Supernatural Born Killers

by Casey Daniels

  At least she was a good judge of…er…character.

  Just in case Gretchen had forgotten I was there, I spoke up. “I think what the man means to say is that you’d better stop messing around and start talking,” I said. “He’s not very patient. Trust me, I know. That stuff he said about probation, he wasn’t kidding.”

  “She’s kind of touchy for a partner.” Gretchen only had eyes for Quinn and she was doing her best to make the most of it. Which would explain why she spared me less than a nanosecond of a look. “Unless there’s more to the two of you than just two cops trying to roust me.”

  Neither Quinn nor I corrected her. There wasn’t much point, and besides, it didn’t make any difference.

  “What we’re trying to do….” I began.

  “Is find out exactly what happened to Dingo,” Quinn finished.

  “And since you were supposed to be his girlfriend…” Yeah, I know. This was way too touchy-feely a tack to take as far as Mr. Tough Homicide Detective Who Wasn’t in Homicide Anymore was concerned, but hey, speaking as a woman, I thought I knew how to get to Gretchen. When I looked at that photograph on her desk and she looked that way, too, I saw the way her eyes got misty. “If you really loved Dingo, I think you’d want to find out what really happened to him.”

  Touchy-feely time over. Quinn stepped forward. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me if Dingo knew a cop named Jack Haggarty.”

  I wasn’t imagining it. Gretchen really did catch her breath. “I don’t know,” she said. “Not for sure.”

  “But…”

  Quinn and I spoke the single word together, but it was me Gretchen looked at when she answered. See, sometimes it pays to go for touchy-feely.

  “Dingo, he said once that he’d met this cop named Haggarty. It wasn’t…it wasn’t like a social meeting or anything. Haggarty nailed him. You know, when Dingo was doing a job.”

  “Haggarty caught Dingo during a robbery?”

  I was glad Quinn asked the question because I wasn’t sure what Gretchen was getting at.

  She nodded. “I’m guessing you cops never proved nothing, because nothing ever happened because of it. I mean, Dingo didn’t do no time or nothin’. He never even went to court.”

  “Then there should be something in Dingo’s record,” I said to Quinn. “You know, about Jack arresting him. You do keep track of that kind of thing, don’t you?”

  I knew we’d discuss this later, but for now, it was clear he didn’t want to let Gretchen in on too much of his thought process. He waved aside my question with one hand and concentrated on Gretchen.

  “Where did it happen?” he asked.

  When she looked up at him, her eyes were so big and moist, her mascara ran. “Dick’s,” she said. “You know, over on the west side. Dick’s Comic Book Shop.”

  Dick’s wasn’t exactly what I expected, though what I expected, I really couldn’t say, never having been to/thought about/imagined a comic book shop. The store occupied the corner of a strip of stores in a decent part of town. Clean, well-lit, organized. But then, I guess when you have thousands of comic books in your inventory, organization is the name of the game.

  There were other customers already browsing when we arrived, all adults and all guys. Two of them were looking through a display of new releases and three more were checking out a bookshelf at the back of the store. They looked like regular people. Who knew comic book buffs could be so normal! Or at least so normal-looking.

  No browsing for us. We went right over to the front counter, a glass display case that held what was obviously the store’s most unique and valuable inventory: a Dick Tracy watch, a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box, a Spider-Man figurine, a display of postage stamps that featured superheroes.

  There was a middle-aged pudgy guy behind the counter. His nametag was a giveaway. We’d found Dick.

  As I had learned over the years, when it comes to business (and other things, come to think of it) Quinn isn’t much for small talk. He flashed his badge.

  Dick slapped a hand on the counter. “I’ve been calling you guys for months. It’s about damn time somebody listened and came to see me.”

  “Have you? Been calling?” Quinn pulled out a little leather notebook and clicked open a pen. “About?”

  “The robbery, of course.” The three guys who’d been looking through the bookshelves came up front with a hardcover book about graphic novel artists, and Dick took care of the purchase. “That’s gotta be what you’re here about, right?” When he was done with his customers, Dick turned his attention back to us. “That kid you picked up here a few months ago.”

  “You mean Danny Ackerman.”

  Oh yeah, cops are sneaky that way—well, at least Quinn is. He made it sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about even though I knew he wasn’t really sure. It’s a great investigative technique. I should know. I’d used it myself a time or two.

  “Yeah, yeah. Ackerman. That was his name.” Dick settled himself comfortably, his stomach resting on the glass counter. “I know that, because the kid came in here a couple times. You know, before the robbery. He bought a couple small things and we got to talking. Figured he was just a regular kind of guy, but now that I think back, he must have been taking a look around, you know? Checking things out to see what we had and what was worth ripping off. But hey…” He waved a hand in the air and bonked an inflatable Iron Man hanging from the ceiling tiles above the counter. “It’s that whole twenty/twenty hindsight thing. If I knew then what I know now. Only I didn’t. And that’s why I never thought nothing of it the night Ackerman came in here just before closing time and robbed me. I mean, I knew the kid, right? I figured he was okay people.”

  The two guys who’d been checking out the new releases—a skinny kid with a head full of curly black hair and an older, beefier guy with a gold stud in his ear—came over to look into the display case, and Quinn and I moved aside. Dick told them he’d be right nearby if they had any questions, came around to the front of the counter, and ushered us over to a corner where a colorful sign advertised a comic book club for kids and weekly Saturday morning meetings. There was a display there, too, one of those spinning racks that had flyers on it for other comic book shops as well as conventions and events from all over the country. Good host that he was, Dick plucked one of each flyer off the stand and handed them to me.

  “Lots of fun, Officer,” he said, making the same mistake the girl at Crazy Lady had in assuming I was Quinn’s partner. Police partner, that is. “Comic book conventions are perfect family entertainment.”

  “Like the one that’s coming to town?”

  His smile told me I got points for knowing this. “It’s gonna be great. Lots of Superman stuff there. In fact, they’re doing a whole tribute to the Man of Steel. You know, on account of because—”

  “Superman was created right here in Cleveland.”

  Could it be that I’d actually impressed Quinn with this snippet of trivia? The way he pulled his mouth into a wry smile, I think it was possible.

  Dick thought this commendable, too. He excused himself around the two guys looking into the display case, raced around the counter, and came back smiling. “You get a prize,” he said, pressing something small into my hand.

  It was a gold ring. Well, it was a plastic ring painted gold. It had a fancy, curlicue pattern in the band and a big green stone (well, a plastic stone) in the center.

  “It’s what I give every customer who has the smarts to know Superman originated here in Cleveland. You know, just for fun. I tell everybody it’s genuine kryptonite.”

  Quinn explained. “Kryptonite is a meteorite that was created when Krypton, the planet Superman came from, exploded. It’s Superman’s one weakness, the only thing he’s powerless against.”

  I knew that. Sort of.

  “Hey, you can wear that, Officer.” Dick laughed. “Maybe it will protect you from the bad guys.”

  Wear? Plastic? I thought not. But rather than break Dic
k’s heart, I thanked him with a smile and tucked the ring in my purse along with those brochures he’d given me.

  “So, Danny Ackerman…” Quinn eased us back into the conversation.

  “Ackerman, yeah. Like I was saying, he came in here that night and since it was late, I was the only one here. We chatted for a while, just like we always did. Then the next thing I know, he’s got a gun pointed at my belly.” Dick laid a hand on his round stomach. “It’s a big belly. I knew he couldn’t miss.”

  “You must have been scared to death.”

  Okay, so it was more of a civilian thing to say than a cop comment, but Quinn didn’t need to look at me that way.

  “Sure, I was plenty scared.” Dick nodded. “I put my hands up just like he told me to.” He demonstrated, both hands high enough in the air to reveal the sweat stains under his arms. “And I backed away…” He did that, too. “And hey, I wasn’t about to argue; I let him rifle through the stuff in the front case. When he was done…” Overhead florescents, do nothing for anybody’s coloring, but they weren’t the reason Dick looked a little green. Not that I blamed him or anything. I’d been on the wrong end of a gun a time or two in my day, too, and I knew just thinking back on the experience was enough to unsettle anyone. “I figured he was going to pop me right then and there. Thank goodness that cop just happened to walk in.”

  I don’t think people’s ears actually prick. I mean, not like a dog’s or anything. But I’ll tell you what, Dick sure got Quinn’s attention. His hand poised above his notepad, Quinn shot Dick a look. “And the cop was Jack Haggarty.”

  “Sure. Yeah. That’s right.” The guys who were looking in the front case decided to get a move on to check out the older issues of comic books Dick kept toward the back of the store. They excused themselves around us and while they went one way, we went the other, wandering back toward the front counter. “I knew Jack from around, you know? I’d see him over at the diner across the street once in a while, or driving around the neighborhood in his patrol car. Kind of a prick.”

  When Dick realized he might have said something he shouldn’t, that green hue in his face spread. “What I mean is that he was kind of a tough guy. Not really friendly. You know, the way some cops are.” He glanced at me when he said this. No doubt, he was looking for an ally.

  “But I’ll tell you what.” Dick ran his tongue over his lips. “That night when he walked in on the robbery, I could have grabbed Haggarty and given him a kiss. That’s how happy I was to see him. That kid…Ackerman…he took one look at Haggarty and dropped his gun like it was on fire. I kicked it away so he couldn’t try to go for it again.” Dick was particularly proud of this. His chin came up.

  No big surprise that Quinn isn’t much for props. “What happened after that?” he asked.

  Dick shrugged. “Haggarty took the kid away. That was months ago, and like I said, I’ve been calling since. I mean, I figured they want me to testify, but…” Another shrug. “Never heard nothing from nobody. I’ve called Haggarty about fifty times.”

  “He’s been a little busy,” I said without adding being dead.

  “Yeah, well, I can understand that. I mean, hey, the city’s not getting any safer, is it? I know you guys—and girls—” He gave me an apologetic smile that was supposed to make me feel better. “I know you’re overworked. But hey, I haven’t heard a thing. If nothing else, I’d like my merchandise back, you know? I figured you guys have had plenty of time to do whatever you need to do with it. That’s what I keep calling Haggarty about. All I want is my stuff back.”

  “And that stuff…?” I glanced at Quinn as a way of telling him to be ready to take notes. “How much did Danny Ackerman take?”

  “How much?” Dick made a face. “The kid had good taste, that’s for sure. But like I said, he must have been in here scoping things out. That’s how he knew exactly what to go for.”

  “And that was…?” Quinn, the essence of patience.

  “Well, it’s like I’ve told Haggarty in every single one of the messages I’ve left him. You know, so he won’t forget. The one thing Danny Ackerman stole from me that night was a platinum number seventy-five.”

  When we stared at him, waiting for more, Dick’s mouth pulled into a bittersweet smile. “I guess I can’t expect everyone to know what we comic book aficionados know. Number seventy-five. It’s from the nineties, and a real classic comic if ever there was one. Not one of the ones in the black-and-red bag. I’ve got those around here, too, and I’m asking thirty bucks apiece for them. This comic was one of the platinum ones and I had a price tag of eight hundred bucks on that baby. You know, The Death of Superman.”

  Superman.

  One guy I’d never even met, and I was already sick of hearing about him.

  Not that I’m all that into obsessing about stuff like that, or even thinking about it when there are so many other things to occupy my mind. (Like what Quinn and I would be up to later in the evening because he texted me bright and early the day after we visited Dick’s and said he hoped to see me that night.) But when I arrived at Garden View at nine, and a gigantic vase of flowers arrived for me from Milo Blackburne at ten, I couldn’t help but do a little grumbling.

  After all, Milo Blackburne had admitted that he was a fan of the Man of Steel.

  And the mystery surrounding Jack Haggarty and Dingo had something to do with a Superman comic book.

  What’s it that psychology types call it when you focus on one thing because you don’t want to think about another?

  Transference?

  All right, I admit it, rather than think about how I wanted Blackburne to open up his checkbook and give to the cemetery, but how I didn’t want to give him me in return, I concentrated on the whole, crazy super-theme mojo that had suddenly popped into my life.

  Hence, the grumbling.

  “Not going to do it,” I said, looking over the three dozen red and white roses in a vase the size of my apartment. “Not going to sell myself in exchange for Milo Blackburne’s money, and I’m going to tell him exactly that. And I’m going to tell Ella, too. It will be kinder to her in the long run. And better for me, that’s for sure. And—”

  “Oh, Pepper!” Of course, Ella had no idea how I was preparing to cut off our potentially biggest donor at the knees. That would explain why she sounded chipper when she breezed into my office just a few minutes after the flowers arrived.

  Her cheeks rosy, Ella stopped inside the door and looked over the arrangement, and her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Someone’s trying to impress you,” she said, her voice a singsong that told me she thought she knew who that someone was. “Those flowers must have cost a fortune.”

  She was right. And I was impressed. To a point, anyway.

  But not impressed enough to sell my soul.

  Or any other part of me Milo Blackburne might have his eye on.

  “It’s not what you think,” I told her.

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is.” Her grin said it all.

  In fact, it said so much, I couldn’t stand to even look at it. I went around to the other side of my desk and sat down. That flower arrangement was so big, I could barely see Ella on the other side.

  “They’re from Milo Blackburne,” I mumbled.

  “Oh.” The way she said it, I had to sit up, part the flowers, and take a gander at Ella. What I saw was that the color in her cheeks had ebbed, at least for a moment. “I thought they were from Quinn and that maybe you had something to tell me about the two of you. But…” Color or no color, her eyes twinkled. “But this news is just as good, isn’t it? I mean, in a whole different way.”

  “No, it’s not.” I was tired of trying to make eye contact through the forest of flowers, baby’s breath, and ferns so I rose to my feet. “He thinks—”

  “Of course he doesn’t.” Maybe I was better off sitting down. At least with thirty-six roses placed strategically between us, I didn’t have to see Ella rocking back and forth, her excitement uncontainable. “No
doubt he thinks you’re smart and beautiful, Pepper. Because you are smart and beautiful. But he’d never overstep the line. Give the man a break. He’s good-looking, rich, and available. It’s only natural that Milo Blackburne would—”

  “But I don’t want him to,” I wailed.

  Ella clutched her hands together at the waist of her trim navy suit.

  Ella. Navy suit. Sedate pearls at throat matching the pearl studs in her ears.

  For the first time since she sailed in I took a minute to look Ella over.

  And another to wonder what the hell was going on.

  “What are you up to?” I asked her. “You look—”

  “Businesslike and in control, I hope.” Ella fanned a hand in front of her face. “We’ve got a board of trustees meeting this afternoon and I didn’t want to come across as too flighty. Or too casual. Or not serious enough. I thought I’d be better off showing them my no-nonsense side. You know, so they don’t get any ideas about making my probation period even shorter than it already is.”

  “Not a chance.” I believed this with all my heart so it wasn’t hard to put some oomph behind the statement. “They know you’re the best person for the job. That’s why they gave it to you in the first place. Besides, who else could they possibly find who would love Garden View more than you do?”

  “It’s true.” Ella pulled in a breath. “This cemetery is in my blood. Just like I’m sure it’s in yours, Pepper. But you know how some people can be, and you know what they told me when they gave me the job.” My office door was closed so it wasn’t like anybody was going to hear, but she leaned closer, anyway. “You know, about how I won’t keep the administrator’s job if I don’t bring in some serious donations.”

  I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help myself. My gaze automatically went to the flowers and an iceberg settled in my stomach. “Like Milo Blackburne’s.”

  “I hope you don’t think—” This time, the color that shot into Ella’s cheeks was the exact shade of the red roses in the vase. “I hope you don’t think I’m asking you to…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “To prostitute yourself. I mean, figuratively speaking. If there’s something about Mr. Blackburne that’s making you uncomfortable, Pepper—”