Death Notes Omnibus

by James Hunt

  The front door opened to a long, dark hallway. Cooper palmed the wall for a light switch but found nothing. The floor creaked with every step. “Baltimore Police Department. Anyone home?” Only the quiet and darkness answered as the hallway ended and Cooper entered the living room. All of the windows to the apartment were drawn, sealing the darkness inside.

  If the heat from the staircase was bad, the temperature inside the apartment was unbearable. The sweltering, stuffy air only worsened, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she spotted a lamp in the corner of the room. Her foot slipped in something on the floor, but she quickly caught her balance. She lifted her foot, unable to see what she’d landed in. She reached for the lamp, her fingertips brushing against the warm metal of the pole, traveling up and down until she felt the hard knob and turned on the lamp.

  Light flooded the floor and revealed the crimson puddle at Cooper’s feet. She followed the river of blood to the couch, where a body lay sprawled and lifeless with a hole in his chest. She rushed over and placed her finger against his neck, confirming the death, though the man’s skin was still warm. She pulled on a glove and found his wallet, confirming his identity as Alfonso Rivera.

  Cooper pivoted, her shoe smearing the blood across the floor. She stopped once she faced the wall adjacent to the couch and saw the red crayon scribbled across the wall: I hope you’re ready for another story, Detective. The words mocked her, and Cooper tightened her grip on the pistol.

  “Detective?” The landlady’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Is everything okay in there?”

  “Stay in the hallway.” Cooper reached for her phone and dialed Hart as she stepped past the confused and startled landlady and rushed down the stairs, trailing a bloody footprint. “Hart, Alfonso Rivera was murdered, very recently. I’m at his apartment now. I think the killer is still in the area.” The pain in her right leg returned on her hurried descent, and she winced with every step but refused to slow her pace.

  “I’ll send a unit over, but it might be a while. The FBI is running the show over here now.”

  Cooper burst out the door and continued her sprint into the streets. She looked left and right, the sun nearly set and the dark of night slowly consuming the neighborhood. She spied a figure in a hoodie, walking quickly, and Cooper followed, keeping Hart on the line. “Did you find anything on the stadium cameras?”

  “It was a dead end. Most of the footage was corrupted, and I’m guessing we know who to thank for that.”

  The hooded figure turned left onto a cross street, and Cooper paused, ducking behind the cover of a concrete wall that encased an elevated home with a dirt yard until the suspect had walked past. She craned her neck around the corner and saw the hooded figure a few houses down. “Get the unit over to Rivera’s apartment immediately. I want the crime scene locked down.”

  Before Hart responded Cooper hung up. She hobbled down the street, gaining on the hooded figure until she was directly behind him. “Freeze!” Her hands flexed tightly over the pistol’s grip. “Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly.”

  The suspect complied, keeping their head lowered at first, but when it was finally raised Cooper saw the frightened face of a female teen. Cooper lowered her gun, still gasping for breath. “I’m sorry. I thought…” She looked behind her and around the rest of the streets. “I’m sorry.”

  The front door of the nearest house burst open, and a man and a woman stepped out onto the porch. “What’s going on out here?” The woman wore an old T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair wrapped up in a towel and a scowl etched across her face.

  Cooper holstered the weapon and flashed her badge, keeping her hands in the air. “Everything’s fine, ma’am. It was just a misunderstanding.” She looked back to the young teen, whose cheeks had grown wet with tears. “I’m sorry.” Cooper retreated, the woman on the porch screaming after her as she disappeared.

  “We’re tired of you cops coming down here and harassing us! She didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Cooper looked down to her foot. The blood still lingered around the edge of her shoe but no longer left a trail when she walked. She clenched her fists, her eyes darting around the neighborhood as she wondered if the killer was still watching.

  Chapter 5

  When Cooper arrived at the precinct the FBI’s black sedans had already invaded the parking lot, which set the tone for the redecorating inside the building. The precinct had transformed into chaos as FBI shirts and jackets outnumbered their own. The horde of federal agents spoke with officers, reviewed documents, and seized evidence. She looked for Hart and found him outside the largest concentration of federal agents near their office. “Hey, did you get everything?”

  Hart pulled her into one of the empty offices. “I tried getting here before the feds, but they sent a unit over right after you left. They’ve already bagged everything. Any luck with Rivera’s place?”

  Cooper glanced down to the shoe that was still crusted with blood and shook her head. “Nothing new.” She looked past the dozens of heads in the bullpen and spotted Farnes, speaking with Agent Hemsworth. She cut through the bullpen toward Hemsworth. All of the officers made it a point to step in her path, smacking her in the shoulder as they walked past. The anger from Roterro’s death was still fresh, and she was the punching bag for their rage.

  “Detective Cooper,” Farnes said, grumbly. “This is Special Agent Hemsworth. He’ll be taking over the investigation of your suspect.”

  “The captain told me about your sister.” Hemsworth kept his voice low, and the normal gruff procedural voice had been replaced with a softer tone. “I’m sorry.”

  “Agent Hemsworth has asked for a liaison to help him with the case, and I told him that you would be up for the job.” Farnes rocked back and forth from heel to toe and raised his eyebrows. “Though I did tell him I might be concerned about your mentality considering your proximity to the case.”

  During Cooper’s tenure under Farnes he’d never shown any inkling of willingness to help her, so the endorsement was shocking as it was alarming. “The killer used the groundskeeper’s identity to plant the bomb. You need to get a forensics team over to Alfonso Rivera’s apartment. I’m assuming the handwriting of the message left on the wall was done by Rivera, but it could be the killer’s. I’m sure you have access to better analytic resources than we do. You might be able to find a match if it’s not Rivera’s handwriting.”

  “These notes,” Hemsworth said, remaining rigid, with his hands tucked behind his back. “It’s his way of communicating?”

  “From what we’ve seen so far, yes. What he makes them write seems to differ with each person, but they’re all written in red crayon.”

  “Why?” Hemsworth asked, his face scrunched tight as if he were thinking too hard.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Glad I’m not the only one then,” Hemsworth said. “We’ll need access to your apartment. I understand there was writing there as well. You can inform one of our agents of any personal effects you might need, and you can retrieve them once we’ve tagged our evidence.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Captain,” Hemsworth said, looking to Farnes. “I’d like to speak with the detective in private for a moment.”

  “Of course. Feel free to use my office. And, Detective, when the special agent is done with you I’d like to have a word.” With all of the attention, Farnes was in a rare mood, though Cooper wasn’t sure what he expected to gain with the feds. With his mind already in retirement, it wasn’t as if he could opt for a career shift into the bureau.

  Hemsworth shut the door behind him, and the bustling ruckus of the precinct dulled behind the office walls. “Like the captain mentioned earlier I could use someone that’s already familiar with the suspect’s motives and habits to help with the investigation.” He kept his posture rigid, even behind closed doors. If Cooper had ever seen a more molded sculpture of the stereotypical federal agent, she couldn’t remember. “I took a l
ook at your file. Ninety-five percent arrest rate, with the same conviction rate once the DA takes your suspects to trial.” He tilted his head up, casting his eyes down on her. “Impressive.”

  “Anything else my file tell you?” Cooper asked, annoyed with the line of questioning.

  “You lost a son.”

  A rush of frozen ice burst from Cooper’s heart and flowed through every vein in her body, and she stiffened. “Those records are confidential.”

  “For people not in my position, perhaps.” Hemsworth took a step forward, his figure looming over her, and left only an inch of space between them. “You never married, never attempted to have any more children, perhaps due to your absent father who you never knew, and once your mother passed, your sister became your only living blood relative. If she dies, you’re alone. And in my experience when people are forced into solitude they become irrational. Unpredictable.”

  Cooper clenched her jaw. “You’ve done your homework.” She pushed off the desk and paced to the front of the office. “But there’s only so much a paper trail can tell you. Sooner or later you have to get your hands dirty.” She turned around, rubbing the still-healing knuckles on her right hand. “And I haven’t washed mine in a while.”

  Hemsworth remained quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You will assist my team. You will not direct them or lead them. That is my job. And just for the record I’m not keeping you on because of what your file told me.”

  “Then why?”

  With his hand on the door knob he looked back and his face retained the stoic expression that was the most seasoned in his repertoire. “Because the fact that he has your sister makes you angry. It makes it personal. This guy chose you for a reason. And I intend to use that to my advantage.” Hemsworth shut the door and sealed her inside alone.

  Bait. Cooper waved it off. It didn’t matter the reasons, all that mattered was she was still involved. The door opened and shut again when Farnes stepped inside, and he lingered by the door. The two stood in silence, the scene reminiscent of duels in the old west. But with the long morning she’d already had, Cooper wasn’t in the mood for another standoff. “What do you want, Farnes?”

  “The investigation of Zane Marks. Drop it.” Farnes remained at the door, his large body blocking the exit. He pointed to his phone. “I just got off the phone with his probation officer, and he told me that you went to his office and harassed both him and Marks.”

  “He has an affiliation with one of the drug dealers we arrested this morning. And those drug dealers were tied to a house that had a connection to our killer.” Cooper crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d say that warrants harassing.”

  “You’re out of line, Detective!” Farnes stomped forward and he looked her up and down. “People die because of you, Detective. How much more blood do you want on your hands?”

  Cooper leaned forward, her eyes locked on Farnes. She kept her voice low and the threat sharp. “As much as it takes.” She slammed her shoulder into the fat of his arm on her way out the door, and slammed it shut behind her.

  The normal precinct foot traffic combined with the added bodies of the feds had turned the hallways into a constant congestion of rush hour traffic. Cooper collided with a few of them, her mind lost in its own thoughts. Why would he care about Marks? It wasn’t the first time Farnes had steered her away from traveling down that particular road. But how Marks connected to the killer she still didn’t know.

  “Hey, Cooper.” Hart weaved his way through the crowd, squeezing past two federal agents. “Hey, um, your sister’s family is here.”

  “Shit.” Cooper rubbed her temples. “I forgot they were flying in today.”

  “Hemsworth is speaking to them now, they’re up front.”

  Cooper pushed past Hart and steamrolled her way through the halls. It’d been a year since she’d seen her nieces, but not enough time had passed for her to deal with Tim. She spotted Hemsworth through a cluster of officers, speaking to Tim whose face was blocked from view. The youngest, Mary, was clutched to her father’s leg. She looked left and saw Sarah by the wall, earbuds in with her head down, holding her phone.

  The officer blocking Tim’s face finally moved, and he noticed Cooper’s presence. Color drained from his cheeks when she approached. “Hello, Adila.” His voice was grave, and he stood with his hands in his pockets. His face was covered in stubble, and he had dressed comfortably for the long flight over.

  Mary sprinted from her father’s leg and threw her little arms around Cooper’s waist, burying her face into Cooper’s stomach. Cooper kissed the top of her niece’s head and ran her fingers through Mary’s wavy locks. “It’s okay.” The young girl’s response was only a tighter squeeze, and Cooper knelt down and scooped her up in her arms.

  “I was just telling your brother-in-law some of what we know,” Hemsworth said. “I’ll let the two of you talk. Tim, we’ll get together later about where you’ll be staying.”

  “Right. Thank you.” Tim rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat, but couldn’t find the words to speak once they were alone. He kept his arms and legs tucked tight against his body as the busy flow of officers and agents swarmed the precinct. “Is there any place quiet we can go? I feel like I’m crammed back in that plane.”

  Cooper set Mary down, and the girl returned to her father. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Tim grabbed Sarah’s attention and Cooper led them to the interrogation rooms. They ran into Hart along the way, and Cooper pawned the kids off on him. What she was going to tell Tim wasn’t something she wanted the girls to hear.

  Once inside the room, with the girls gone and the pleasantries done, the two wallowed in awkward silence. Finally, Cooper spoke. “The girls are getting big. Sarah has to be, what? Ten?”

  “She’s twelve,” Tim answered, the tone in his voice still lacking any tenderness. “Cooper, what’s going on?”

  “Why don’t you have a seat.” Cooper gestured to the chair, but Tim refused the offer. He remained in the corner of the room, his arms crossed like toddler. “Look, Tim—”

  “I need to know if she’s still alive.” His voice trembled, and the stoic demeanor he held earlier disappeared. “We can sugarcoat it for the girls, but I need to know the truth.” He took a hard swallow, and for the first time since his arrival, he finally looked her in the eye and held his gaze.

  “I think there’s still a good chance that she’s alive.” The moment the words left her mouth he broke down, collapsing into the chair and burying his face into his forearm, his shoulders trembling. Cooper folded her hands together on the table and waited until it was out of his system before she started again. “Whoever this guy is, he takes his time. The previous victim was with him for at least a week. I don’t know if he’ll keep the same timeline, or try something different, but statistically these people usually stick to what they know.”

  Tim sniffled, wiping his nose. He cleared his throat a few times, his lips moving but the words hesitant to leave. “Is, um… Does he do anything? To the women he takes?”

  “No,” Cooper answered, reading between the lines. “We don’t think he rapes them. But he is violent. Both victims had bruising and lacerations before they were killed.”

  “How many times has he done this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Tim pushed himself up from the chair, pacing the room in a ghost-like daze. “I knew she shouldn’t have come here. I knew it was a fucking mistake. She just wouldn’t listen. She never listens.” His voice grew louder, and his pacing quickened.

  “I know this is a lot to take in.”

  Tim smacked the back of the chair, and it hit the floor, the crash of steel and concrete ringing through the confined space. He thrust his finger at her, screaming. “You’re the fucking reason she came here. It was because of all that shit with your dad. Do you know how much time she spent on that after your mother died? She was obsessed. But then again you might have known if you just would have
called.”

  “I didn’t know how hard she was taking everything.” They’d both handled their mother’s death in different ways. Cooper buried herself in her work, and Beth buried herself in finding their biological father, an endeavor Cooper had given up on long ago.

  “I told her you wouldn’t fucking care. I told her not to come. But she just wouldn’t listen.” Tim paced the small space, his cheeks reddening. “All you had to do was stay in touch with her. If you hadn’t been such a bitch after your mom died, then this wouldn’t have happened!” He kicked the chair, and it skidded across the floor.

  Cooper leapt from her seat and had to make a conscious effort not to reach for her service pistol. “Do not put this on me, Tim! You have no fucking right. It’s not my fault.”

  Tim inched closer, his face still red but his voice softer. “Then whose is it?”

  Both of them stood nose to nose, the anger between them reaching a crescendo. Cooper thrust her finger in his face. “Don’t think I forgot about what you did to her, you fucking asshole. The only reason I didn’t put you behind bars was because I didn’t have the proof. But you knew what happened.” She felt spit dribble down her chin as she looked him up and down with contempt.

  Tim turned away, balling his hands into fists. “It was an accident. Beth knew it, and so did I.”

  “Make a lot of mistakes when you’re drunk, Tim? Funny how quickly you swept it under the rug when her bruises disappeared. Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit.”

  Tim whirled on her, his face beet red, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Fuck you, Adila! Fuck you!” He viciously kicked the chair again, and the steel scraped across the concrete. He slammed both hands against the wall, keeping his palms flush against the concrete. “It was a mistake I made a long time ago. She forgave me for what I did.” He turned around, his face still red but the anger in his voice gone. “You should too.”