewalk, covering the ground with quick strides as he headed toward the parking garage.
Fortis hurried after him. His pulse was the highest it’d been since his piss-poor attempt at racquetball last summer with an old CPD buddy, pounding in his ears like one of those awful rap songs his son liked. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the rush of tailing a suspect. Too many long nights crammed behind a computer typing up endless reports, not enough solving cases. When had he gotten so old?
Although, as he followed the man into the parking garage, Fortis didn’t feel old. Not with the way the adrenaline thrummed in his veins. This was the most alive he’d felt in years.
The man glanced over his shoulder and increased his pace.
Fortis did the same, and their footsteps echoed through the deserted structure. “Hey
, wait up! I want to ask you something!”
His shout bounced off the concrete walls, but the man didn’t so much as hesitate before he broke into a run.
“Shit,” Fortis muttered, even as his spine zinged with an electric thrill. As his shoes slapped cement, some primal instinct buried deep inside of him roared, like the cheetah in that nature program he’d watched with his daughter, right before the cat brought down an antelope.
It felt good being the cheetah again. Even if his quads burned like a sonofabitch. Go ahead and run. That will make tackling your ass all the more satisfying.
The man rounded a corner and disappeared behind a black SUV. Fortis pumped his legs harder. His right knee ached, reminding him that he hadn’t sprinted like this in years, but he pushed through the pain.
His lungs burned as he skirted the SUV’s bumper and scanned the lanes ahead. No sign of the man on the ramp leading up to the next level. Damn. Now he’d have to check behind every nearby car.
Fortis slowed his pace and reached for his gun. A flash of motion to his left, and he swung in that direction. He glimpsed a gray shirt before the stairwell door clicked shut.
Leading with his gun, Fortis sprinted for the door. He yanked it open to footsteps pounding up the stairs. “Freeze!”
He lunged for the first step, keeping his eyes trained on the suspect. In his hurry, his boot caught the lip of the second step, and he pitched forward. His left hand shot out to break the fall, and after a few wasted seconds to regain his balance, Fortis was back on his feet and bounding up the stairs.
When he reached the first landing, the man was gone.
Fortis peered up the second flight of stairs. Nothing.
He hesitated as silence stretched around him. If the suspect had fled upward, Fortis would have heard footsteps. He couldn’t recall any, so he shifted away from the stairs and eased open the door that led to second-level parking. He swept his gun left to right, searching the depths of the dim garage for any signs of life. Perking his ears for the snick of a car door opening or hoping for the sudden glow of an interior light, he stood silent for several long moments.
When neither of those things happened, Fortis entered the parking area. His pulse continued to pound like his heart hadn’t caught the memo that his legs had stopped running a ways back. So what if he was out of shape, though? None of that would matter if this fucker turned out to be who Fortis suspected he was. Hell, if the man was Kingsley, the entire damn department, maybe even the city, would throw him a party and call him a hero.
If that happened, he wouldn’t have to trade in his badge for a fedora after all. Marie would remember why she’d married him in the first place, and the kids would look up at him with excited, proud eyes. The way they had when they were still little. Ellie would finally be safe, and so would Bethany.
Excitement urged him to hurry, but Fortis knew better. Rushing after a perp had led to more than one cop ending their career in a body bag. He had no desire to be next.
Quiet and methodical, Fortis began his hunt, stalking down the aisle, clearing one car at a time. First the red Honda Civic, then the white Ford Escape. Every few steps, he stopped. Held his breath and strained his hearing.
The only sound was the faint electric hum of one of the lights overhead.
He stalked forward, this time darting in-between a Subaru and a Prius. After another quick scan, Fortis dropped to the ground, pressing one palm to the cold cement while he peered between the tires in both directions. An empty McDonald’s bag and a few oil stains but nothing else. No bodies hiding under cars or even a pair of shoes.
With a frustrated groan, Fortis shoved back to his feet, winced when his knee complained, and continued his slow search. He reached the end of the row with no luck, and his shoulders began to sag.
Where had the bastard gone? Forget being a hero. If the guy did turn out to be Kingsley and Fortis had let him get away, he’d never hear the end of it. The other detectives would whisper behind his back that he’d lost his edge.
Shit, forget behind his back. Browning would tell him straight to his face.
Dammit to hell.
Fortis stalked back down the aisle, rechecking behind and between the cars as he passed them. He reached for his phone to call for backup, but doubts froze his hand midway to his pocket. What if he called in the troops and they caught the guy, but he turned out to be a nobody? Just some Good Samaritan who talked kinda snooty and was just tired from a long trip?
His gut squeezed, insistent that the man was a person of interest. But at the end of the day, that was all Fortis had. His gut, and a single delayed reaction. Was that really enough to put his reputation on the line?
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain in Fortis’s left knee grew sharper. Still, he limped along, double checking every single car on the level before finally conceding defeat.
Fortis didn’t know how, but the man was gone.
“Dammit.”
He holstered his gun and headed back toward the stairwell to where his own car waited on the first level. By the time the door shut behind him, and he’d limped his way to the driver’s side door, Fortis had convinced himself that he’d overreacted.
The man probably had an outstanding parking violation or owed back child support. Or maybe he’d had a bad encounter with the police in the past. Lots of explanations for fleeing that didn’t involve him being a serial killer. Fortis had let visions of a heroic, movie-style takedown cloud his judgment.
He stepped a little too hard on his left foot and winced. Now the only things on his mind were a long, hot shower and a tube of topical ointment that burned his skin.
Fortis’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door. When he swung it open, the side-view mirror reflected shadowy movement behind him. Adrenaline surged, and he grabbed for his gun.
His side seized up first.
You have got to be shitting me. A measly quarter-mile run, maybe less, and he had a side stitch? Pathetic. Starting tomorrow, he was hitting the gym.
Those were the thoughts circling his head as Fortis gasped through the pain to massage the area just above his waist. He froze when his fingers touched something warm and wet. Sticky.
Fortis yanked his hand away and gazed at the red substance smeared across his skin in disbelief just as the pain increased a hundred-fold. His training kicked in an instant later. He lifted the gun in his other hand. Or tried to. As though incased in iron, his arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds all of a sudden. Too heavy to raise without help.
The overhead lights spun as Fortis staggered into the car door. He summoned every remaining bit of energy to raise his gun hand, but it was like trying to push an anvil up a mountain. His legs buckled next.
As he slid to the ground, Fortis wished that he’d called his kids when he’d had the chance. Marie crept to his lips, but forcing sound from his throat required too much effort.
For a few seconds, his surroundings all but disappeared as his vision turned to a sheet of bright, blinding white. As the light faded, a shadow squatted by his head.
“Poor Detective Fortis. Your instincts were spot-on. For all the good it will do you now. Don’t worry, though. Ellie will be joining you in the afterlife soon enough.”
Ellie. No.
Fortis gathered his remaining strength to grab for the shadow, but his hands refused to work.
The shadow’s laugh filled Fortis’s ears while the lights spun above him.
No.
His lips tried to form the word again, but consciousness faded first, plunging him into the silent dark.
6
When the detective’s eyes closed and didn’t open again, I fished the gun out from under his coat and tucked it into the interior pocket of my own jacket. Grabbing him beneath his armpits, I heaved him up and plunged him into the driver’s seat. Once I’d maneuvered his limp body behind the wheel, I stepped back and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the fruits of my labor.
Only a moment to gloat,
though, because despite the glee bubbling through my body like champagne, my time here was limited. It was just about the only downside of murdering an officer in the parking garage of the police department where he worked.
Using my jacket as a glove, I pushed the button to recline the seat a bit more. There was no dignity in allowing Detective Fortis’s head to loll forward on his neck like a rag doll.
I snickered and wiped the knife handle clean of prints before tossing the weapon into the passenger seat. After straightening my jacket in the side-view mirror, I nudged the door shut with my hip and headed out of the parking garage, with my hands in my pockets and whistling the tune of a favorite Queen song from my younger days.
Two uniformed officers passed me in front of the precinct, but I was no one to them. Just another person reporting a crime. I smiled and kept walking until I reached the street, taking a left on the sidewalk. Once the brick building that housed the precinct disappeared from view, the jacket came off. The medical-grade putty I’d inserted into my cheeks to create jowls was dislodged with a few hard pokes of my tongue.
Two blocks away, I spied the thrift store I’d scouted the day before. The large box labeled “Donations!” sat in the same spot beside the entrance, so I tossed the jacket inside without breaking stride.
The next block up, I pretended to cough, spitting the putty and dentures I’d used to alter the shape of my jaw into my hand. Regret slowed my pace as I approached the trash can, and my hand clenched around the tools. This new disguise hadn’t lasted as long as I’d hoped, but that couldn’t be helped.
My mind flashed back to the shocked expression on the detective’s face when he’d reached for his side, and his hand came away bloody, and my spirits soared. Short duration or not, the disguise had been worth every cent I’d paid, and then some.
Whistling once more, I tossed the putty and dentures into the bin and continued my stroll through the city, my footsteps lost in the rumble of car engines and tires that streaked up and down the streets. Exhaust mixed with Indian spices and another sweeter scent, perhaps chocolate, drifted past and I inhaled the heady ambrosia while soaking up the riot of colors that painted Charleston at night.