5th Pentagram: The sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 3 of the Darc Murders Trilogy) (Book 3 of the Darc Murder Series)

by Hopkin, Ben

  And somehow, she knew that it wasn’t over with yet.

  CHAPTER 11

  Trey peered up at the sign above the quirky little shop. The Devil’s Workshop, it proclaimed, with the “v” in Devil making the horns for a cartoonish red devil smirking down at the two detectives.

  “Clever,” Trey admitted. “Idle hands… devil’s workshop. It’s like he’s flipping us and everyone else the bird.”

  In tracking down Edward Hoffman, they’d found that he owned a store in the Central Waterfront area of Seattle. It was a place that sold antiques, handmade soaps and lotions, homeopathic remedies and knickknacks of all sorts.

  From the traffic moving in and out of the storefront with Devil’s Workshop bags, it also appeared to be very busy and successful. Edward seemed to know his market and catered to it extremely well.

  Entering the shop, the first thing that Trey noticed was that Edward appeared to have perfect taste. It was charming, warm and oddball all at once. There was nothing at all creepy or sinister about the décor.

  It also wasn’t overly cheesy, like most of these kinds of shops had a tendency to be. No posters of kittens or babies dressed as cabbage or folksy sayings. Just elegant wares that still managed to have an earthy appeal to them.

  In spite of himself, Trey dug it.

  He glanced over to the side at a hand-blown vase that had swirled patterns of a dark red and violet color streaming through it. The piece was beautiful, and almost without consciously deciding to pick it up, the vase was in his hands.

  “Maggie would love this…” he murmured to himself.

  “That happens all the time in here,” a voice called out to him. “All of the sudden a customer’s holding something, and voilà. They’re walking out the door with it all nice and wrapped up and they don’t even know how it happened. You know what I think?”

  Trey looked up to see the store’s owner, Edward Hoffman, approaching them. Trey carefully put the vase back down where he found it.

  “What do you think?”

  “Well, I think the devil made them do it.” The Satanist High Priest threw his head back and laughed at his own joke. Trey had to admit that if the guy weren’t someone who admitted to worshipping pure evil, they might even get along. Edward stopped just in front of Darc and Trey. “So, are you here to shop?”

  “No,” Darc answered in a burst of monotonic speech. Trey’s partner could express so much with so little.

  The Satanist put on a mock frown. “Ah, Detective. You make me sad.” He shrugged elaborately. “Well, I’m guessing you’re here to ask about my alibi for Saturday.”

  “How do you know that?” Trey asked.

  “Well, I did it, of course,” he answered with a grin. “Or maybe I read about it in an article online. Fantastic title. Satanists Savage Seattle. A bit much on the alliteration, though, don’t you think?”

  “That’s what you’re going with? You got it on the web?”

  “Sure thing,” Edward said with a grin. “As far as you know.”

  Trey felt his hands clenching into fists. Man, this guy got on his last nerve. Well, no. Not his last nerve. That one was reserved for the new APA, Carson Speer. This guy was just messing with Trey’s theory.

  “Don’t you know you’re making yourself that much more suspicious?”

  “But isn’t that half the fun?”

  Trey counted to ten in his head. “Are you still going to think it’s fun when we haul your ass down to the station?”

  Edward’s gaze hardened. “Do it. Please. I would love to take you to court for harassment. Can’t you see the headlines? Satanists Sue Seattle’s Savant. See? I can do alliteration, too.”

  “He’s the savant, not me,” Trey protested.

  He shrugged. “Creative license.”

  “And speaking of litigation, we got a tip that you were involved in some recently.”

  The Satanist leaned up against what looked like an antique desk. “Not sure how that’s anyone’s business.”

  “The defendants in the suit include all of the dead victims,” Darc stepped forward to say.

  “Oh. That lawsuit.”

  “Yes, that lawsuit, you douchebag,” Trey yelled at him, causing several of the store’s patrons to glance their way. He lowered his voice. “You knew that.”

  “I know it now,” Edward confessed. “But I wonder how much you know.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Trey asked, confused.

  “Look, as a Satanist, I’m kind of morally opposed to helping out ‘the man,’ so why don’t you figure it out yourself?” He turned to go back behind the register, calling out over his shoulder. “But if I were you, I’d take a strong look at who was on that lawsuit and what it was about.” He turned back around. “And the lawyer who pointed you in my direction.”

  Now how had he known that? Trey looked over at Darc, who had remained largely silent throughout their exchange. “We don’t have enough to bring him in, do we?”

  Darc shook his head.

  “Pity. It’d be nice to slap some handcuffs on that guy. Even if it was just for a second.”

  Trey’s partner paused for a moment, then nodded his head. Apparently, Edward had pissed Darc off, too.

  And that was saying something.

  * * *

  Interesting.

  Fascinating, even.

  Not only had the bald detective escaped, but he had managed to save his partner in the process. Admirable, if misguided. It was clear that Detective Darcmel could not see that Detective Keane was a leaden weight hung around his neck. Remove the encumbrance and he would soar.

  But part of becoming the best and the brightest was the process of allowing oneself to be rid of those relationships that bind one down. Release the burdens. Cut the ballast. Divest oneself of the anchor.

  Until that happened, true progress would always be held hostage to “caring” or “compassion”. The Intermediary had thought that Detective Darcmel would be above such petty concerns, but that was evidently not the case.

  And yet…

  The fact that Darc had anticipated the trap to the extent that he was able to save his partner was further evidence of the man’s superiority. It was a conundrum.

  Ah, well.

  On to larger concerns.

  The net continued to close in. The players in this dance of death were marked. And the Intermediary would cut them down one by one.

  They thought to play by their own rules. In a way, they had qualities that would mark them for the work, instead of for destruction. If only they weren’t such miserable specimens of subhuman attitudes and behavior.

  They used their influence and power, not for the greater good, but for the ends of self-aggrandizement, self-immortalization, self-satisfaction. They were fit for nothing more than to be mown down as chaff and burned at the harvest.

  Not the harvest of the righteous. Oh no. There was nothing of interest in that tired old cliché of a story.

  The harvest of the mighty. Those that would stand up to a tyrannical god as quickly as they would a tyrannical government.

  It was close. The Intermediary could taste it. For this, all the extra hours, the socializing, the slow molding and shaping of ideas. The efforts would not be in vain.

  The Intermediary would see to that.

  * * *

  Darc moved through the hallways of the precinct building, Trey following at his heels. This was a configuration they fell into on a regular basis. And, as always, Trey was complaining about it. That seemed illogical. Either work your body so that it was stronger and could keep up, or ask him to slow down. Trey did neither. Instead, he, in his own words, bitched about it. In between wheezes.

  “You’re… actually a machine… aren’t you? Are you… in contact with Skynet? Am I going to have to… melt you down in some boiling pool… of molten metal somewhere?”

  That sounded like some sort of reference to popular media. It was a logic train that Darc could track down if it had registered a
s something important, but this sounded like Trey’s standard operating procedure. The lines of logic did, however, bounce back and forth as they assessed Trey’s respiratory situation. Their answer? Stop talking and use the extra breath for additional forward movement.

  Now that seemed logical.

  They had been called in to see Captain Merle. The involvement of their captain at this point had many other stray strands of light whirling around in Darc’s inner mind’s eye, seeking for the possibilities. Anticipating the reasons for the call.

  As they entered the Captain’s office, there were no preliminary greetings. Captain Merle seemed to have realized long ago that Darc did not respond well to them.

  “You two are part of a task force that’s being assembled to protect the Mayor.”

  The statement landed like an artillery shell in the middle of the small room. Trey stood, appearing stunned for a moment, then spoke up.

  “Why are we being asked to protect the Mayor?”

  That, to Darc’s view, was not the correct question to ask. The pertinent information related to how much time this protective task force would require of them, and how that would impact their search for the killer.

  “Mayor Isaacson is worried. Three members of his council are dead, plus a prominent businessman—”

  “You mean mob boss?” Trey muttered.

  “I mean businessman,” Merle emphasized. “There is no evidence that Mario Colacurcios was involved in any kind of—”

  “Come on!” Trey said. “His last name was Colacurcios. What else do you need?”

  “Regardless,” the captain continued. “The recent deaths have left the Mayor spooked. There’s that big parade coming up, and he’s worried about his safety.” Merle grabbed a file off of his desk and threw it to Darc. Trey dove for it and managed to catch the heavy folder before it struck Darc in the chest.

  “Catching isn’t really Darc’s thing,” he explained, glancing through the file. “So how much involvement are we talking here?”

  “You’ll need to head up the team. I’ve put the files of some of the best uniforms in the city you can draw from, as well as some guys from other departments.”

  “Our time is engaged in our investigation of the recent killings,” Darc said. The threads were racing back and forth, assessing this new information. There had been not a single strand that had predicted this development, and it was one that would hamstring their investigation.

  “You’ll have to do both at the same time,” Merle responded. “Sorry.”

  Trey blinked. “Sorry? Did…?” He looked from Merle to Darc and back again. “Did you just apologize? To us?”

  The captain raised his hands in a backing off gesture. “Look, this is over my head. I need you on the case, but the very reasons you’re working it are the reasons the Mayor wants you. Only the cream of the crop for his protective detail. You know how it goes.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t mistake my apology as an invitation to argue with me on this.” The captain pointed at the door. “We’re done here. Keep me updated on your progress.”

  Trey grumbled as they walked out. “Stupid Mayor. Doesn’t he have some kind of security team or something?”

  Darc was never certain when Trey was asking a real question, so he decided not to answer. They would have plenty to do to continue making sure the investigation moved forward at the same time that they were protecting the Mayor. The strands of light twined around one another, working on the issue, attacking the problem from all sides, spitting out answers. None of them were satisfactory. There simply was not enough time.

  “I guess we’re going to have to talk to the Mayor’s assistant, make sure we’re working with his schedule or whatever. Man, this is going to be a pain.” Trey was still grousing as they got back to their desks.

  The phone rang as they started to settle back in. Darc peered at the ID screen and saw that the call originated from the ME’s office. He put the call on speaker so that Trey could hear as well.

  “Darc?” It was Cody, the intern. “I hope I’m not bugging you guys, but the reports are back on the autopsy for Raymond Prosser. And there’s some stuff here you’ll probably want to see in person.”

  Trey looked up at Darc, his eyes larger than normal. Was this some sort of appeal? Or was Trey having dilation issues? Regardless, there was information on the case they were working. And that information was waiting for them at the morgue.

  “We will be there in five minutes,” Darc replied, hanging up the phone. He pulled out his cell phone to call Mala. Having her there could be helpful.

  As for the Mayor, he would just have to wait.

  * * *

  Trey grabbed the empty glass soda bottles that were in the front seat and tossed them in the back, making sure they landed on something soft. Wouldn’t do to break the bottles. He’d never get the glass out if that happened.

  “MexiCokes, dude,” Trey answered Darc’s look. “I can’t get enough of them. Made with real cane sugar instead of that high fructose corn syrup stuff.”

  “I do not drink soda,” his partner replied.

  Reflecting on that, Trey decided that might be part of Darc’s problem. Something to definitely think about for the future. Maybe stage some kind of introduce-Darc-to-the-joys-of-caffeine intervention?

  He pulled out into the street, punching it. They didn’t have much time before the Mayor’s goons started tracking them down to make sure that Darc and Trey did their new job. He returned to the soda issue, figuring that was an easier topic right at the moment.

  “That’s a tragedy, man. But whatever. I’m telling you, the big drink corporations are all like There’s no difference in taste. That’s so a load of BS. You can totally tell.”

  Darc remained silent, staring out at the road ahead of them. Trey could never be sure if Darc was doing that because he was following some internal savant-type lead or if he was just tuning Trey out. Somehow this felt like the latter.

  “There’s something else that no one is really talking about. High fructose corn syrup has been shown to mess up your memory. Plus, it spikes your insulin response by like five times more than sugar or something crazy like that. I blame corn subsidies.”

  Yeah, Darc was totally tuning him out.

  “And then there’s the whole connection with aliens… you know, the crop circles and stuff. Where do you think you find those? Corn fields. See? Corn syrup. Corn fields… Total connection.”

  Nothing. Fine. Time to just have some fun, even if he was the only one listening. It’s not like Darc ever thought anything he said was funny anyways.

  “One time an alien took me up into his ship. True story. Tried to do that anal probing thing on me, but I was like No thank you, bro! I’ll take my probe to go. And I was out of there. Took his alien girlfriend with me. She was hot.”

  Still nothing. Seriously. Messing with Darc when he got like this was like shooting fish in a barrel. No fun at all.

  Trey remained silent for the rest of the trip, planning out in his head how he was going to slip some caffeine into Darc’s diet at some point. Would the stimulant make Darc even more crazy smart, or would he just implode? There had to be some kind of critical mass when it came to intelligence, right?

  When they got to the Coroner’s office, Trey stepped out of the car, heading toward the building’s entrance. Darc walked at his side, but then glanced at his partner.

  “I’m not sure that Maggie would appreciate your dalliance with extraterrestrials,” he said, and then loped into the building, leaving Trey with his jaw agape.

  Okay, so apparently Darc had been paying attention the entire time. And was it just him, or had Darc just told a joke?

  Trey felt like he needed to call Maggie and Mala and Janey right now and let them all know. But Darc was quickly getting away from him, and they had stuff to do. Like, right now.

  Down in the morgue, Dr. Hutchinson appeared to be doing what he could to keep from sneering at Darc and Tr
ey. That man had a serious stick up his butt. Trey wasn’t sure what they’d done to offend the guy, but he clearly didn’t like them much. Not nearly as nice as the new intern. Trey found himself wishing that whatever had kept Hutchinson away from the morgue the last time they’d come down would happen again.

  With a nod from Hutchinson, Cody pulled the sheet back from the newest victim. “There were some things that I thought—” Cody’s eyes flickered over to the ME as Hutchinson cleared his throat. “Sorry, Dr. Hutchinson thought you’d want to see.” He stopped for a moment, glancing up at Darc. “He’s not going to go running out of here again, is he?”

  Trey shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. Darc does what Darc does. Not a whole lot of rhyme or reason to it most of the time. Well, rhyme, at least. The reasons always come after the fact.” He sighed. “You learn to deal with it.”

  “Right.”

  Dr. Hutchinson moved in closer to the body as Cody stepped back to give him room. “When I opened him up, I saw the same burning on his heart as in the last case. I checked back on the first two bodies. There were burn marks there, but because they were just tiny points, they weren’t noticed.” The ME glared at the intern as if that were Cody’s fault, but Trey was pretty sure that was on the doctor.

  “Did the marks correspond to what you have discovered on the other bodies?” Darc asked.

  “Well, there wasn’t a pentagram, if that’s what you mean,” Cody answered him. “There was only one on the first body, and then two on the second. Looks like the spacing is the same as it is between these two points.” He pointed to two of the darker spots on the five-pointed star within the circle.

  “Those mark the location of the first two bodies, right?” Trey asked Darc.

  “Yes.” Darc was looking down at the corpse, his eyes getting that glassy look. Something was percolating in there, Trey was sure of it.

  “One moment,” Dr. Hutchinson interrupted. “What are you two discussing?”

  “Darc figured out that the whole pentagram thingy is like a map of a section of Seattle. So those darker spots are locations of bodies.”

  “Whoa. That’s…” Cody burst out, then shot a look at the ME “Well, that’s sick is what that is.”