by M. Z. Kelly
“Why?”
Christina’s eyes fluttered open, then closed. Her lips parted, and she said, “Daddy.”
Even as the FBI agents administered first aid, it was only moments before Christina drew her final breath. I walked back up the alley with Amy and Max, where we all huddled.
“What do you think she meant?” Max asked.
Amy answered. “She was broken by what happened to her as a child. In the end, that cost her and a lot of other people their lives.”
“It’s a sad ending,” I said.
Amy looked at me. I saw that her eyes were heavy. “Yeah. Let’s go get drunk.”
***
It was noon the next day by the time we all crawled out of bed. We’d spent the better part of the night being interviewed by the FBI investigators before drowning our sorrows at a place called Kelly’s Bar and Grill.
“I feel like somebody screwed my head on backward,” Amy said, stumbling over to the breakfast table, where she joined Max and me.
“I think somebody used a hammer on me,” Max said, rubbing her eyes. She looked at me. “How come you look so perky?”
I’d been up for over an hour, and had showered and dressed. “Sam called me earlier. He agreed to go with me to try to find Holmes.”
“You really think you’re gonna find him?”
“Not sure, but Sam said something about getting a bite to eat afterward.”
“Sounds like you two have made a quick recovery from your problems,” Amy said.
“He wants to talk, and I agreed to listen. That’s all.”
There was a knock on the door. I went over and let Kat, Darryl, and Merrill into our apartment. Thorndike’s assistants were all smiles, as was Kat.
“Where the hell you two been?” Amy said. “You been out porking dead bodies?”
“Merrill is a champion,” Kat said. “He win Death Rapture game.”
“What the hell is she talking ‘bout?”
Merrill, the younger of the two men, held up a necklace that had a gold Z on its chain. “Me and Darryl were at a gamer convention. I took the championship.”
“We went by your house,” Max said. “What was with all them curtains you had hung everywhere?”
“They were video booths for the competition,” Darryl explained. “We held the preliminary games at our house before going to Atlantic City.”
“And the coffins in your landlord’s garage?”
“They were props for the convention that didn’t get picked up in time.”
“We heard you were asking Kat to dress the dead bodies,” Amy said. “You sure you’re not into some kinky necrophilia stuff?”
“I was having some body-trauma,” Merrill admitted. “I think dealing with bodies every day was affecting me. That’s why I asked for her help.”
We chatted with the trio for a few minutes as they told us about the convention that allowed virtually no contact with the outside world. When they were about to leave, Amy said to Kat, “How’s your aunt doing?”
Kat looked back at her. “You haven’t heard?”
Amy shook her head.
“Dominika go back to old country. She got bad case of ticks.”
“Ticks?” Max said. “You mean those little bloodsuckers?”
“Yes, but they not little. Dominika got them all over her face.”
They left, and I asked Amy about Dominika’s condition. “Don’t tell me you had something to do with this.”
Amy smiled, and, just for a moment, I thought I saw a hint of her earlier devil-eyes. “I just figured one bloodsucker deserves another.”
SEVENTY
“I appreciate you coming with me,” I told Sam the next day, as we drove to Queens. “From what Mojo told Amy, the man we know as Holmes has some kind of cave near a park.”
Sam smiled. “A caveman in the heart of New York. I suppose stranger things have happened.”
Our conversation had been tenuous as we drove, and I’d purposely avoided any conversation about his divorce or his ex-wife. I decided to make small talk about the previous night’s events as we drove through a neighborhood. “I’m assuming the agents involved in the Christina Blaze shooting are still wrapping things up?”
Sam glanced at me. “They found Aaron Benedict’s body in a motel room over in the Bronx. He’d been shot twice in the chest.”
“Christina?”
“That’s our assumption. There’s evidence she’d been in the room. It’s likely we’ll get a match on the rounds in his body to the weapon she had in her possession.”
“What about her mother? How is she dealing with everything?”
“I got word earlier that she had a breakdown.”
I shook my head, my gaze drifting off. “It’s a shame. She lost her only daughter.”
“The agents assigned to the case said she blames herself for Christina’s death. Last I heard, there was some talk about her being institutionalized.”
“She told us something about her ex-husband abusing Christina when she was a child, and not being able to stop him, so I guess it’s not too surprising.”
Sam turned onto a street bordering a park. “How is Amy dealing with everything, since Blaze was her client?”
“I think, on some level, she’s sad about Christina dying. She’s also unhappy about losing her fee.” I motioned to the area up ahead. “From what I know, Holmes is supposed to have a place somewhere around here that backs up to Kissena Park.”
He slowed down, and we checked addresses before stopping in front of an empty lot. “It should be right here,” he said. “But I don’t see any buildings.”
“Let’s get out and take a walk.”
The afternoon had warmed, making the ground slushy in some places, as we made our way up a small incline that was part of the lot. We were surveying the area at the top of a small hill when we heard a man calling over to us. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Sam and I went over to the fence line. The man was probably in his forties, with pleasant, even features. Behind him there was a young boy, tossing snowballs around the yard. The neighbor told us he was Josh Allen and had lived in the area for a couple years with his wife and two children.
After introducing ourselves, I said, “We’re here about a man who, we were told, might live here, or has a structure on the property. He goes by the name Holmes, not sure about the first name.”
Allen looked over at the empty lot. “I’m told there was a house here that burned down about five years ago, before we moved into the neighborhood. Not sure who lived there.”
We thanked him and explained that we were just following up on a tip about the former resident and were going to walk around the area.
As we walked away, I said to Sam, “According to what we learned from Reverend Taylor at Mercy Hospital, when Holmes came by there, he was wearing a mask.”
“What kind of mask?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I got the impression it was made of leather.”
We stopped, and Sam looked at me. “You think he was involved in some kind of accident?”
“That was what Amy and I initially speculated, but I’m not sure.” I looked at the vacant lot. “Do you think he might have been burned in the fire?”
“Maybe.” His brow tightened as his gaze moved off. “Let’s take one more walk around here, then go get something to eat.”
We spent the next couple minutes slogging over the lot that backed up to the park. Sam had moved to the upper level of the property and stopped, calling back to me. “There’s something up here.”
It took me a couple minutes, but I made my way up to where Sam was standing. The ground was slushy, and I lost my footing, nearly falling. Sam caught me and helped me regain my balance.
“Sorry,” I said, as he helped steady me.
“No problem. How’s the wrist holding out?”
“It should be good until next week when I have surgery.”
He nodded, then pointed out what
he’d found. “It looks like it might have been part of a structure that was here at one time.”
He was referring to a wooden frame, with a weathered door, that was built into the side of the hill. It was rotted and looked like it was ready to fall down.
“Let’s take a closer look,” I said.
We made our way over to the wooden structure. Sam moved a hand across the weathered door, then pushed on it. The door swung back, revealing a dark passageway.
“It’s some kind of entrance,” he said.
It occurred to me that the doorway might be part of an ancient storage building that had been built into the side of the hill before the fire burned the house down.
“Can you see inside?” I asked.
Sam retrieved a penlight from his pocket and illuminated the opening. “There’s a passageway.” He called out, announcing us. Getting no response, he looked back at me. “What do you think?”
“I think we’ve come too far not to take a look at what we found.”
He pushed the door wider, and I followed him inside the narrow passageway that opened into a small room. As Sam moved his light, its beam illuminating the walls of the structure, I suddenly felt like all my nerves had been set on fire.
I had no idea if this was where Holmes lived. All I did know was that the walls were covered with newspaper clippings and photographs of crime scenes. I walked over and stood beside Sam as he studied a series of photos.
“What is it?”
“It looks like a series of crime photos from the Son of Sam killer. There’s stuff here that looks like only the investigators would have had.”
“Maybe Holmes was involved in the investigation years ago.”
“Maybe.”
Sam then moved the beam of his flashlight, illuminating dozens of other photographs, each grouping containing newspaper clippings about a gruesome crime where a serial killer had been at work.
“If this is your friend’s hobby, he’s been a busy guy,” Sam said.
I exhaled, my gaze moving toward an adjacent opening. “There’s another passageway. Let’s see where it leads.”
I followed Sam as we moved deeper into the structure. When the hallway opened into a second room, I suddenly felt dizzy and out of breath.
“What the hell?” I said.
Sam gave voice to what we were both thinking. “It’s the crime scene photographs from the Raleigh killings.” He took a closer look. “There’s stuff here about the Phantom.”
I barely heard what Sam had said. I was turned away from him, my eyes fixed on a photograph on the far wall of the room. The woman staring back at me in the photograph was instantly recognizable. For a moment, I had the impression I was looking into a mirror.
“What is it?” Sam asked, coming over to me.
I looked at him, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. “It’s my mother.”
THE END
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Copyright © 2017 by MZ Kelly
Published by Kingston Roads Press, L.L.C.
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