Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  Rolling her eyes, Lydia stood. “Yeah, thanks,” she said blandly. It was only a matter of time until the rumormongers on the force got hold of a juicy tidbit like that.

  The sound of running feet and a quick glimpse of Ralph’s fleeing back alerted her that the body was free for her to inspect.

  Inside, she walked around a counter that held a lemonade pitcher. The spatter of blood that had landed on the glass now pooled, diluted in condensation, around the pitcher and glasses.

  As she rounded the counter, the victim’s knees came into view first. The feet curled behind the body, consistent with crumpling to the ground. She died while she stood at the counter. One arm lay positioned beneath the body, and the other lay draped across the victim’s stomach.

  Some could construe such a position as resulting from a heart attack, except for the obvious trauma to the throat. No, trauma was an understatement. The throat lay open, as if on a hinge. Peering into the wound, Lydia could see the bones of Ms. Lenz’s spine. Avoiding the surprised expression on Ms. Lenz’s face, she crouched between the body and the refrigerator to get a better look at the edges of the wound.

  The attacker had punctured the skin, then ripped away the flesh with one single motion. The coroner would give her a more detailed analysis, since he prided himself on his thoroughness. She guessed he would also love a chance to tease her about her wayward canine fugitive.

  She straightened and went to Sergeant Adams. Done with the sketching, he now sat at the kitchen table and held a purring cat on his lap.

  She pulled over another chair and sat. He looked terrible. His face sagged, pale and drawn, with bags under his eyes.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, reaching to touch the hand stroking the cat’s head. The animal froze and issued a quiet hiss. Retracting her hand, she clasped it to the other on her lap. “Why don’t you go over what happened for me?”

  Still scratching the cat, he stared at the table and retraced his steps for her. He recounted everything, from the squeaking chair to the cat cleaning the blood from its fur.

  He lifted his head and met her eyes. “It was him, you know. He was here. He’s taking out any witnesses.” He trembled. The cat stood on his lap and rubbed its head under his chin. “I was just in the other room. God, he could have come after me. I was right there.”

  Ballsy. “Apparently he doesn’t think we’re a threat.” She needed to give Adams something to do. Dwelling on this too long would not be good for him. She would send him to the lab.

  “You are,” he said. The cat stared at her.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re a threat. He attacked you the other night.”

  “Yeah, well.” She needed to deflect this line of thinking. Not just for his sake, but for hers.

  Not acknowledging her weak protest, he continued. “He hunted you down. He didn’t attack you until you were alone and vulnerable. He’ll come after you again.” His voice got louder. “You are in danger.” Almost hysterical now, he stood, and the cat climbed to his shoulder, hissing and spitting at her. “You’re a danger to everyone around you.”

  He wasn’t wrong. But this wasn’t the first time she’d been a target, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was the first time he’d felt the urge to comment.

  Fear couldn’t get the better of her; she wouldn’t allow it to get even a perch. A little time and hopefully Adams would regain his confidence.

  A noise behind Lydia told her the shouting raised curiosity, and she suspected the forensics team stood in the doorway, watching the scene. Jeez, cops gossiped worse than a sewing circle.

  She stared Adams in the eye. “Calm yourself, sergeant.”

  He took a shaky breath.

  “Now, take the cat, go home and get some sleep.” She kept her tone low and stern, but she really wanted to turn around and disburse the dumbasses in the doorway.

  He nodded.

  “First thing in the morning, I want you to go down to the lab and get their results. Then write your report. I want it e-mailed to me before noon. Is that understood, sergeant?”

  He appeared relieved. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The team in the doorway quickly found other things to do as she stood to walk him out to his car.

  More news crews had arrived on the scene, and their lights flooded the area. They called out for a statement. Lydia ignored them as she accompanied Adams to the cruiser.

  Ryan already stood by the driver’s door. Adams slipped the cat into the back seat, then rounded to the driver’s side. The cat, hissing again, lunged at Ryan and hit the window as the car started to pull away.

  “Odd animal.” Lydia shook her head and started toward the cameras to make a statement.

  Holding up a hand to silence the questions, she spoke in a voice that, although quiet, still carried to the rear of the crowd. “There has been a homicide this evening. We believe that it could be the work of the serial killer known as the Bestial Butcher. We urge the public not to travel alone if possible and to keep their doors locked at all times. We also encourage anyone with any information to call the crime line. You may remain anonymous. Thank you.” Then to the reporters, “That’s all at this time.”

  The chorus of questions began again. Some reporters practically begged for one more tidbit. She tamped down on her temper and frowned. The three big networks and a couple of the smaller ones aimed cameras in her direction. “When we have more to release, we’ll hold another conference. Thank you.”

  The reporters retreated with their cameramen to finish their segments. She stood alone with Ryan on the driveway, almost freezing under his icy glare.

  Suddenly afraid of what he would say, she spoke first. “Need a ride?”

  • • •

  He nodded, so she led him to her car. When they were safely away from prying eyes and ears, Ryan spoke. “So you can’t stop to let me know the situation?”

  “I didn’t know the situation.” She pulled from the curb onto the road.

  “You gave orders for me to be kept there. I couldn’t go in. I couldn’t leave to interview the crowd on my own. I had to just stand there.” He shifted in his seat, staring at her. “When everyone started to arrive, they were allowed to interview the neighbors. They were allowed to walk the perimeter of the scene, to talk to the coroner’s men. What could I do?” His voice grated with frustration. “Nothing. I got to sit on the hood of a black-and-white, under guard.” He faced front, steaming.

  She’d suspected he wouldn’t like that she passed him by, but had not counted on this level of frustration. She should have known better. The night had shifted from bad to worse.

  She glanced at him a couple times. He glared out the windshield, fury radiating from him like an oven. It was contagious.

  “What the hell would you have me do, Ryan?” She stopped in bumper-to-bumper freeway traffic and turned to him. His gaze stayed fixed straight ahead. “Am I supposed to tell you everything I’m about to do? Because I stayed at your house last night, I need to stop and tell you all I know before I review a crime scene?”

  “Why the hell did you keep me hostage like that? Are you afraid I might find something you missed?” He scoffed.

  The traffic allowed them to move a few feet. “You think I would endanger lives because of my pride? Damn it, Ryan, I’ve used your tips before. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Then why did you make me wait like a chump?”

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She couldn’t look at him. Flashing lights ahead told of an accident jamming traffic. She supposed they’d be stuck in the car for a while.

  “How could I get hurt?” He still sounded irritated, but his tone softened.

  “We’re dealing with a man who should have burned to death in a fire, but didn’t. Who all evidence indicates is part dog.” She caught the
surprised look on his face. “Yeah, that one got me, too.” She stared out her window as she continued. “He can rip out someone’s throat in one swipe, and do it while an officer is in the next room and doesn’t hear a thing.” Her gaze returned to her lap. “It doesn’t matter that it was a bustling crime scene. If he wanted to take you out, he would have.”

  They spent the next few minutes in silence. The traffic moved only a few more feet.

  “What about you?” he asked softly.

  “What about me what?”

  “Hasn’t he proven that he wants to hurt you?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s my job. I have to find him. It could be a help that he’s fixated on me ...” She mulled over ways to use herself as bait.

  “Lydia,” he whispered.

  Her eyes met his, so green, dark and deep, that her breath caught in her throat.

  “I don’t want you to be hurt, either.” He raised a hand and brushed her cheek.

  She leaned toward him, still locked in his eyes. His hand slipped around the back of her neck. Its warm strength drew from her a passion so strong it frightened her. She reached for him, her hand running up his arm. She delighted in the crisp hairs under her fingertips and felt his muscles flex while he leaned close.

  She started breathing again. Heavily. Panting in anticipation. As his mouth pressed hers with delicious softness, warmth flooded her. His tongue flicked, seeking entrance. Eagerly, she parted her lips in invitation.

  Their tongues danced a slow waltz. Then, changing angles, she reached for him with her other hand, cupping the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. A metallic click clapped in the car as he fumbled with his seatbelt.

  With him pressed to her now, her awareness ebbed. Her blood rushed in her ears. Or was it his? They breathed as one. His hand moved to the small of her back. The rest of her body ached for his touch.

  Behind them, a horn blared and startled them apart. The traffic in front of them had cleared. Shaking her head to focus her vision, she drove around the accident.

  Trying to concentrate on driving, she could not dismiss his hand still resting on her thigh. Smiling, she took it in her own.

  “So,” she said after a while. “Do you like Chinese food?”

  “I love it,” he replied, squeezing her fingers.

  Chapter 9

  Sitting across from Ryan, Lydia attempted to use her chopsticks without dropping food everywhere. She fished in her box of beef and broccoli, intent on ignoring butterflies going berserk in her stomach, and the little voice in her head whispering to forget the Chinese and finish that kiss.

  “Aha.” Finally spearing a small broccoli floret, she smiled and presented it to Ryan, who tilted his head quizzically.

  She blushed when their eyes met then quickly averted her gaze. Trembling, she raised the vegetable to her mouth. For some reason, tonight she could feel his eyes on her while she chewed.

  She swallowed and attempted to appear relaxed. Playing with her food, she forced herself to breathe.

  They sat on the floor of Ryan’s living room illuminated by several candles. Before them on the coffee table stood an array of boxes from the Chinese restaurant where they stopped on the way home. Also on the table rested a half-full bottle of wine and their two glasses.

  She’d agreed to the wine in the hopes it would relax her. Since the kiss, which seemed like it happened weeks ago, adrenaline flowed freely through her bloodstream. Her every action more acute than in any pursuit. However, instead of focusing her attention, she lost all concentration.

  During the kiss, she’d connected with him. Afterward, she tripped over her thoughts, at a loss as to how to talk to him. She’d start to say something, then close her mouth without uttering a word.

  Focused on shredding the beef with her chopsticks, she tried to slow her mind that ran a mile a minute. On one hand, she needed to stay focused on the case. On the other, she wanted to vault the coffee table and start something more than a kiss.

  She shut her eyes and sighed. Oh, the way he had gripped the back of her neck. Her fingertips traced the path his hand had taken.

  “Tired?” His voice woke her to reality.

  He lounged against the footrest of the easy chair. His hair, free from the ponytail that usually confined it, cascaded around his shoulders. His chin wore a shadow of stubble. She vaguely remembered the scratch of it on her cheek.

  “Yeah, a little.” What else could she say? Her lack of control embarrassed her. She refused to give in to the primal force that insisted she run her fingers into his hair. Unless he made the first move, of course.

  “Maybe you should get some rest.” He stood and cleared away the boxes. Her arousal turned to fury, and she stared daggers into his retreating back. How could he be so casual? Did he kiss so many women that he could fake the passion she felt from him an hour earlier?

  Coming back, he stopped and studied her. “Indigestion?”

  Suddenly unsure, she lowered her eyes. “Uh, yeah.” When she reached for a retort, all the snappy responses deserted her like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

  He left for a moment and re-entered to a ringing phone. Picking up the receiver with one hand, he tossed her a bottle of antacid with the other.

  Mortified, she opened the plastic lid. It should calm the butterflies at least. She crunched the chalky tablets and struggled to focus. Her emotions flew before the four winds. Never before, even during her monthlies, had she become so erratically emotional. How irritating!

  Breathing slowly, in through the nose and out through the mouth, she leaned into the fullness of Ryan’s couch and tried to remember a stress relief seminar the chief forced the department to take last year. Picture your anxiety flowing out of you with each breath, the guru in multicolored robes at the front of the hall had told them.

  They’d chuckled behind his back. Lydia never thought she would use it. She never lost control. She just didn’t. She would shake her head at the inevitable, laugh at the absurd, and occasionally feel sickened by the grotesque.

  Tonight, the roller coaster of her emotions bypassed it all, encountering fear, illogic, and macabre. Nothing she’d dealt with in her entire life prepared her for the past few days and what they implied. Except, perhaps, reading horror novels.

  Having calmed to a reasonable level, and with the butterflies settled for the moment, she listened to Ryan’s half of the conversation. And after another second, she realized she could hear the caller’s side of the conversation, as well.

  “ … come by for a visit. Your grandfather deserves to have you come in for his birthday!”

  “I sent a card, Mom.”

  “He hasn’t seen you in years!”

  Lydia opened her left eye a crack.

  “I’ve been a little busy,” he said softly. By the expression on his face, he hoped his tone would catch on, and she’d speak softer. Lydia could have told him that wouldn’t work.

  “Busy!” The shout rang out of the phone with such force he flinched and held the receiver at arm’s length. “Don’t give me that busy baloney.”

  The ranting continued and Ryan, still holding the receiver far from his ear, winked at Lydia and whispered, “My mother.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you hear me?” his mother yelled so loudly she could be in the room with them.

  “I do,” he replied. “Look, I’ll be able to come by in about a month, okay?” The voice on the other end lowered and he grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” A pause. “Yes, ma’am.” A longer pause. “You got it. Hey, Mom. Look, I have a date sitting here and — ” He nodded. “Thanks. Love you, too. Bye.”

  “She seems rather loud,” Lydia teased, deciding to let the date comment slide.

  “She just wants me to come for a visit.”

  “Yes, I heard it’s been
years.” She laughed as he settled onto the couch beside her.

  “What she doesn’t realize is that I see him almost every week. I stop in for an hour or two, have a beer and talk. He hates phone calls, thinks they’re too impersonal.”

  She laughed. “I guess he’s no fan of e-mails either.”

  “Doesn’t have a computer. Hates almost all technology. Doesn’t even have a television.”

  “Microwave?”

  “Nope.” He refilled their wine glasses, finishing off the bottle.

  “Please tell me he has electricity.” Her neck started to unknot, and her stomach quieted further. She could kiss his grandfather for making conversation easier.

  “Only because the county made him.” Ryan smiled. “Nope, the only bit of technology he can appreciate is the scope for his rifle.”

  “He still hunts?”

  “Yup. State took away his driver’s license, but they let him keep his lifetime hunting license.” He chuckled. “Has to hire someone to go with him to field dress the kill and hoof it out, but he still has perfect aim.”

  “Why doesn’t your mother think you see him then?” The detective in her could not help prying.

  “Because he doesn’t feel the need to tell her.” He wrinkled his brow in an apparent imitation of his grandfather. “Your ma don’t need to know everythin’, boy.” They both laughed. “Besides, she lives next door to him, and if she knows when I’m over there, she’ll rope me into working around the house. I’d be stuck there for a week.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “Seriously,” he said, becoming earnest. “I actually had to call out of work once.”

  “You could tell her you don’t have the time, you know.”

  “Obviously you don’t know my mother.” Chuckling and shaking his head, he added, “You don’t say ‘no’ to her.”

  She enjoyed studying his features when he talked about his family, pride and love evident in his expressive eyes.

  She thought of the family she didn’t have. He smiled for others, and she wanted him to have a smile for her. Biting back jealously that rose like reflux in her throat, she listened and smiled politely while he told her stories of his grandfather.