DARK CITY a gripping detective mystery

by CHRISTOPHER M. COLAVITO

  “Get over here and help me up.”

  Lane did as he was told, raising his partner like a sunken ship from the floor. The effort involved in both tasks seemed monumental, Lane thought, as he struggled to lift Knox.

  “What happened?”

  “I found something under the desk, and when I got down to take a look at what it was, my back went out.”

  “Oh, that's all.”

  “What do you mean that's all?”

  “I wasn't going to say anything, but when I walked in, I thought I was looking at another dead body.”

  “Very funny. Trust me, if I were dead, I would have taken someone with me. Probably you.”

  “So what did you find?”

  Knox opened his hand, revealing a small sliver of black plastic. They both knew this could be the key they had been searching for.

  “This was hidden so well, there has to be something useful on it.”

  “How did we miss it before?”

  “There was a hidden panel built into the bottom of the desk. Just looking at it, you'd never know it was there. I felt an edge when I ran my hand across it. It was dumb luck.”

  “The best kind.”

  “Yeah. Let's see what we've got.”

  The detectives were happy to leave once again, not merely to escape the specter of death that hung in the air, but because they could feel hope growing inside them for the first time. Every puzzle has a solution, Knox would frequently say, and they may have just stumbled upon theirs.

  Lane kept a computer in the car, part of his pressing need to be over-prepared for any emergency. Knox would give him a hard time about it, but was glad to have a partner who at least tried to carry his own weight. Plus, Knox thought, it saved him the trouble of having to plan for every occasion by himself, freeing his mind for more important matters.

  Lane took the drive and inserted it. They waited, breath held, for the flashing lights to reveal their splendor to them. The screen shifted, but instead of taking them on the first step towards solving the case, it provided yet another obstacle. Given what he had experienced in his brief encounters with the Hobbes family, Knox couldn't blame George for encrypting whatever information the drive possessed. He wouldn't have trusted those people with anything of value either.

  “That's just our rotten luck.”

  “Relax, kid. We'll send it over to the tech guys, and I'm sure they'll be able to break the encryption in no time.”

  “But that means more waiting.”

  “I know it's frustrating, but at least now we're waiting for a clue to be deciphered, not to magically fall from the sky.”

  “It's not a whole lot better.”

  “It's something, and it means we might finally get a little momentum moving in the right direction.”

  Chapter 11

  Walking Shells

  The furious buzz had left the precinct, the drones circling around the desks having returned to their natural state. It was understandable that, in a setting that saw so much death and depravity, normalcy would return in short order. Veterans of the trade would not be moved to a frenzy for long before their regulators kicked in, lowering them to the base standard on which they operated. It was better for them, in the long run, to divorce themselves as much as possible from their work. If they didn't, over time, it would eat away at them cell by cell, until they were walking shells waiting to be filled by the evil of the day.

  Detective Knox preferred the quiet. High-profile cases brought too much attention, and with it came unwanted glances over his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to miss a connection because he was busy brushing someone aside. He found comfort in the apathy his coworkers offered on a daily basis, how he only felt noticed when someone needed his help. The relationships were somewhat parasitic, but they beat having genuine human connections with too many people at once, or so Knox thought.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Knox heard Lane's voice, and wondered whether the question was rhetorical. No, he didn't want the company, but his partner had been clinging onto his every move, and may have thought an invitation had been extended. He had, Knox thought, become imprinted on him like a freshly hatched duckling. His mood had been improving, until this thought tied an anchor around him.

  “It doesn't take two of us to drop off a drive to the tech guys, unless you think I can't walk all the way down the hall without needing you to hold my hand.”

  “I was just asking.”

  “And I was just teaching you that the old saying is wrong, and there are stupid questions. That was one of them.”

  “Fine. I'll stay here and try to be productive.”

  “You do that.”

  Knox headed off, shaking his head at the damage evolution had caused in the span of a single generation. Detective Lane had a good heart, but Knox didn't believe he possessed the fortitude needed for a lifetime of laughing in the face of death. Knox didn't buy into the old stereotypes of masculinity, but there were places where the ability not to need, not to feel, were necessary. They lived in one of those worlds, and he was thankful to have had his softer tendencies driven out of him a lifetime ago.

  Technology was of no interest to Detective Knox. As long as he knew how to read the results the experts gave him, he didn't care how or why any of it worked. To him, it seemed as if information was pulled out of the air, seemingly from nowhere, and the biggest sin of all would have been to reveal the secrets behind the trick. He preferred to stay in the dark, so that he would never be put in a position where he might be locked in an office with the machines, away from where the real work was done.

  The technicians running the lab preferred Knox to anyone else in the building, because they knew this about him, and were relieved he had no interest in hanging around to learn how the illusion was cast. Like Knox, they preferred to work in solitude, without people questioning their every movement. Neither side would ever admit it, but they were more alike than they would care to admit.

  Knox walked in, tossing the bag containing the drive onto the table, turning around before he heard it click on the glass surface. He would have left without saying a word, had he not been called back.

  “What's this?”

  “You're the expert, shouldn't you know?”

  “Good one. What case, and what's the issue?”

  “It's for the Hobbes murder. You know, the one everyone's calling the locked room mystery.”

  “Oh, that one.”

  “Yeah. I found this at the scene, but it's encrypted. Can you get into it?”

  “Of course I can. It might take a little while, depending on how sophisticated it is, but we'll get whatever is on there.”

  “Great. Don't bother me until then.”

  “Why would I want to?”

  “Touché.”

  Knox turned on his heel, grinding the familiar wear pattern further into the sole. It was not a conscious choice, but it was one he thought he would make if it were. There was something alluring about the fluidity of the movement that didn't seem to mesh with the realities of life. He saw beauty in the dichotomy, and though it was a small detail, it made him smile.

  * * *

  Detective Lane was not waiting for him, hands folded. This caught Knox by surprise, not that he had given any thought to what his partner was up to in his absence. Perhaps, he thought, there was hope for him after all.

  Lane sat behind a pile of beige folders, each stuffed with coffee-stained pages. They were familiar, but something Knox wouldn’t mind being overtaken by technology. It was far more efficient for him to ignore a computer screen than a piece of paper someone placed in his hands. His eyes could pretend the screen was a mirage, but the paper was all too real.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  Lane looked up from the file he was reading, noting for the first time Knox's return. He held up one finger, pushing off the conversation for a moment, until he could finish absorbing whatever information he was looking at. Knox w
ould have been impressed, if he knew Lane wasn't wasting his time.

  “I thought I would be productive, so I went back and started looking through cold cases.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because we don't have any better leads right now, and you never know, there might be something in these files that could spark an idea.”

  “Has there been?”

  “Well, I haven't seen any other cases that look like this one. There haven't been any other novels come to life lately.”

  “I didn't think there were.”

  “But I did find something interesting.”

  “Do share.”

  “There was a case a couple of months back that bears a bit of resemblance. Like ours, there was no physical evidence of any kind, and the best suspect had a rock solid alibi.”

  “So why didn't we know about this before?”

  “Because it wasn't a murder. It was an attempted murder, or at least that was the claim.”

  “Claim?”

  “The alleged victim had mental health issues, and the officers who looked into it didn't put much credence in his claims. They thought he made the whole thing up.”

  “But you're thinking he didn't.”

  “I don't know, but I wouldn't be too hasty to write it off.”

  Knox was pained to admit it, but Lane may have found a new lead. His ego hit him hard; excitement of finding new information weighed against the jealousy of not being the one to unearth it. Knox was not normally so crass or shallow, but he was not comfortable being shown up by his own partner. Solving the case should have been the most important thing, regardless of how it happened, but Knox found himself unable to praise his colleague.

  “We should keep looking into the past until the tech guys are able to break into that drive. Maybe going backwards is the best way to move forward.”

  “So you're not going to say it?”

  “Say what?”

  “That I may have found something. That I did good.”

  “You did your job. You don't get a medal for doing that.”

  “Well, actually . . .”

  Detective Knox shot Lane a look, one that warned him that any goodwill earned would be forfeited if he insisted on traversing that road. Lane understood, and let the words fall apart, ceding authority back to Knox.

  “There will be plenty of credit to go around when we solve this thing, but until then, we need to keep our egos in check and get the work done. Believe me, there's danger in letting yourself get ahead of the evidence.”

  “You sound like you know this from experience.”

  “Didn't I ever tell you the story . . .?”

  Chapter 12

  The Graveyard Shift

  Years had passed, enough time that Detective Knox did not recognize himself in his own memories. He could recount the scenes, his senses overrun by the vivid imagery, but it felt like a life he hadn’t led. Perhaps, he thought, it was the product of a fragmenting mind, which was willing to fracture a psyche in order to bury the regrets that threatened to haunt him for the rest of his life. Regrets were nothing new, he had lived with them ever since he understood the ramifications of free will, and he was able to sleep at night with a clear conscience, because he had done everything in his power to forget the one sin he could not be absolved of.

  Detective Knox had been on the job only a few weeks, not yet long enough to understand how far into the pit of hell the city's pipeline dipped. Coming up through the ranks, he had believed he knew everything there was to know about being a detective, that there was nothing left for him to see. He was wrong, and would forever admit he was foolish to ever believe the worst was behind him.

  The call came in a few minutes before midnight, the exact time a detail lost to the deterioration of his mind. He was working the graveyard shift, as he preferred, not letting on to his colleagues that being kept away from the daylight was not a punishment for him. Night gave the city a different feel; it made the air smell different, it revealed the lines and shapes of lurking evil that only came out to play once the righteous had drifted off to sleep.

  Knox's reservoir of excitement had yet to be drained, and his heart threatened to tear through his skin with each new assignment. Even then, he thought it distasteful to revel in the misfortune of others. He didn't stop himself, he lacked the self-control to do so, but he understood the need to keep his feelings hidden, lest his career be derailed by a reputation as a man with a blood lust.

  The case appeared to be a straight-forward incident of self-defense. A young woman, alone in a dark alley, shot and killed a man trying to assault her. She looked the part of an unwitting victim, shaking as she recounted as much of the story as her shock-addled mind could remember. The body they stood over would turn out to be a repeat offender, exactly the kind of man who might be waiting for prey in a dark alley. Nothing about the case was remarkable, nor did anything seem out of place.

  Detective Knox, though, was not as sure as his partner that they were dealing with an open and shut case. Doubt lingered in his mind about whether she could have killed a man to save her own life, and though he didn't know why he should have given it any consideration, it had sunk its venomous fangs into his consciousness, and he would not be able to sleep without looking into the matter.

  Knox was supposed to file the report the following morning, and then the case should have been over. He promised his partner he would follow through, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew he was constructing a lie. At daybreak, under the gentle rays of sunlight, he went back to the scene. With the dark edges sanded down, he could see what had been invisible to him the night before. Grime covered every inch of the alley, as it did the entire city, and yet the asphalt below his feet was undisturbed. There was no evidence of a struggle, save for a spray of black blood the department had no interest in washing away.

  Knox debated whether to dig deeper for the truth, or to let the world be rid of a rotten soul, without asking too much about how it was achieved. The moral dilemma cut to the heart of what it meant to be a detective, to be someone charged with protecting the city from evil. His conscience was his only guide, and the burden his alone to shoulder.

  Detective Knox was, at his core, a man of law and order. Though he could see the benefit of taking thugs and thieves off the map by whatever means, he could not be a part of allowing it to happen. His charge in life was making sure the truth was uncovered, making sure more people were not led down the path of sin. Life would have been easier if he could have divorced himself from his moral compass, but he knew his soul would wither if he tried.

  Detective Knox knocked on her door, hoping a new day would stir remorse in her. As the door opened, he could see the look on her face hollow out, further proof that he was walking down the right path.

  “Excuse me, but I'd like to ask you a few more questions about last night.”

  “I'm sorry, but I already told you everything I can.”

  “I don't believe that.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I know what really happened in that alley, and so do you. It would be easier for both of us if you admitted it, rather than make me have to go through official channels and prove it.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Sure you do. If you don't want to tell me now, you can wait and tell everyone in court. I don't know, maybe you'd like having an audience to play to.”

  “Please leave.”

  “Yes, ma'am. But I'll be back.”

  Knox did not give up his pursuit of the truth. He was able to persuade his partner to keep the case open, staking out her house at night, leaving reminders that they were getting closer to uncovering the truth. This lasted only a few days, but it felt like an eternity for them both. The pressure built with every passing moment, until it could no longer be contained.

  The call came in at five minutes before midnight, the time etched in Knox's mind. The young woman could no longe
r live with the continual accusations; she could not deal with the thought of being considered a murderer. She took her own life, rather than live another day under the cloud of suspicion.

  Detective Knox blamed himself, even as the thought crossed his mind that he had been proven right. This was not the result he wanted, it was not the way things were supposed to play out. Justice may have been delivered, but it was not served. No one, not even the guilty, deserved to die like that. Knox had irreparably broken her, and no amount of prayer would be able to free him from the burden of his conscience.

  Matters were made worse the next day, as the news of her suicide brought a new witness out of the shadows, one who corroborated her story. She had been threatened, and she had defended herself as she said. There was no struggle, because she fired at the first sight of a gun, and an opportunistic passerby took the weapon before the police had arrived at the scene. Knox had pushed an innocent woman into a terrible, drastic action, a mistake he would spend his entire life atoning for.

  * * *

  Detective Lane looked at his partner, his face long, his expression devoid of any tangible emotion. Hearing that his partner could fail was a shock to his system, and that he could do so in such a horrifying manner was incomprehensible.

  “How did you survive that?”

  “I survived that first day because I had approval from above. I survived every day after that because it was the first, and last, mistake I made.”

  “I can't believe it.”

  “But you see why we can't get ahead of ourselves, don't you?”

  “Yes. You were right.”

  Getting Away With Murder: Can The Police Solve Anything?

  By: William McNeal

  Another day has come and gone, and the police are no closer to making an arrest in the 'locked room murder', sources have revealed. The department is running out of clues without striking upon a single solid lead. All appearances are that the investigation will be prolonged, difficult, and likely to end without any answers.