Damnable

by Hank Schwaeble

  Hatcher collapsed to his knees. The glove and machete slid from his fingers. His upper body slumped until his face was almost on the floor.

  Some murmurs from behind him, urgent whispers. He smelled the smoke as he turned to see Wright trying to say something, tiny sounds coming from her throat. She was gesturing with her head to a corner of the church. The guttering glow of flames was visible from the recesses.

  He lifted her legs so she could clear the hook with her cuffs. He set her gently on the floor, then retrieved the machete to cut the tie wraps around her ankles.

  The fire was spreading rapidly, already climbing the walls. He realized there was a sharp odor in the air. Kerosene, maybe.

  Wright took the machete and scampered to the young woman while Hatcher tried to keep from passing out. The woman seemed slightly dazed. Wright led her gently but hurriedly toward Hatcher. She didn’t even try to cover her breasts.

  With surprising strength, Wright grabbed Hatcher’s wrist and tugged him toward a back corner of the church. He looked up as she gave him a push. The Carnates were all gone.

  A corridor led straight back, branching out into smaller hallways. There was a large wooden door at the end. It was locked. A double-sided deadbolt. Hatcher leaned back against the door and tried to find some as yet untapped reserve of energy. He closed his eyes, then heard the smash of breaking glass. Wright was standing in front of a mounted case housing an axe nearby. She dropped the small, dense hammer chained to the side of it and pulled the axe from its clips. She gestured for Hatcher to move, then lifted it with her cuffed hands and took a swing at the door. The blade bounced off, taking a large splinter of wood with it.

  Hatcher put a hand on her arms as she hefted the ax a second time. He took it from her, sucked in a smoke-tinged breath, and chopped at the door. It took him five swings to knock off enough wood to loosen the deadbolt. They pushed the door open and stumbled into the back parking lot.

  They ended up on the pavement, mostly because Wright fell trying to keep Hatcher on his feet. He rolled onto his back, felt her next to him. She whispered into his ear, “We made it.”

  This is nice, he thought, as he drifted off. Even the darkness of sleep couldn’t remove the naked form of the young nun from his sight, hovering over him like an angel.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE EMTS INSISTED ON GIVING HIM OXYGEN , SO HATCHER sat on the rear step to one of the ambulances holding a clear rubber mask over his nose and mouth to keep them from pestering him. The first few puffs perked him up a bit, but he still just wanted to lie down and get some sleep. The back of an ambulance wasn’t what he had in mind.

  Wright approached, returning from one of her multiple forays past the blockades out on the street. She had refused to be taken to the hospital, telling the techs in her gradually improving whisper that she was needed here. She wasn’t, but Hatcher figured she needed to believe she was.

  She stopped as the gurney carrying the young nun passed and gestured for the EMTs to pause. She took a moment to stroke the woman’s long blonde hair. The woman didn’t react. Her head was turned toward Hatcher. She stared, unblinking. Wright left her and sat next to him and placed a hand on his.

  Hatcher watched the EMTs load the gurney into the back of another ambulance. The legs retracted as they lifted it as if it were designed to fly. The nun was still looking in Hatcher’s direction as she disappeared into the rear of the vehicle. A glint on her cheek suggested she was crying. At some level, he knew it was for him.

  The ambulance pulled away. The space it left was quickly filled by police and firefighters, milling around like ants.

  The church was smoldering. The stone frame was intact, but the stained glass had melted and popped, and thick black smoke was piping out of every opening. According to what Hatcher had overheard, the insides were gutted. Firefighters were forced into containment mode from the time they arrived. He and Wright watched together in silence as the hoses shot powerful streams through the windows, trying to douse the last bits of flame.

  “How’s your throat?” Hatcher asked. They had yet to address the most disturbing aspects of what they’d witnessed. He wondered if they ever would. Or if she had even seen it the same way he had. If Valentine was just another nutcase to her, and nothing more to it.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I thought about what you’d said. He probably injected your vocal cords with botulinum toxin. BOTOX. It’s not an uncommon way to paralyze the voice box. You need to see a doctor. You don’t want to risk any damage.”

  “How would you know something like that?”

  Hatcher said nothing. Removing someone’s ability to cry out, taking away their ability to scream or even communicate, can scare the hell out of them. Combine that with some pain, and many subjects panic, suddenly become willing to write a memoir with the first thing they’re handed. He hadn’t done it. But he’d learned about it, heard about it. The Egyptians came to mind.

  Wright reacted to something and hopped off the back of the ambulance. A man made his way toward them, crossing between the barriers and nodding to the uniforms milling around the perimeter. It was Maloney.

  There was a scrape on his cheek, smears of soot on his face. Wright ran to him and gave him a hug as he drew close.

  “I didn’t think you made it,” Hatcher said.

  Maloney shrugged. “I got lucky. Shot both of those crazy things, managed to shut myself in a room and lock the door as some of their friends showed up.”

  “Did you call for backup? They sure took their sweet time.”

  Maloney shook his head. “Cell phones wouldn’t work. Some kind of jammer.”

  Wright said something to him that Hatcher couldn’t hear. He nodded but seemed distracted.

  To Hatcher he said, “Did you ever find Deborah?”

  “She was in there. She was part of it. I think they’re long gone.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Maloney went quiet. A small, dark-haired man in a windbreaker with a badge hanging from a chain around his neck walked up and introduced himself as Detective Garcia. He spoke with Maloney for a few moments, wrote something in a notebook, then left.

  “I told him you both would finish giving statements tomorrow. You don’t need to be dealing with this crap after what you’ve been through. Right now, I’ve got to go make sure they’ve been listening to what I’ve said. You two should go get some sleep.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wright sat down next to Hatcher as Maloney walked off.

  “He can’t be too happy to see you with me,” Hatcher said.

  “Not that again.” Wright rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. I told you, there’s nothing between us.”

  “I didn’t say there was. I’m just saying, he wishes there were. I’m pretty sure he loves you.”

  “Hatcher, we dated a few times. It was a while ago. He hasn’t so much as asked me out since. Don’t you think a gal would know when guy is in love with her? Quit being paranoid and just let it go.”

  The words sunk in as she laid her head against his shoulder. After a moment, she patted his leg. She said she’d be back and hopped off again.

  Paranoid. Maybe she was right. He thought about how he’d suspected everyone. He thought about Deborah luring Garrett to his death. What an actress she was. He thought about Susan, how Garrett must have fallen for her, how Valentine used that to get at him, just like he used Wright. What a man will do for a woman.

  Then it hit him. Garrett. Himself. It started as a thought, spread as a feeling of realization. Carnates are not only irresistible, they are world-class actresses. The implications made the acid in his stomach churn.

  Options started to flash through his mind almost immediately. None of them was appealing.

  Oh, boy. He watched Wright slip past the barrier, thinking about how much he’d been looking forward to them having something together, to trying to make it work. The feeling of loss was already setting in. He put the ma
sk to his face and breathed, mumbling into it.

  “This absolutely sucks.”

  CHAPTER 26

  MALONEY PACED ALONG THE EDGE OF THE ROOFTOP, checking his watch every few moments. The breeze pulled on his artificial hair as he paused to look around before reversing course and starting over. It was almost three a.m.

  He stopped and patted at the pocket to his coat, reached in, and removed a cell phone. A quizzical glance at the screen, then he flipped it open.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” Hatcher said.

  Maloney spun around, dropping the phone from his ear. “Jesus! Hatcher? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Hatcher walked over to the concrete ledge, took a spot right next to Maloney. He leaned over it, looking out across water. The lights of the city twinkled like some magical island. It was a hell of a view.

  “She’s not coming,” he said.

  “Who”—the words seemed to stick in Maloney’s throat and he coughed lightly—“who isn’t coming?”

  “I’m the one who sent you the text message.”

  Maloney didn’t move. He stared at Hatcher for several seconds. “That could be considered interfering with a police investigation. Why would you do something like that?”

  “Because . . .” Hatcher turned, unloaded with a right. It was a short, compact punch, but it landed squarely on Maloney’s solar plexus. The detective grunted and hunched forward. “It was the one way to be sure. And to get you to come alone.”

  Hatcher reached a hand inside his coat, slid it around his belt until he found the revolver. He unsnapped the strap with his thumb and yanked it free from its holster, reared into a wind-up and threw it as far as he could. It flashed in the lights then disappeared. He imagined he heard a plunking sound from far below, but couldn’t be sure.

  “Are you crazy?” Maloney’s face was set in a grimace. He clutched his stomach and leaned against the concrete border.

  “No. Apparently I’m just easy to manipulate.”

  Maloney took a second to catch his breath, gradually easing himself more upright.

  “Look,” he said. “I know you’ve had a rough few days. I’m sure I didn’t help much. You haven’t slept, probably haven’t eaten—”

  “I slept plenty. Had a big meal earlier, too.”

  Maloney’s palm patted the air, his long, lithe fingers making it a feminine gesture. “You’re pissed. I don’t blame you. You don’t want to go back to prison.” He paused, wincing as he sucked in a labored breath and let it blow out. “As far as I’m concerned, this is just between a coupla soldiers here. Whatever was eating at you, you got your poke in.” Another grimace. “I’m willing to overlook it, pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You better think about what you’re saying, Hatcher. I can make things very, very difficult for you. Think about it. When are the marshals coming to pick you up?”

  “Six a.m.”

  “I’m the one who set it up so you could just meet them, remember? Gave you an extra day for your statements and to wrap things up. I even made calls on your behalf, made sure everyone knew you weren’t involved.”

  “Were you in love with her? Is that why? Or, in the end, was it the money?”

  “Hatcher—”

  “This view is from the photo on her wall. My message said meet me at ‘our place.’ I’d prefer it if you didn’t insult my intelligence by trying to tap-dance your way out of it.”

  “I don’t know what you think this proves.”

  “That call you just got”—Hatcher pulled a phone from his pocket, held it up—“I made it. Want to know how I got that number?”

  Maloney said nothing.

  “It was on Fred’s call log. You remember him? The poor old schmuck whose throat you slit?”

  A ship’s horn blared across the river, faint in the distance. Maloney held Hatcher’s gaze unsteadily, his focus jumping from one eye to the other.

  “I learned a thing or two about TracFones,” Hatcher continued. “Virtually untraceable. Provide you with anonymity, old-fashioned analog stealth in a digital world. But I realized to get the benefit you end up having to carry two phones, because it only works if no one knows the number. No one, except maybe your lover. And the rich psycho you let buy you.”

  Maloney turned to peer out over the water, eyes drifting over the cityscape. His face was suddenly drawn.

  “It was you. You were the leak. Pretty clever. Limit everyone’s access to what was going on, cover your tracks by pretending to be concerned about a mole. So, tell me. Why’d you do it?”

  For several moments, Maloney didn’t speak. He just stared into the night, seemingly transfixed by the lights of the city flashing in clusters off the water.

  “I grew up not far from here, you know,” Maloney said. “This was like my secret spot as a teenager. I used to come up here to just sit, do nothing. Take a magazine or a book and just get away from everything.”

  Hatcher listened, waited.

  Maloney glanced down, lowered his voice. “Ever been in love?’ he asked softly.

  “She isn’t in love with you, Maloney. She never was.”

  “It didn’t matter. Just being with her, it was more than I ever thought I could get out of life. More than I ever had before, more than I ever dreamed of having.”

  “She was using you.”

  “That’s what people do, isn’t it? Use each other?”

  “You let them kill those women, were going to let that thing do whatever it was going to do to that nun. A young girl. Christ, Maloney.”

  “It didn’t start out like that. Deborah was . . . troubled. I found her here, ready to jump. I could tell.”

  Hatcher wagged his jaw slowly from side to side. “It was all a setup. Women like her, they have a way of getting to you.”

  “Carnates. I know.” He angled his body to face Hatcher. “Jesus, it’s not like I just decided to become a dirty cop, you know. It started out as a favor here and there. Little things. Nothing to lose sleep over. And she was always so appreciative. The sex—the sex afterward was incredible. Indescribable. I just couldn’t say no. Then gradually the favors started getting more serious. I was scared of losing her. And, yeah, sure, soon money started coming. Money I could use to retire. She and I were going to be together. She promised. I couldn’t help but believe her. Still can’t.”

  “She was supposed to have sex with me, wasn’t she? Wrap me around her finger the same way. That was the original plan, wasn’t it?”

  Maloney rotated back to face the skyline.

  “But you threw a fit, didn’t you? Made them change tacks. Got her to rub some of that seduction on Amy and me. Set it up so we would sleep together instead. Have Deborah disappear like she did, get Amy and me together in her apartment. Sexed her place up with pheromones or something. You dragged Amy into this, almost got her killed, just so you didn’t have to think of Deborah touching another man.”

  Maloney stared across the water, shrugged meekly. “I wasn’t going to let anything happen to Amy,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Which is why you had to set up Reynolds. Had to make it look like he was in on it. He wasn’t attacking, he was just running, waving his arms. An injection of BOTOX in his voice box made sure he wouldn’t be able to cry out or give anything away. The stories about him and the clown mask gave you a cover. You could kill him in front of me, in front of me and in front of Amy. I probably wasn’t supposed to live, but that way there wasn’t any chance that I could tell her anything different before I bought it. But you had to promise you’d be careful with your shots, didn’t you? Valentine hated the thought of guns, stray shots or ricochets hitting the stained glass, maybe stressing out the Get or cluing me in on its weakness. And when things didn’t go as planned, when I did figure that out, you started the fire. You were supposed to do that anyway, when it was finished, weren’t you? To destroy as much evidence as possible.”

  “If I told you I was so
rry, it wouldn’t make a difference. The fact is, it’s over. You can’t prove any of it. And Valentine is dead. Whatever sick stuff he was up to died with him.”

  “You’re wrong. I can prove it.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “I’ve been recording everything you said. Another wonder of modern cell phone technology.”

  Maloney’s expression sagged. He blinked a few times, then seemed to buck up, almost relieved. He leaned in toward Hatcher, lowered his voice to a whisper. “What I just said won’t be enough. Too ambiguous. The most you can do is be a pain in my ass. And since you’re a convict, going back to prison in a few hours, you won’t even be too much of that. Leave it alone, Hatcher. The smart play would be to not even try.”

  “It’s not just what you said. It would be the call history on the cell phone you have that I could take off your battered body. The recording will get it started. Then the million little things you did will make the proof.”

  “I said—” Maloney paused, lowering his voice again. “I said I was sorry. It may not be much, but that’s all I can do. You’re a tough nut, I’ll give you that. But you’re venturing into my world now.”

  “You’re right.”

  The words seemed to catch Maloney by surprise. His face shifted into a skeptical look, but a glint of hope flashed in his eyes.

  “I already thought it through,” Hatcher continued. “The only one I could trust giving this to would be Amy. She would start investigating. Maybe confront you, maybe not. But a guy like you, a dirty cop who’s trying to cover his tracks, he’d be very alert. Constantly watching everyone around him. You’d figure out what she was up to. Then you’d kill her.”

  Maloney’s eyebrows jumped. He started to object, but Hatcher cut him off.

  “Oh, you’d agonize over it, or tell yourself you did. You wouldn’t like it. You’d console yourself with the thought you really had no choice. But the decision has already been made. It was made the first time you looked the other way after realizing Valentine was killing hookers. The fact is, you were going to end up killing her anyway. She’s too smart. It was only a matter of time before you decided she was a loose end.”