by M. Z. Kelly
“Can you tell us what you mean by that?”
He looked up from his phone and seemed annoyed with the question. “She had lots of emotional baggage.”
“Was that because of what happened in college?”
Cox’s dark eyes narrowed on Amy. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ve learned that a boy named Bobby Mercer was harassed when he was in college. He later committed suicide. We think Christina might have had some involvement in what happened, and someone was blackmailing her to keep quiet about it.”
“Really.” He took a breath and looked at his phone again. After a moment, he said, “I have an appointment, so, if there’s nothing else...”
“Did Christina ever mention what happened to Mercer? It would have been when she attended Harrisburg Community College.”
Cox ran a hand through his luxurious hair and looked up at Amy again. “I think she might have said something about it once, but I don’t remember any of the details. I just remember there was something traumatic that happened.”
“What about a boy named Jeremy Halsey?” I asked. “He was apparently the one harassing Mercer.”
“Never heard the name.” Cox walked to the door and opened it. “Please, I’ve got to leave.”
When we got to the door, Amy said, “It doesn’t sound like you and Christina were very close since you don’t know much about her personal life.”
Cox smiled. “Can I be frank with you?”
“Of course.”
“My relationship with Christina was only about one thing—sex.”
TWENTY
“I’m so sorry about what’s been happening,” Christina told Billy.
Christina’s mind had wandered back to the last time she’d seen Billy Mercer alive. As she lay in bed in her basement prison, she remembered she had found Billy in a park near Harrisburg College after she’d been searching for him all day.
“It’s not right,” Billy had mumbled, not looking at her.
The young man her boyfriend had been tormenting was in his early twenties. He had unruly brown hair and soft brown eyes. Despite his surfacing emotions, his voice was flat and his features showed no emotion. Something about him always made Christina think his feelings were buried deep inside. Maybe it was a defense, a way of dealing with the horrors society had visited upon him.
“I know it’s not right, Billy. I’ve tried talking to Jeremy, but he won’t listen to me. And…” She’d found her own emotions surfacing. “…he hits me.”
For the first time, Billy looked at her, but his gaze instantly fell away. “I’m sorry.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m going to the police, tell them what he’s been doing to you and to me. He’s got to be stopped.”
Billy kept his eyes lowered. “Be careful.” He started walking away.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped walking, but didn’t look at her. It took him almost a full minute to respond. “To a place where it doesn’t hurt.”
Christina sat up in bed, her thoughts surfacing as she brushed her tears. Even though it had been several years since she’d last seen Billy Mercer, the emotions were still there—raw and unchecked. She hadn’t gone to the police after that night as she’d promised. Instead, Jeremy had found her and beaten her, threatening to kill her if she told anyone what had been happening.
It wasn’t until the following day that she’d learned Billy had killed himself. Guilt had overwhelmed her. She’d seen Jeremy intimidating and physically slapping Billy on more than one occasion, but she’d done nothing. And, when she’d had a chance to tell the truth to the authorities about what was happening, she’d kept quiet, telling no one. Even after his death, she’d remained silent, afraid that Jeremy would hurt her.
Christina slumped back against the headboard. It had been almost a day since her kidnapper had last visited her. She had no idea if she would ever see him again, and was now resigned to her fate. Maybe what was happening did have something to do with Billy Mercer. She had been a coward and had lived a life that was a lie. Whatever happened to her now, she knew that she deserved to be punished for what she’d done. She closed her eyes, praying that God would let her die.
TWENTY-ONE
You ask me, Mr. Cox came by his name honestly,” Amy said, as we took the subway back to Brooklyn.
“Not sure what you mean,” Max said.
“Cox is a cock, a dick-swinging asshole. He’s a player, and I’m willing to bet he knows a lot more about what’s going on than he let on.”
“You think he knows what happened to Billy Mercer?” I asked.
“Probably, and maybe even where Christina is. I haven’t given up on him. There’s that, and the fact that he looks like Bradley Cooper.”
I reminded her that he’s a player, and she had a date with Dallas this weekend.
Amy huffed out a breath. “I know, it’s just that I don’t know how things with the cowboy are gonna go. I’m not sure a girl from Jersey and a guy from a cow pasture have anything in common.”
Max spoke up again. “I heard those farm boys are pretty aggressive, if you know what I mean. So you need to watch yourself.”
“I ain’t worried. He tries anything, and I’ll put a couple of Brick City moves on him, tell him he’s trying to milk the wrong cow.”
After getting back to our apartment, we got a bite to eat and ran a few errands. Around mid-afternoon, we were headed back through the maze of corridors to the cemetery’s small underground parking garage to look for Darryl and Merrill, when we ran into Kat.
“Can I go with you?” she asked, after we told her where we were going. “I need some time away from Dominika.”
“What’s the Mistress of the Dark up to?” Amy asked her.
“I not sure, but she been mixing up bad smelling stuff. Maybe it is some kind of potion.”
Amy’s gaze swept over to Max and me. “Let’s get out of here, before we’re all turned into frogs. Or worse.”
Darryl and Merrill lived in a rundown area of Brownsville in Brooklyn. It took us less than a half hour to find their small apartment, sandwiched between two large houses. Even before we knocked on the door, I had a feeling that no one was around.
Amy gave up on ringing the bell, and we followed her next door, where she found a man doing some woodworking in his garage.
After saying hello, Amy said, “We was wondering if you know...” Her eyes fixed on the man’s handiwork, which was on the floor next to his workbench. She looked over at Max and me. “It’s a coffin.”
“I’m doing some work for the boys next door,” the man said, in a Middle Eastern accent. He cranked his head toward Darryl and Merrill’s apartment. “They hire me to do six of these.” He shook his head. “I had no idea putting together boxes for the departed was so much work.”
“Did they say what they were going to use them for?” I asked.
“I am guessing dead people, but, no, they did not specifically tell me.”
Amy looked at me, raising a brow in that told you so way she had. She looked back at the neighbor. “Do you know if the boys are home? They’re friends of ours.”
“No. I have not seen them in a couple days.”
“We are a little worried about them, since they haven’t been to work,” Kat said. “Do you know where we can find their landlord?”
“You are looking at him.” The man smiled, and introduced himself as Ansar. His last name had multiple syllables that I couldn’t begin to pronounce.
“Do you think maybe you could let us inside their apartment for a minute?” Amy said. “We just want to be sure they’re okay.”
Ansar paused, scratching his beard. “I do not see why I cannot do this. Let me get the key.”
He left, and Amy lowered her voice. “Coffins. You ask me, both Darryl and Merrill are fuwking corpses, then burying them, maybe in their back yard.”
I rolled my eyes. “There has to be another explanation.” I glanced at Kat, who
was examining the coffin. “For her sake.”
After waiting a couple minutes, we followed Ansar next door, where he unlocked the apartment, then turned back to us. “I let you take a look.” He gave Amy the key. “Please lock the door and bring me key when you are finished.”
We thanked him, then made our way inside the small apartment. We moved down a narrow hallway that opened to a living room, where we stopped, trying to comprehend what we were seeing. There were several dark curtains hung up around the room.
“What the hell?” Amy said, looking at us.
I said to Kat. “Have you ever been here before?”
She shook her head. “I ask Merrill if I could come once, but he say no because the apartment was a mess.”
“What a surprise,” Amy said. She moved forward. “Let’s take a look.”
We spent the next several minutes examining what turned out to be a series of small areas, each partitioned off with dark curtains. The effect was like creating a room with several small booths, the purpose of which we had no idea.
We huddled back in the hallway. “What do you think’s been going on here?” I asked the others.
“I think they’ve been doing something with bodies in the booths,” Amy said. She looked at Kat. “Sorry, but, you ask me, your boyfriend and Darryl have gone off the reservation and have ended up in the dead zone. This ain’t normal.”
Kat sighed. “I am afraid you are right. Why do you think they have curtains?”
“Cuz they want some privacy while they screw the dead,” Amy said.
Max scratched her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t think the booths are big enough for something like that. There must be another explanation.”
“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house,” I suggested, seeing that Kat was upset.
The kitchen and the nearby tiny bedrooms were messy, but unremarkable. We got to what, I thought, had been a master bedroom at one time. It was full of chairs, and a couple sofas, with a large screen TV set up on one wall. Then we saw the poster on the opposite wall.
Amy walked over as Max, Kat, and I were taking a close-up look at the artwork. It looked like a scene from a sci-fi movie, with an alien planet being orbited by some kind of spacecraft. The caption at the top of the poster read DEATH RAPTURE!
“It’s a bunch of fuwking zombies,” Amy said, pointing to the creatures that were on what looked like a moonscape planet. “You ask me, Darryl and Merrill are worshiping the dead.”
TWENTY-TWO
When we got back to Funk’s Fields, we saw that Mojo was sitting on the front steps of Balfour Chapel, apparently waiting for us. I parked at the curb, since we had our POSE class scheduled for later that night, and we walked over to him.
“You waiting around for your own funeral?” Amy asked. “With friends like yours, you might not have to wait long.”
He smiled, exposing crooked yellow teeth. “I thought I would come by so we could discuss my duties.” His beady eyes swept over to Kat. “Hello, beautiful. Long time no see.”
Mojo had worked with Amy and Kat on a prior case and had repeatedly hit on her, despite Amy’s warnings to stay away.
After greeting Mojo, Kat said to us, “I better be going and check on Dominika.”
She left, and Amy said to him, “She’s off limits, meathead.”
“Of course. I was just trying to be friendly.”
“I’ll bet.” She looked at me and Max. “You okay with him coming in for a minute?”
“Okay by me,” Max said.
I reluctantly agreed, even though Mojo smelled like he’d been drinking.
When we got to our apartment, Amy sat across from Mojo at the kitchen table and filled him in on Christina Blaze’s disappearance, the demands for money that had been made via email, and our conversations with her mother, Gail Walsh, and Robert Cox.
“So far, we’re batting a big fat zero,” Amy said, after finishing up, “so I don’t know how you can be of much help.”
Mojo cracked his knuckles, which were tattooed with Chinese letters, probably spelling out the word IDIOT. He said, “If you think Christina’s former boyfriend knows something more, I could follow him.”
Amy looked at Max and me, raising her brows. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” She looked back at Mojo. “Providing you can stay sober long enough to do it.”
“I only had a couple of beers.” He burped, then went on. “Of course, there’s the matter of my salary and expenses.”
“Listen up, you little rectum. As far as I can tell, you don’t got any expenses. As for your salary, let’s see if you can stay away from the booze and the girls, and do some actual work. Then we’ll talk.”
Amy realized he was thumbing through the Kingsborough College catalogue, where she’d earmarked the page about our POSE class, as she spoke. She snatched it away from him. “Give me that.”
“Are you really going to take a sex ed class?” he asked. “If you need some pointers, I’d be more than happy to help.”
“I’m sure you would.” Amy grabbed him by the ear and walked him to the door. “When you get some information about Christina’s ex-boyfriend, let me know. Otherwise, I don’t want to see your ugly mug again.”
She slammed the door behind him and came back over to us. “Do you believe that little worm?”
“He is a little irritating,” Max said.
“A little?” Amy and I had said it at the same time. She looked at me. “You first.
“He’s a sick little perv,” I said, “who I wouldn’t give the time of day if it wasn’t for my aunt and uncle.”
“He’s the duke of puke, not to mention he’s half-drunk.” Amy added. “I must have been out of my mind to agree to let him work for me.”
After venting about Mojo, we spent the rest of our afternoon getting ready for our POSE class. We were about to leave when my phone rang.
I listened as a deep familiar voice came on the line. “How have you been, Detective?”
The caller was a man who I knew only by the name Holmes, as in Sherlock. A few weeks back, he’d called me about a cult that had been at work in the cemetery and had helped me bring the members to justice. All I knew about him was that he said he’d worked in law enforcement at one time and still had lots of contacts. For lack of a better description, my friends and I referred to him as the Shadow Detective, or just Holmes.
“I’ve been well, thanks,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Jessie Walker.”
“How did you...?”
He interrupted. “Don’t tell me we have to do that dance again. You know I can’t tell you how I know what I know.”
I was frustrated. “But how do you know about my interest in...in what happened?”
“Let’s just say that I’m very insightful, the territory comes with having been a cop. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
“If you’re so insightful, why are you calling?”
“To give you some information about what Ms. Walker knew that got her killed.”
“I’m listening.”
“She knew about something that was going on at the hospital where she worked.”
“Cancer patients were dying.”
“Very good. It sounds like we’re on the same page.”
“Do you know who was involved?”
“I believe it was someone on the inside. I’m afraid the detectives assigned to the murder of Ms. Walker and her boyfriend have dropped the ball. It’s up to you to break things open.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I do have a name, someone who might be of help.”
I got a pen. “Go ahead.”
“Herman Evers. He’s a psychologist associated with the hospital. I believe if you press the issue, he might be forthcoming about what Ms. Walker knew.”
“Got it. I’ll follow up.”
“There’s one other thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“These killings. I don’t
know if you’re aware of the scope of what’s been happening.”
“I talked to a janitor who thought there might be four victims.”
I heard a sigh. “I wish that were the case. I believe these killings have gone on for a number of years. I also believe there may be a dozen victims.”
TWENTY-THREE
As we drove to our POSE class, I told Amy and Max about Holmes’ call. “He thought there might be a dozen victims and gave me the name of a shrink who works at the hospital who might know something.”
“You would think if this thing is that big, those two idiots working the case would do a lot more,” Max said.
“I doubt that they ever followed up on what I told them. Holmes also thinks the case is dead in the water.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday, and I know you’ll be busy doing the Jerp with Sam,” Amy said, “but I could snoop around the hospital while you’re gone.”
“I’m not...Jerping,” I said, laughing.
“I’m not even gonna ask,” Max said. She looked at Amy. “Sonny and me are busy Saturday night, but I got Sunday free.”
“Let’s plan to work on it,” Amy said, “providing I don’t run off with the cowboy and buy a farm.”
I laughed. “That’s something I would pay money to see.”
***
We got stuck in traffic and were late for our class at Kingsborough College. To make matters worse, we had trouble finding the Arts and Sciences Building where the POSE class was being held. When we finally made it to the classroom, we saw there were about a dozen women in attendance. The instructor, an older woman with lots of makeup, was standing in the front of the classroom with the only man in attendance.
“Are you fuwking kidding me?” Amy said, as we saw who was with the instructor and took seats at the back of the room.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” Max said.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I added.
The instructor, who, we soon learned, called herself Dr. Rose, was telling the class about the only male student in her POSE class.