He stopped at the top of the stairs for a second and just shone his phone down across the stairs before taking the first step. His heart pounded; his mouth felt like sandpaper. The double doors felt smooth and cool under his fingertips, and when he pushed them open, he saw nothing but black.
Stanton flipped on the lights, and the blood screamed to him. He leaned against the wall and took it all in.
Jimmy, their blood spatter analyst, had run strings in the directions the blood had flown. It looked like a messy jungle of red tentacles running from one side of the wall to the other. Stanton had to stand in front of it and stare for a long time before getting a sense of what he was looking at.
The origin string, a white one, began near the wall and went from there. The strings told a story, and that’s why Stanton wanted Jimmy and not Lorenzo. Jimmy understood what Stanton was trying to do. Lorenzo didn’t even care.
The violence of what had happened sent a chill down Stanton’s back. It was possible multiple people were engaged in a violent fight, but something told him that wasn’t what happened. This was one victim. One victim that was thrown from one side of the room to the other and back again, blood exploding out of them with each blow. And that’s what Stanton knew it was now: a beating with a solid object, like a baseball bat or hammer.
The victim started against the wall and was flung back and forth between the walls on one side of the room. But never out to the center: the victim, even with such savage blows, always stayed on one side.
Why one side of the room? If you were being beaten, the force would’ve thrown you everywhere, or you might’ve tried to escape. Why stay in one place?
Stanton stood in the room and looked in slow concentric circles over the blood and strings, trying to see if there was anything he had missed on this bloody stage, where the blood was confined to a single…
Stanton glanced around the room and took a step back. He felt that familiar sensation, being turned inside out, his veins like ice. Some detectives tricked themselves into believing it was realization and the thrill of the chase, but he knew that wasn’t what it was. Not entirely. It was fear. Always fear.
There was a door on the far end of the room close to the entrance that he had only casually glanced at the first time he was here and assumed was a storage closet. He went over. It was unlocked, and he opened it. Nothing but metal folding chairs, about twenty. Stanton rolled up his sleeves, took out the latex gloves from his pockets and put them on, and grabbed the first chair.
Ten minutes later, Stanton stood at the front of the room. He’d set up the chairs in rows of four facing the bloody scene, turned his cell phone flashlight on again, and bent over the first chair. He went over it cautiously before moving on to the next one. After going through about five of the chairs, he knew they had been wiped down.
He quickly went upstairs and propped the door open with his wallet as he ran to his car. In the trunk was a portable black light along with a pre-treatment spray. Blood traces didn’t automatically appear under UV light. It had to be treated first or it wouldn’t show, because blood didn’t fluoresce under alternative light sources. Only urine, semen, and saliva did.
Stanton went back to the room, sprayed every chair, turned off the lights, and flipped on the portable blacklight.
He went over to the first chair and scanned it. Nothing. Then the next and the next. It wasn’t until the fifth chair that he caught what he was looking for: white, luminescent spatter patterns. In all, he found six that had blood spatter on them.
The chairs were out. Why would the chairs be out? If I were beating someone to death I would want as much space as possible.
Stanton scanned the six chairs again before pulling them up to the front near the bloodstains, lining them up in a row. It was a conference room; maybe after the conference two people got into it, and blood spattered onto the chairs which were already out? But there should probably have been a table, and these chairs were set up in a way that precluded a table being there.
As he stared at the first chair, something hit him: the pattern. The blood was on the chair almost like a W. Some on each side and a little in a triangle at the front. He went over the other six. The droplets hit different spots, but the overall pattern was the same: the sides, and a little on the front. He recognized the pattern immediately: a lap and two thighs on the chair, soaking up the other droplets.
People had been sitting in these chairs during the beating. There was an audience.
11
Stanton flipped on the regular lights. He shifted the six chairs a little and stared at the red strings, trying to visualize someone being beaten with six people sitting calmly and watching. The amount of blood was massive: if it was one person, he was most certainly dead. Whoever was in the chairs sat and watched a person die.
His first thought was Satanic cults. He had once investigated a cult back in San Diego that kidnapped teenage girls and ritually raped, sodomized and killed them. Nine members—four female—would sexually assault the girls, stab them through the heart, collect the blood, and then each member would take a drink.
Stanton remembered seeing them at the station, giving their confessions. They were just kids, no older than nineteen. He thought about their parents and siblings, how they watched television shows, had jobs, and went to school. Normal on the outside. But inside them was the darkness he had seen touch so many people, a shadow that could break loose and take control. What made some people able to control the shadow and others fail, he didn’t know.
Stanton left the warehouse and texted the foreman that he was done. He went home, parked, walked down to the beach, and took off his shoes. He liked the feel of sand under his toes, still warm from the day’s sun. He went to the edge of the water and sat down. The moon was out and reflected off the inky black Pacific in rays of dull white. He never liked going home right after visiting a crime scene. He needed time to decompress first.
After a little while, Julie sat down beside him. Hanny ran past her and jumped on him, his tail wagging wildly as he nearly tipped Stanton over.
“Easy, big guy,” Stanton said, rubbing behind his ears. Hanny licked him a few times and then sprinted for the water, probably hoping for fish.
“How was your day?” Julie asked as she took his hand.
“Same as any other,” he said.
“You’re such a bad liar. It’s your face. It always shows.”
He grinned. “Lying’s not a skill I’m great at.”
“That’s a good thing. So what happened?”
“It’s just a case I don’t really want right now. Something… sinister, I think. I was hoping it wasn’t really anything, just run-of-the-mill stuff, but I think this runs deeper.”
“So? Isn’t that what you love—a challenge?”
He shook his head. “This is something different. I don’t think I have the energy right now. I’m having trouble sleeping, and I’m…”
“What? … Jon, you’re what?”
“I hallucinated the other day. Just briefly, but I knew what it was.”
“You need to see your therapist. I’m making you an appointment tomorrow.”
“I saw her today. She says I need time away from work and prescribed a couple things to help me sleep. I just need some rest, and then I’ll be fine. The hallucination was from lack of sleep.”
She was silent a moment. “I’ve noticed some things lately. You talk in your sleep, when you do sleep. You say some… really horrible things.”
“Like what?”
She shook her head. “Just really horrific things. And then you wake up, and it’s like you don’t know where you are. I’m scared, Jon. I’ve never seen you like this. What is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got this, like, powerful anxiety. It’s bearing down on me like some black ship in the night, about to crush me. I feel it all the time. Not just in spurts. It feels like it could squeeze the air out of me and I can’t breathe sometimes.”
She squeez
ed his hand tighter and leaned over and kissed him. Her lips were sweet, and she kissed him gently. He closed his eyes and wished he could be right here forever, to never move, to never go back to his work or the real world. There were people who did such things, people who were always exactly where they wanted to be with exactly who they wanted to be with. But he wasn’t part of that life.
“Why don’t we go inside to your place, and I’ll sleep over and rub your head. That always helps you sleep.”
She stood and helped him up before leading him back inside, Hanny chasing after them.
12
Stanton lay in the dark and stared up at his ceiling. Julie was already asleep. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. Sleep wouldn’t be coming. He could feel it as surely as his heartbeat.
Slowly, he got out of bed and went downstairs. Hanny saw him from the kitchen and came over to sit at his feet as he turned on the television. He flipped through a few shows, stopped at Stranger Things, and leaned his head back against the couch.
This time, there was no sleep. Not even the hour that he sometimes managed to steal. This time, he was up the entire night and watched the sunrise from the patio, a golden orb painting the sky purple and pink and the ocean gold. Hawaii was beautiful in a way no other place in the world was. Right now, that beauty was lost on him.
The surfers were out. A local gang had been terrorizing tourists recently to stay off what they considered their beaches. They would slash the tourists’ tires or punch or kick them out on the waves, throw bottles. The gang was relatively weak and didn’t do anything much more violent than that, but Stanton knew one of these days it would escalate. Someone else wouldn’t take kindly to their tactics and pull out a gun. One of the gang would pull out theirs, and people would be killed.
But for now, all of them were laughing and enjoying the waves. He wished like crazy he could be out there with them, but his muscles felt as if he were moving through quicksand. Even his bones hurt.
“Hey,” Julie said, stepping out into the living room. “How long have you been up?”
“All night.”
“You didn’t take the pills?”
“No. I will tonight, though. Promise.”
She hesitated and stared out at the sandy beach before stepping onto the patio. “Will you do me a favor, Jon?”
“Sure. What?”
“Take today off, and take one of your sleeping pills.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can do whatever you want.” She knelt down in front of him, her hands wrapped around his neck, her eyes gazing into his. “Please.”
She said it so desperately that it moved him. “Okay. I’ll have Laka cover for me.”
She kissed him and went into the kitchen. “Omelets?”
“Yeah.”
Stanton turned back to the surfers and watched as they glided into shore on the waves. His phone rang. It was Laka.
“Hey, I was just thinking I need to call you, actually.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“I’m taking the day off. You mind covering anything for me?”
“No problem. Still got the moi moi a, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s someone that’s cursed by the night. They can’t sleep no matter how hard they try.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“No.” He quickly changed the subject. “What did you need, by the way?”
“Oh, you know that body in the trunk? We got an ID. Ben Kamaka. Thirty-three years old, an accountant downtown. No relation to the owner of the car.”
“Wife?”
“Not married, no kids. No next of kin. No family that we could find.”
“Huh.”
“I know, weird right? So the problem is, with no family, we don’t know when he went missing. He had his own accounting practice, so I was thinking I could run down there and talk to a secretary or something, see when he stopped showing up for work.”
“Sounds good. I appreciate it, thanks.”
Even though Stanton was the lead detective on this case, he knew he didn’t have the energy for it. He was grateful Laka didn’t have the laziness some detectives developed, wanting as few cases as possible.
“I wanted to ask you something else,” Laka said. “Nate Frost called Kai and said he’s handing you a case. That true?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“He asked a favor and I said yes. I’m not sure I’m going to take it, though.”
“How come?”
“There’s something about it… I think I don’t have the energy to pursue it. It might take a lot of time and work. I might see if someone else can take it.”
“Well, try and take a nap if you can. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Julie called from the kitchen, “What did she say?”
“She said she’d cover for me.” Stanton rubbed his face and rose. “I’m not hungry. Do you mind if I just go lay down and see what happens?”
“Pills first.”
Stanton went into the kitchen and grabbed one of each, a muscle relaxant and a sleep aid. He popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a few sips of water before kissing Julie and heading upstairs to lie down.
13
Kona Beach wasn’t a tourist destination. Only locals came there, and Rachel had only been there twice the entire time she lived on the island. It was an open bay, surrounded on each side by cliffs with ocean in between. The setting sun gave everything a violet tint by the time she parked.
She could see three men on the beach playing volleyball with a few women. Dane was on the far right without a shirt on, his abs clearly defined, his hair dancing on his shoulders. He saw her and smiled, sending that familiar jolt of electricity through her.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, walking away from his friends. He had a yin-yang tattoo on his shoulder with two snakes wrapping around it.
“I just came to hang out. I don’t want to surf.”
“You sure? It’s life changing.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She didn’t want him to see her in a bathing suit. Not that she didn’t keep fit, but she definitely wasn’t in a condition she felt comfortable showing him.
“Well, how ’bout a drink?”
“Sure.”
Dane went over to a cooler and grabbed two beers. He popped them open and handed her one.
“Thanks. So you guys come down here a lot?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s quiet and not a lot of people know about it. Good spot for surfing if you know what you’re doing.”
“These your friends?”
“Yeah, that over there is Bobby, and that’s Mackie with the beard and tattoo sleeves. I’ve known them since we were in fifth grade.”
“Wow. I can barely keep a friend over the summer.”
“It’s about loyalty. Loyalty and treating people right.”
She noticed that he seemed to have a smirk as he said that to her.
“So what do you do?” Dane asked.
“I work with a hedge fund. I’m an analyst… it’s actually really boring.”
“So you deal with other people’s money?”
“Basically.”
He took a long drink of his beer, never taking his eyes off of her. “Must be stressful. I mean, you probably got elderly people’s retirements you’re taking care of, kids’ college funds, savings accounts for people that don’t have health insurance and need that money for medical bills… Gotta be tough. Does it keep you up at night?”
She looked away, at the people playing volleyball. A well of guilt sat in her stomach and wouldn’t leave. She drank some more beer and said, “No. We’re careful.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you are.” He put his beer down by the cooler and said, “Come with me out on the water.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit.
”
“So what?”
“I’ll get wet.”
“So? They’re just clothes. Look, the sun is setting, the ocean is beautiful, and no one else is here. How many more times in your life are you gonna have this perfect scene? It’s warm, I promise.”
Dane didn’t wait for a response and ran into the ocean. The water splashed up over his body, and he dove head first into a wave. Rachel hesitated a few moments, kicked off her shoes, and joined him.
He was right: the water was much warmer than she expected. Dane rolled onto his back and did a few strokes before standing up and slicking his hair back with his hand. She was up to her waist in water, her shorts soaked, and went out to meet him.
“I love the ocean,” he said. “It’s the last unexplored realm on earth. We’ve only seen about five percent of the bottom. It’s savage.” He turned and looked out over the Pacific. “The last place we haven’t ruined.” He seemed to grow sad and said, “We’ll have to leave this planet one day to survive. Hope I’m not around to see that.”
He shook the mood off and turned to her. “You look beautiful out here, the way the sun hits you. But you got something in your eyes.”
“What?” she whispered, hoping he would just lean forward and kiss her.
“It’s… I don’t know. Like you feel bad about something. Guilt always shows in our eyes. Can’t get rid of it. You got something you feel bad about?”
She swallowed and suddenly couldn’t look at him. “I, um, better get going.”
“Why? You just got here.”
“I know, but I got a lot to do. Maybe some other time.”
“Wait, before you go, I got something I need to show you. It’s in my jeep. It’ll only take a second, I swear.”
He took her hand and led her out of the sea. They trudged up the beach and to his jeep parked on the side of the road. He reached under the passenger seat for a manila folder. He handed it to her.
Purgatory (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 11) Page 4