by Talon P. S.
So caught up in her mental calculations as she unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped in, she didn’t notice the open window over the fire escape before it was too late.
Katianna barely had time to let out the scream when she saw the man come bounding from her bedroom, her Chinese takeout falling to the floor when he came around and snatched her. Her feet went flying up towards the counter that divided the kitchenette from the living room and she kicked out knocking them both into the small two person table sending the single chair to its side.
The man jerked around, lifting her from her feet as he headed for the bedroom. Terror seized Katianna, but not so much she couldn't screamed again. Though as she did, she had no hope that someone might come to aid her. Her neighbors fought all the time and it always ended with the brute of a man beating his wife into silence. No one ever came for her neighbor… why would anyone come for her. She was dragged to the hallway and again she kicked out catching the wall and pushed off. This time managing to send them both to the floor, they landed with a hard thud and his grip around her broke. Katianna’s hand dove into her coat pocket and pulled out the taser Trenton had convinced her to carry and reaching over her shoulder, the tip made contact and she lit it up just a she rolled off of him. The man thrashed wildly on the floor and she bolted out the door. Leaving a trail of her screams, Katianna tore down the stairs, out the front door of the building and into the street, directly into the path of an oncoming truck.
Katianna felt the force at about the same time that she saw a mass of red painted steel coming for her, she could only think to jump, but never would remember if she managed it.
The truck slammed into her with a squalling sound of its tires as it tried to stop, sending her over its hood and smashing into the windshield like a boneless doll. The truck weaved and skidded—crashing into a custom motorcycle parked at the curb before coming to a halt and the force catapulted her body into the extended handle bars.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Harper Lancings got the call that afternoon, Detective Tate Marshals, head of New York’s SVU sent word that their killer had surfaced again. While Harper was a private investigator rather than a detective for the city precinct, he had been working in cooperation with them on a particular case involving a serial killer in the area for some time.
Harper had gotten involved when he was hired by Candice Smithy, to investigate her ex-husband. She was certain she was being followed and had on occasion come home to find things in her home disturbed or missing and it had her frightened. But Harper’s investigation cleared the ex husband and stepped up his investigation to find her stalker. But Candice was killed eight weeks after hiring Harper and when he learned she had been number 6 under the MO of a serial killer, he became heavily involved with the police precinct to track down her killer. He only hoped he’d find the perp before the police did, he had other plans for the fucker.
Harper met with Tate right away when it was looking like the man who had just attacked another woman carried the same MO as his targeted perp.
“So who was the victim this time?”
“Uh, Kati—” the detective shook his head, then tried again, “Kat-yahna—Dum-ass?”
Harper held his hand out for the man’s notes, he was a good detective, but he sucked with names. He glanced at the paper, “Katianna Doo-mah. The s is silent.” He frowned. The name sounded similar, but couldn’t place it. “So what else can you tell me?”
Tate threw his hands up, “No family, not sure about any friends at the moment. By the looks of her place—apparently didn’t own much. A laptop that got crushed. An iPad he hadn’t unearthed yet. Somebody said she was a writer—so she pretty much kept to herself sitting up late at night doing her own thing. No medical insurance either.”
Harper stilled his fingers scratching through his thick ash brown hair; he’d been pacing listening to the glum details until Tate said the word insurance. Why would a dead woman need medical insurance? “Insurance?” He looked at Tate questioningly.
“Yeah, didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what Tate? Just get it out will ya?”
“She’s alive. Girl managed to get away and ran like a bat out of hell till she ran out in front of a truck. They got her at Queens General now in surgery still last I heard. It’ll probably be awhile before we can question her.” He plumped down on the corner of his desk reaching for something from the file laid open on it, “I got a picture of her if you want it?” And held it out to him. “Oh yeah and she got away with this.” He held up a plastic zip lock bag that contained a taser gun now tagged as evidence. “Damn thing ain’t even street legal Harper, but it saved her life.”
“Where you think she got it?” He was scratching his head again. She would be the first of the killer’s victims to ever survive, so he really didn’t give a rat’s ass that her savior was illegal, but he was curious. He’d have to go thank whoever the son of a bitch was who gave it to her.
“From your fucking friend—” he tossed it back on the desk, “It’s registered to one Trenton Leos.”
Harper was suddenly snatching the picture from Tate’s hand and glanced down at it. He felt the lump in his throat when he looked and saw the familiar face. Now he remembered—Amelia’s star writer, they called her. He’d met her once at Stilettos and his brother Trenton had spoken if her a few times since he met her just over a month ago. Trenton rarely took notice of any one, not like this anyways. That’s why the name was stuck in his head. “Get me that hospital info on her will yeah? I gotta make a call.”
“Sure have it ready for ya in a few.”
Harper stepped out pulling his cell from his jeans pocket and punched up Trenton’s number.
“Yeah.” He heard Trenton’s voice come up on the other end.
“Say—know that case I’ve been working on with the locals?”
“The one with Candice?”
“Yeah—that’s the one.”
“What about it?”
“He tried for another victim, only this one survived—”
“Tell me what you need, you need a few of my guys, just say so. You know I’ll back you up Harper.”
“It was that writer friend of yours.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
After a few more back and forth questions with Tate, Harper headed over to the general hospital to meet up with Trenton who no sooner had he mentioned the woman, had hung up on him. He knew Trenton would be instantly pulling up the police scanner report from his own data base computer and head straight for the hospital. By the time he was able to leave the precinct and meet up with him, Harper found Trenton already at the desk in ER and he was raging mad.
“Look the woman has no family; I’m the closest thing she has, so why can’t you tell me how she’s doing in there?” He argued with the nurse. He really didn’t have any clue as to whether she had any family or not. What he was sure about was that he wasn’t going to let up until the hospital acknowledged him and gave him the information on Katianna’s condition.
“I’m sorry sir, but unless you are a family member or spouse we cannot discuss her condition with you.” One of the nurses at the front desk stood behind the partition, her hands on her hips strumming her fingers impatiently as Trenton fought to keep from just letting out the full force of his rage on the woman.
“You can’t even tell me if she’s going to pull through?”
The nurse pierced her lips and shook her head refusing to divulge any information. It wasn’t her first rodeo.
“Then tell me who’s footing the bill, I’ll go ask them.”
She flipped through the pages in the file set out in front of her then glanced back at him, “She’s a blue card sir.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she doesn’t have any insurance.” Harper answered as he stepped up, “State will likely foot the bill through victim’s aid and welfare.”
Trenton’s jaw clenched and he pulled out h
is wallet then slapped a platinum card down on the counter in front of the nurse. “There! Now I’m paying for it. Make sure she gets a private room, and if all she has is some first year intern blue card doctor in there working on her stop them right now and get a specialist in there ASAP. Then come back and tell me if she’s going to be okay.”
The nurse glanced at another seated next to her who only shrugged, “Hell if the man wants to pay, let him.” She shook her head wryly then turned back to the paper work she was busy on. They didn’t have a policy that prevented someone from paying.
The first nurse shrugged as well deciding to give in, “Just give me a minute and I’ll see how she’s doing.”
Satisfied with the response for the moment he turned to Harper, “So what have you found out so far?” He leaned back on the nurses’ station, refusing to budge or step aside till he had what he came for.
Harper grimaced, “Sorry not much yet. He got away for one, nobody saw anything… the usual response for New York—” he gave an outward wave of his hands.
“How about giving me something that isn’t going to piss me off.”
“You gotta give me time, this just happened. It’s not like I make a fucking habit of running a file on all your little fuck friends prior to them being attacked.”
“Watch your mouth, Harper. I said don’t piss me off.”
Harper turned, leaning back on the partition as Trenton did, letting the snap from his brother slide. Trenton had asked him before if he’d look into the woman’s where-a-bouts, but he’d refused, accusing Trenton of obsessing. Secretively he was willing to just find where she lived because he knew Trenton never obsessed over a woman. He would bring it up only if there was need for concern, but the girl had never surfaced again—till now. And until Tate finished up his investigation he didn’t have much to offer, not even the location yet.
Tate had learned not to give up intel until his men were finished with a scene. Harper had a habit of showing up and working off a scene for evidence faster than Tate’s own men. So now they kept him on hiatus till they were done.
“Have you been to her place?”
Harper shook his head, “Tate said he’ll call once they were ready to release the scene.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Figured as much.”
Trenton’s eyes shifted at the sight of the young doctor approaching, “Which one of you is—” he glanced at the paper work on the clip board he was carrying, “Mr. Leos.”
“That’s me.” Trenton straightened.
“I’m Dr. Wheeler.” He shook Trenton’s hand, then returned it to the pocket of his white lab coat, “Well for the most part she looks like she’ll be okay. She went for a hell of a ride—”
“Ride?” Trenton interrupted him.
“Well, yeah, she was riding a motorcycle when she wrecked?” He shrugged.
“She was chased out into the fucking streets by a serial killer you fucking moron!” Trenton had the doctor up by his white coat and shirt lifting his feet from the floor thrusting him across the corridor until they slammed against the painted cinder block wall. “The least you could do is have your facts straight before you go playing doctor on them!”
Harper was tugging on Trenton to get him off the doctor; a foot planted heavily on the wall seemed to be his only means to establish enough countering force to budge him.
The doctor was near panic, and pleaded for his release. “Okay okay—I’m sorry.” Wheeler held his hands out in submission, a pose Trenton knew well and he lowered the doctor back to his feet, “Look, we get a hundred people a day coming through here, and the paramedics just make brief notes leaving us to guess the rest.”
“So how is she?” Harper pushed to get the subject back on track. He pushed Trenton back a step; just to be sure he wasn’t going to make another lunge for the doctor just for being ignorant.
“She suffered a slight concussion. She has a broken jaw; we’ve reset the bone and wired it for now. Teeth look okay, but sometimes they fracture and you don’t find out till later so she’ll have to go in for regular dental checks—” he nodded debating a time frame for a moment, “Usually two years. Left shoulder was dislocated, she’s lucky the collar bone didn’t break, but it’s been braced as a precaution. Multiple fractures to the left ulna and outer three metacarpals and phalanges. We had to set pins and an exo-skeleton on her hand for that.” Wheeler stopped glancing back at his notes and took a long deep breath.
“What is it? Was there something else?” Harper pushed for what the doctor wasn’t wanting to say.
“The odd shape of the rearview mirrors on the bike made it a weapon on impact and when it pierced through the side of her lower abdomen it severed both ovaries, her uterus will heal fine, but she’s not likely to be having any babies.”
“Miracles could happen.” Harper suggested trying to find better news.
But the doctor quickly shook his head, “I wouldn’t advice it.” He glanced at his watch, “They’re bringing her out now. It’ll be another couple of hours before she comes out of recovery. But you can see her afterwards.”
“And you’ll put her in a private room?” Trenton had already insisted on it.
“No we’ll be keeping her in ICU for at least one night, we’ll run some CAT scans in the morning and see how she's doing then. We’ll keep her sedated for now, but she should come out of this okay.” And he turned and walked off without further comment or suggestions.
“Sir?” A voice calling their attention from behind them.
Trenton turned to find the nurse holding his credit card out for him; he took it returning it to his wallet. He felt sluggish, almost numb. He barely knew Katianna and yet he felt the hit in his chest all the same.
Harper’s cell phone buzzed and he quickly answered it. “Yeah Tate, whatcha got for me?” He listened to the other end for a moment, “Yeah just send it to me, will ya? We’re on our way.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Where we going?” Trenton sat in the passenger side of his own vehicle. He glanced at the nav screen noticing Harper hadn’t entered an address into it.
“Bushwick.” Harper answered solemnly. She couldn’t have lived in a worse area. New York had lots of bad spots, but Bushwick was tied for first place right along with nine others. A list that included Crown Heights, Inwood, Brownsville, Battery Park and Brooklyn.
“Fuckin' A.” Trenton dropped his head in his hands, wiping across his lips almost in a tugging manor, his mind wrecked over the details coming in and was grateful Harper offered to drive. He’d known from the time he dropped Katianna off at the Golden Yves and watched her dart off for the subway station, he wasn’t going to like it when he found out where she’d be hiding all this time.
The computer screens flickered as the intel Tate was sending came in. “Twenty-eight years old, Katianna Aeryn Dumas born in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Father was a shrimp boat fisherman lost at sea when she was five, mother remained single till she died from Lupus four years ago.” Harper was reading out from the laptop on the console as he drove Trenton out to her apartment where the attack had taken place.
“Katianna graduated honors, went to college here in New York for Creative Arts and Lit and stayed. No priors, no habits, no property, no driver’s license—”
“No insurance,” Trenton sighed, “She’s just a victim waiting to be consumed by this city and no one will take notice if she’s gone.” He starred out the window. Pissed him off how some people were so easily targeted and preyed upon. Some taken away and sold on black markets and such. And New York was a haven for such vulgar practices.
“You noticed.” Harper reminded him, knowing well enough where his brother’s thoughts were heading. He’d seen enough evil and ugliness himself, his job detail was full of battered or missing women and children. It ate at him till he was no longer able to separate it from his own sexual habits and had withdrawn from the flavors of the BD world.
Harper spotted the unmar
ked car parked in front of the apartment building and pulled up behind it, then got out where they were greeted by Detective Marshals.
“Good thing you came in the Knight, this is rough territory.” He shook Trenton’s hand as he stepped up, “How’s it going Trent?”
“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here.” Harper cut in.
“Yeah well, like I said rough neighborhood, figured I’d just wait on you, let you snoop around before I pull the tape. Cause once I do, you know how the local savages will rampart through and take everything.”
“Thanks.” Trenton tried to show some appreciation, but it wasn’t in him to feel good about this.
The three men went in led by Tate taking the stairs to the second floor and to the last door on the hall.
Yellow tape crisscrossed the door identifying the place as a crime scene. A few neighbors poking their heads out to watch.
“Funny how they never see anything when the crime happens, but they always know when a cops around.” Tate muttered, to lighten the mood in the air. Trenton seemed far more intense than he’d ever known the man to be. Wasn’t like him, course it wasn’t like him to be scoping out a crime scene either unless it happened to be one of his clients that was being shot at. Come to think about it that happened often, but he couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever lost one though. Usually a crime scene involving Trenton was a crime scene when he was calling in the coroners to clean up the bad guys. Trenton was good about that part—never leave a talking prisoner.
Tate pushed the key in the lock and opened the door swinging it open then held back while the two went inside and closed the door behind them.
Trenton glanced around, he’d already stepped over a number of items in his path from the street all the way to the door, some trash—a tricycle—a newspaper—a bum—but once inside Katianna’s apartment, the view was far cleaner despite the tossed bag of Chinese food on the kitchen floor and a few things being turned over. For one it was clean. With a fresh coat of paint on the walls, top half of the walls were yellow, the bottom half in broad stripes of green and white. They weren’t the ideal shades of color, but color none the less. The attempt rendered the space a clean look and a little more cheery against the harsh reality outside. Short yellow curtains that didn’t quite match the paint framed the one window with lace curtains hand stitched on to extend them down so they hung passed the sill.