Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  “Pop used to be in the service. Back in the Second World War, he served as a commander in both the Pacific and European arenas. He filled me in on his adventures.”

  Ryan revealed a notebook where he’d taken notes on the stories. “I plan on putting these together into a book for him.” He ran a gentle, reverent hand over the front cover. “The best thing is that he served in Truman’s honor guard while he signed the treaty with Japan.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” she said. “Did you ever serve in the military?”

  “No,” he replied. “Neither did my father.” He set the notebook on the coffee table. “So, what do your parents do?”

  “I’ve never met my parents. I was in foster care as long as I could remember.” She drained her glass.

  “Oh.” He seemed to stumble for something to say.

  “Nah, don’t worry about it.” The fact that she had no family never really bothered her before. The jealousy a moment ago still baffled her.

  Ryan seemed at a loss for a topic of conversation, so instead of letting the night slip away into awkward silence, she brought up the case.

  “We didn’t really get into detail earlier about what’s going on with the Butcher.” She smiled, snared by the rapt, honest attention in his eyes. God, were they always that green?

  He didn’t seem to notice his effect on her and her momentary distraction. “I’ll listen to anything you choose to tell me.”

  She related what happened at the Lenz house, omitting the teasing.

  When she finished, Ryan nodded. “The Butcher knew Lenz saw him escape the fire.”

  “He had to.” She tried to think for a moment, though his steady gaze distracted her to no end. “The really odd thing is, with the car out front, he had to know an officer was in the house.”

  “Right.”

  “So why didn’t he attack Adams?” She rubbed her forehead, the tension returning. She wondered if he gave a good massage. No. Focus on the discussion. “There was nothing stopping him. With the element of surprise on his side, Adams wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  “Maybe it was another warning?” Ryan offered.

  She considered that, then dismissed it. “All of the warnings aren’t in his character. He’s vicious. No, something stopped him before he could attack again.”

  Ryan seemed to mull this over.

  She paced the room. Moving always helped her think.

  “The cat?” he offered after a while.

  She turned to see if he joked and caught the twinkle in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his mouth. “A killer with dog DNA being afraid of a cat? Not likely. Anyone who watches cartoons can tell you it’s the other way around. ” She pressed palms to her eyes. “What I want to know is how that could be possible. How on God’s green earth does a human get animal DNA? Even if his parents were into the kinky stuff, it’s just not scientifically possible. Though, what attacked me sure looked like an animal.”

  “Well, not everything can be explained away by science.”

  He drew back a little when she let her palms fall to her sides so she could stare at him in consternation.

  “What?” he asked. “Just ask those people who thought they saw the Virgin Mary in the water stain under that bridge.” He shrugged.

  “Maybe he’s injecting himself with it,” she countered. “Anyway, I guess that isn’t the real issue, though it still bugs me. What I really need to figure out is where he could strike next. Study his motives, his moves.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip.

  “Maybe you should talk to the officer who was attacked and lived.”

  “Jacobs,” she said, and considered the idea. Aside from her, only Jacobs survived an attack. Try though she might, after the initial impact of the beast, she remembered very little of the struggle or how she managed to fend him — no, it — off.

  Fear gripped her in its fist. The pressure of it stole her breath. Panic welled up unbidden and she fought it down. No evil would control her. Certainly fear was the most insidious evil of them all.

  “How was Jacobs attacked?” Ryan interrupted, once again pulling her focus to him and off her internal struggle.

  She slumped into the recliner. One way to get away from the fear was to get numb. “Got anything stronger than wine?” Within minutes, vodka martini in hand and shaker nearby for refills, she recounted the events of the attack.

  “I think Officer Jacobs survived because he was bait. We had the park surrounded with some officers on rooftops, some in cars. He spent the evening wandering the area with a bottle of Jack Daniels, soliciting hookers. The clothes he wore looked and smelled like a bum’s. He had the foresight to wear them the entire weekend before the stakeout. Ate, slept, and most importantly, played a three-hour game of touch football in them.” She smiled. He had played the part well.

  “He would swig from the bottle and spill some down his front. I remember him swearing and slapping at his chest with a grimy hand. The man should work in Hollywood.” She tipped her glass and drained the contents before refilling.

  “He’d perfected the persona, and in most areas of downtown, he was considered part of the local populous. Even eating in the local soup kitchen.

  “I watched his performance from a parked utility van. We’d been parked there for days, knowing the beast liked to hunt in that area, hoping to catch it without having to endanger Jacobs. When they sent him in, he only had to stumble around for a couple of hours until the beast took the bait.

  “It came from nowhere. Even after watching the footage in slow motion, I couldn’t pinpoint the exact time it entered the park. Only that it attacked Jacobs from the right and went straight for his neck.

  “We thought the attacker would walk up and try to make off with him, would try to get him out of the open, that there would be some warning. Instead, it attacked without a pause.

  “We all reacted at once. My team on the ground surrounded them in seconds. The snipers on the rooftops couldn’t get a shot, afraid they’d hit Jacobs.” She swallowed half her drink in a single gulp and shuddered.

  “I jumped in and got between them. I grabbed a fist full of the Butcher’s hair in my left hand and landed a punch to his face with my right. My team grabbed at him, but he spun and bolted. I yelled the order to fire, even as I pulled my own weapon and unloaded it at the Butcher.

  “Motioning several officers after the beast, I turned to Jacobs. His clothes were torn in several places and he had wounds over most of his face and neck. I called in the ambulance we kept reserved in case something went wrong.” She shook her head to stop the playback.

  “Nothing’s gone right since this bastard started up,” she exclaimed with exasperation and finished her drink.

  “That’s when they followed him to the house?” Ryan asked.

  “Right.”

  “Then the house burned down and he escaped.”

  “We lost him. It. We lost it.” She swayed in the chair. “Umm … ” She concentrated intently on setting the glass on the table beside her and wished with all her might that the table would stand still a moment. “I should get to bed now.” She looked at her bare wrist. “It’s late.”

  Ryan jumped to assist her as she overbalanced to stand and almost toppled to the carpet. “Thanks,” she slurred at him. I’m so drunk. What has gotten into me? I never do this. “I got it from here.”

  “Sure ya do.”

  Her feeble protests did nothing to remove him from her arm as he led her into his bedroom and sat her on the bed. He gave her a critical once-over, then moved a small garbage can to the side of the bed. “Just in case.”

  “Oh, come on,” she protested. “I’m not that far gone.” Just warm and fuzzy. The fear had gone and was replaced by another emotion entirely.

  She playfully patted his chest, avo
iding his gaze and liking the hard muscle of his chest entirely too much. Feeling his heart beat under his thin shirt, she gently moved her hand to his shoulder, contours of his body playing under her fingers. She combed fingers into his hair and stretched to press her lips to his.

  Their mouths met hungrily, her body on fire with anticipation. He knelt between her knees and ran his hands up her thighs. Wrapping her legs around his back, she pulled him close. She panted when he took his mouth from hers and traced a line to her neck with his warm tongue. She moaned in pleasure.

  He gripped her in a wonderful bear hug while he nuzzled her neck and breathed heavily into her ear. She licked his earlobe in return and whispered huskily, “I want you. Now.” She released her legs from his waist and lay on the bed, closing her eyes. She breathed, “Right now.”

  • • •

  Ryan rose and gazed at her lying prone on his bed. Her hair fanned out, framing her pale features. The mounds of her breasts rose and fell under her shirt. Hard from arousal, her nipples formed erotic peaks his hands longed to explore. He’d smelled her excitement in the living room, and it had driven him crazy trying to listen and participate in their discussion. Now, the intoxicating scent came off her in waves that made his eyes cross with need.

  At his dresser, he searched for the condom his brother tossed him as a joke last month, saying he needed to get laid. The joke’s on you. He dug through three drawers before finally finding it at the bottom of his T-shirt drawer.

  A red metallic package glinted in the light from the living room. He snatched it and turned to the bed in triumph. In three strides, he reached her side. Leaning in for another kiss, he found her unresponsive.

  She’d fallen asleep.

  Kneeling beside the bed, he rested his head on the mattress. “Damn,” he whispered under his breath. “Damn, damn, damn.”

  He tossed the package onto the dresser as he left the room for yet another cold shower.

  Chapter 10

  When the alarm woke Lydia the next morning, her head throbbed with pain. It swam as she tried to sit. Groaning, she sank into the comfort of her pillow.

  Thirst consumed her. She flicked her dry tongue over cracked lips. Water. She would give her right arm for a glass of it, as long as she did not have to get up. Grunting with effort, she rolled to her side in preparation to crawl into the bathroom.

  On a coaster on the nightstand stood a glass of ice water. Beads of condensation pooled around the base. It must have been there for over an hour, given the temperature in the room. Ooh, even small deductions made her hair hurt.

  Beside the glass rested a small saucer with several saltines and two ibuprofen. Behind the plate, a small index card leaned against the lamp. She could see the words in the faint red glow of the alarm clock.

  Just in case — Ryan

  “Bless you,” she whispered, reaching for the glass and lifting her head just enough to sip from it. The cold water quenched the desert of her throat. As she dined, one crumb at a time, she attempted to remember her tasks for the day.

  A soft knock announced Ryan. “You awake?” he asked through the cracked door.

  “Yes.” Her voice echoed in her ears. “Not alive, but awake.”

  This earned her a soft chuckle. “I don’t have any coffee, so I’m making a run to The Shop. Want anything?”

  “Large black coffee, please. And something for protein, doesn’t matter what.” She popped the pills and prayed they worked quickly. “I have cash in the front pocket of my purse. Take what you need.”

  He seemed to hesitate on the other side of the door. “Back in a bit.” His keys clinked a moment before the front door closed.

  Finally, she sat up. She hung her legs off the side of the bed and her head drooped almost to her knees. Standing on shaking legs, she walked to the bedroom door. Reaching her goal, she gripped the doorframe. The room spun crazily, and wave after wave of nausea broke over her.

  When the room steadied, her nose rested against her hand on the doorjamb. Her nails caught her attention, long and even. A habitual nail biter all her life, she hadn’t enjoyed nails like this since her senior year of college when she’d splurged on acrylic ones. Now her nails extended a quarter inch past the tip of her fingers and looked lovely.

  Disbelief prompted her to hold the other hand next to the first and marvel. She ran her nails down her face to test them. They felt fantastic. For a moment, she wondered how they grew overnight, then dismissed it as the second thing to go right for her lately, the first being Ryan.

  Her thoughts wandered to him and stayed occupied there throughout her brief shower. By the time she dressed, her strength had returned, though her stomach still clung to its queasiness. Ryan returned with coffee and an egg bagel.

  “Did I have enough cash?” she asked, glancing about for her purse.

  “I didn’t look.” He shrugged at the withering stare she gave him. “How about you get the next one?”

  Satisfied with his compromise, she nodded. “Done.”

  “So,” Ryan spoke into the silence, “do you have plans for today?”

  She studied him and considered his question. She did have plans. Of course, he knew that. Either he asked because he wanted to make conversation, or he wanted an invitation to go with her.

  Something inside her wanted him to come along. Having a person to talk to, to share with, warmed her. He could be angling for a story. Not an impossibility. Certainly he had plenty of time while she lay passed out last night to phone something in. Instinct told her he hadn’t.

  “We need to stop by the lab.” She smiled at his raised eyebrows. “Then I want to stop in on Jacobs. He’s home now, with another week until he’s back on active duty.”

  He nodded. “Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”

  She stood and lifted her coffee. “Let’s go.”

  • • •

  The laboratory occupied a space in an older brick building behind the current police station. Thirty years ago, the building served as the police station with a large parking lot in front. When the city council decided to construct a new station, much to the relief of the crowded officers, they dug up the lot for it and included underground parking.

  For months, the counsel argued on what to do with the old building. After considering all options, they allowed the department to keep it for forensics labs.

  Although the building had stood since the early 1800s, the structure still seemed solid. Once inside the heavy metal door, the smell of chemicals met her. None of the offices had windows to the hall, and very few of the doors had markings. Lydia headed exactly where she needed to go, and led Ryan along the corridor.

  However old the building and however claustrophobic it made her feel, she could not deny its cleanliness. Linoleum flooring glowed white from regular bleaching and waxing. In any other such hallway, the walls would have graduating grime from decades of bumps and touches. However, in this hall, the walls seemed pristine as if recently painted. Even the corners near the ceiling bore no signs of cobwebs.

  She enjoyed this building. Clutter she could deal with, understanding order could exist in chaos, but nothing good could come from filth.

  Opening the fourth unmarked door to the left, she led Ryan into a small office. Several file cabinets lined the far wall. An unmanned desk to the right held stacks of folders that almost buried a desk lamp and a computer.

  Without pausing, they passed through the room to the left and entered another room bustling with activity. Divider walls separated the large room into sections. In each section, a team of people worked intently. Some in the back worked in suits behind draped plastic. Those makeshift clean rooms served for more sensitive analysis.

  Close to the front, a woman who leaned over the shoulder of a man at a computer glanced over the divider. “Well, hello.” She smiled, eyeing Ryan, and running a h
and through her spiked blonde hair.

  “What do you have for me, Susan?” Lydia fought the urge to rip out those seductive blue eyes.

  Although Lydia had not flinched, Susan seemed to catch the tone and soberly handed Lydia a couple of printouts. “Several hairs were found at the scene. Most were cat, a couple came from the victim, but two are canine. We’re running a full analysis to see if they match the hairs you found at the scene of the fire.”

  “They will,” Lydia and Ryan whispered in unison.

  Susan’s eyes darted between them. “The shoe print is also odd.” She tapped the man in front of her. “Show the video.”

  “We have video?” Lydia asked, surprised. “There were security cameras?”

  “No.” She pointed to the computer screen that showed a close-up of a computer-animated person walking across the screen over and over.

  “This is how a normal person walks. Heel first, then rounding to the ball of the foot.” She didn’t wait for a reply before bending and typing something on the keyboard. The motion of the foot changed. “This is how the killer walks. The foot lands on the ball of the foot and rounds through the toes.”

  “You know this from the print you found?”

  “Yes. The heel barely made any impression at all. This could have come from someone tiptoeing out of the scene … ”

  “You tiptoe slowly. Adams would have seen the killer,” Lydia finished the thought.

  “Detective,” Susan said slowly. “I told you I would be able to let you know if the print was made by a dog.”

  “Let me stop you right there.” Lydia held up a hand. “I cannot accept that an animal that looks like a person and wears hiking boots is killing in our city.”

  “Could be a werewolf,” the man operating the computer offered softly.

  Lydia rubbed her forehead and breathed deeply. “It could be just as likely that our killer did not learn the right way to walk and lives with a dog.” No one brought up that no evidence of a pet dog was found at the fire scene, where they assumed the Butcher lived. No one had to.