Except for that story he had heard from one of his buddies back in vice. The guy had known a homicide detective from Vegas who had made a trip down to the morgue just in time to see one of the corpses sit up and moan. According to the ME, it happened all the time. Didn’t faze him, but the detective had just about had a coronary.
Captain Merle cleared his throat. Man, that was an annoying habit.
“The second victim they found in the pool is dead as well?” he asked.
Trey looked up from the form he was filling out. If there was one thing worse than the paperwork, it was talking about the ones they couldn’t save.
“Yeah. The paramedics tried, but she’d just inhaled too much…”
Trey’s voice trailed off as the priest finished up the last rites on the body of the woman lying on the gurney. The nurse at his side pulled the sheet up and over the corpse’s head. Trey let out a huge sigh.
“Well, you know.”
Both Trey and the captain nodded at the pastor as he walked out past them. The captain called out to the reverend’s back.
“Sorry to keep running into you under such grave circumstances.”
“Yes,” The pastor stopped and turned back. “I couldn’t agree more.” He seemed to be looking for something in the faces of the captain and Trey before he continued. He gave a small smile, almost like he was half-laughing at himself. “I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I’m glad to see that she was wearing a cross.”
He gestured at his own collar. This time, his statement seemed aimed more at himself than at the two in front of him.
“If any of it is true, maybe she’s gone to a better place,” the pastor stated.
Trey had never had to cheer up a priest before. He wasn’t exactly sure where to start.
“Yeah, trust me, Father—”
“Please,” the man interrupted. “It’s just John.”
“Uh, yeah. Right. But look…anywhere is a better place than where she just was.”
The pastor nodded, distracted. “Let me know if you find any family. Under such…challenging circumstances, I’d like to give them comfort if I could.”
The captain stepped forward to shake the reverend’s hand. “We will.”
As the priest moved down the hall toward the elevator, the captain cleared his throat. Again. Maybe there was something wrong with the guy. Or maybe talking in that Darth Vader voice made his throat itchy. Trey stifled the impulse to ask as Captain Merle grumbled his next question.
“Where is the girl?”
“Dr. Charan is settling her in upstairs. Guess she’s stable enough to go into the regular peds ward.”
“So the doctor isn’t going to be calling the chief of d’s, complaining about Darc’s reckless behavior?” Yeah, it always came back to the ol’ CYA thing with the captain. Not that he had much of an A to be C’ing, at least as far as Trey could see.
Trey shrugged as he finished up his paperwork. “I doubt it. I think for Janey, the trip actually helped. She’s got a death grip on that ratty ol’ teddy bear.”
“And you’re sure that you don’t know where Darc is?”
Trey signed his paperwork with a sweeping flourish and slammed the pen down, hard.
“Absolutely none.”
And now all he had to do was make a graceful exit without looking his captain in the eye. Trey, of course, knew exactly where Darc was. Trey’s partner was in pretty much the most awkward place he could be.
Trotting down the hallway, Trey rounded the corner, headed to the elevators, and found himself face-to-face with the priest, pastor, whatever.
The man of the cloth was munching on a bag of Sour Patch Kids that he must have picked up at the vending machines. The look he gave Trey wouldn’t have been out of place on a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The reverend smiled, looking more than a little sheepish.
“Can’t help it. I love them.”
Trey grinned back at him. “Yeah, I’m a total sugar freak. Well, I was. I gave sugar up last year for Lent. Dropped, like, twenty-five pounds.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. I’m not sure I could do it.”
“Aw, come on. You gave up sex to be a priest, right? Sugar’s nothing.” Trey grimaced. “Sorry, shouldn’t have said sex around a priest. That’s just mean.”
The pastor laughed, a big, huge laugh that totally caught Trey off guard. “No, no. I’m not Catholic, remember? I’m Anglican. We can get married.” A brief shadow crossed the priest’s face and then vanished so fast, Trey wasn’t sure it had been real.
The bell for the elevator dinged, and Trey and the priest stepped in. The priest pushed the button for the lobby, the doors slid shut, and the elevator lurched upward. Trey turned to the pastor.
“So I have a question, Reverend—”
“I’m really not going to be able to get you to call me John, am I?” The cleric shook his head, chuckling.
“Honestly? Probably not. Went to Catholic school. Lots of rulers on my knuckles. That stuff sticks with you. Call one nun ‘babe,’ and God and all the saints’ fury rains down on you.”
Trey had never had a conversation like this with a priest before. This guy was kind of cool. Maybe if the priests at his church had been more like this one, he would’ve gone to Mass more. The priest winked at him. Winked. A priest. And not in a creepy way.
“I can only imagine,” he chuckled.
“Okay, so back to my question…Do you guys do Hail Marys and stuff?”
“Some do, some don’t. I don’t.” He shrugged, his grey sport coat bunching up at the shoulders.
“You mean you won’t assign me some Our Fathers or Hail Marys or something? It’s just that it’s been a long time since I confessed, and…you know…”
The elevator dinged for the lobby, but before the reverend walked out, he turned to Trey and smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.
“Fine. How does five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers sound?” He walked out the doors but called out over his shoulder, “Oh, and Detective?”
“Yeah?”
“Get back to church.”
Trey left the lobby…smiling.
*
Mala peered up at the walls of the pediatric ward. She’d been here before but somehow hadn’t noticed what was there. The bright colors depicted a scene with a bunch of cartoon animals in some kind of magical forest.
Maybe it was just what she’d experienced over the last couple of days, but there was something downright creepy about that much concentrated fluff. She knew that it was to try to cheer up the sick kids in the wing, but honestly, she wasn’t sure it was doing its job. Kids aren’t stupid. Especially not kids that’re seriously sick. They usually know what’s up.
Beds lined the walls, and little Janey was in the one farthest away. She was rocking back and forth, her bear in a death grip. Mala moved over to sit on the edge of Janey’s bed. The little girl barely gave her a glance, all of her attention centered on her toy. Mala cleared her throat, looking for something to say to attract the little girl’s attention.
“We’re going to track down your family and get you out of here as soon as possible.” Even as she said it, Mala wanted to suck the words right back in. They were just so…small. How do you comfort a girl as young as Janey who had lost so much? There really wasn’t ever an answer to that question.
Janey frowned, then scooped up her paper and a gold crayon. She rough-sketched in a police badge and looked back up at Mala, her bright blue eyes questioning. Mala cleared her throat again, this time for a different reason. Hmm. How to field this one?
“I’m sorry, Janey. He’s not here.” Janey continued to stare up at her, with no change in her expression. Mala shifted on the edge of the bed. Yeah, she wasn’t answering the real question here.
“I know he saved you, honey, and you trust him…”
Okay, that time her expression changed. Janey glared at her, her eyes filled with steel.
“I can’t imagine how much yo
u trust him.”
Mala halted, struggling for the right words to tell this little one what she needed to know to not get too disappointed. Janey had to understand that Darc wasn’t the one she should count on for comfort.
“It’s just that he’s not the most…He has significant emotional…”
This wasn’t working. Not even a little bit. Mala sucked on her teeth, thinking hard. How to couch this? It had to be positive to get past her hero-worship, but…
“He probably won’t be back, honey.” Ouch, that was abrupt, but at least now she knew where she was heading. “He’s got a job to do. An important job.”
Better. Maybe. Somewhat. At least Janey wasn’t glaring at her any longer.
“Now, why don’t you lie down?”
Mala tried to urge Janey back onto the bed, encouraging her toward sleep, but the girl fought back, her mouth a stubborn line. Janey pointed once more at the badge. She wasn’t going to sleep without seeing Darc. All right. Time for some tough love.
“I could give you something to help you sleep,” Mala warned.
Despite the stubborn set of Janey’s jaw, she shook her head at that and slowly lowered herself back down to the bed. But she didn’t close her eyes. Mala blew out a puff of air in frustration.
“I’ll be back in the morning. Maybe you’ll feel like talking then.”
But somehow Mala doubted it. She watched as Janey curled up with her bear in one arm and the picture of the detective’s badge in the other.
CHAPTER 7
Trey huffed up the last few steps of the fire escape that led up to Maggie’s apartment. Man, it was time to start exercising. How did Darc manage to keep his calves of steel? It wasn’t like he was hitting the gym every day. Knowing Darc, he was probably doing some freaky isometric stuff while he was supposed to be sleeping.
Wheezing up to the landing, Trey wasn’t at all surprised at the sight that greeted him.
Darc, his clothes streaked in blood from the pool, his scalp dripping from the constant Seattle rain, glared at the concrete block in front of him. His gaze was laserlike enough that anything less sturdy might have blown up by now. But the brick stayed right where it was, mocking them both.
Seriously, this scene was like something straight out of a ‘50s noir. Trey halfway expected Darc to fire up a cigarette, just to make the picture complete. He moved over to Darc’s side.
“Knew you’d be here.”
Darc didn’t even grunt in response. If it were anybody else, Trey would’ve figured he hadn’t heard. But…it was Darc. Trey sat on the windowsill and pointed inside.
“Did you at least knock to let her know you’re here?”
Nothing but a stare, and not even at Trey. Trey was starting to feel like Costello to Darc’s Abbott, where Abbott was a nontalking genius nut job and there were no punch lines.
“You can’t keep doing this, you know.” Still nothing. “It was one thing when you were dating, but now…”
Without even a glance in Trey’s direction, Darc grabbed the cinder block and heaved it over the side of the fire escape. It exploded into a million pieces across the pavement. Well, that sucked.
“Um. That was…like, evidence.” At this point, Trey’s pauses were not so much for Darc to respond. They were more out of habit. “And nobody photographed…” Trey looked at Darc. Darc glanced up and then away in apparent disinterest. “Oh, wow.”
And Darc just continued brooding, like some dark hero in a graphic novel. Seriously, all the guy needed were tights in greyed-out colors. If you thought Batman could brood, well, you were in for a treat here.
“Granted, things are not going your way this week…”
Darc dragged his head up. He didn’t even have to change his expression to get his that’s the understatement of the year idea across.
“Okay, it’s been a week filled with crappy excrement, but you can’t play your ‘I’m autistic, so I get out of jail free’ card.”
His partner kept staring at him for a second or two longer, then peered out over the edge of the fire escape, apparently watching the rain fall through the glow cast by the streetlight. Trey continued.
“At least, not this time. This is too big.”
Conversations like this would be so much easier if there were two people talking. But hey, that was Darc. Love him or leave him, he wasn’t about to change anytime soon. And Trey knew Darc well enough to know that when he was walled off like this, nothing would get through to him. Well, almost nothing. Time to get him off the roof.
“Look, I took care of all the paperwork. Again. Let’s get you cleaned up. Get some rest, and Maggie will never know—”
“Trey?”
Ah. Maggie. Perfect timing. It couldn’t get much more awkward than this. But then she started talking again, and wouldn’t you know? Somehow it did.
“Are you trying to pull a kinky version of what—”
“Hey! Yeah…” Trey interrupted her before she completed that thought. No reason to make things even more painful than they already were.
“Guess who I found out here?” Trey asked, super chipper. “Our favorite savant detective.”
Maggie’s face was a study in noncomprehension until Trey stepped aside to reveal Darc in all his blood and guts–covered glory. Maggie’s face twisted in on itself.
“Oh, Darc. What’s all over your…oh, no, no, no, no.”
She backed away from the widow as Trey helped Darc climb over the windowsill and into the apartment. Trey pushed and steered his partner toward the bathroom as he talked to Maggie over his shoulder.
“We’ll get him showered up.”
Maggie shot Trey a look that clearly said, What do you think you’re doing? Although with a few more swear words that Trey was really trying hard not to say scattered around. Trey started pantomiming to her that he was trying to get rid of Darc, when his partner turned around, catching him in the middle of an awkward arm movement. Trey let his hand fall to his side as Darc spoke to his onetime wife.
“Thank you,” Darc said flatly.
Maggie let loose a powerful sigh and murmured, “It’s no problem.”
Darc moved into the bathroom, and Maggie seemed to recover a bit of her normal self. “But do not use the white towels.”
Trey could feel Maggie’s glare on him as he studied a painting on the wall that all of a sudden seemed very interesting. She was good. That glare was white-hot, and he wasn’t even looking at her.
Yeah, this night with Maggie wasn’t going to end exactly as he had hoped.
*
The shower beat against Darc’s head, pounding in a rapid tattoo against his skull. He moved slowly through the stream of water, the pressurized jet sluicing away the blood and bits of flesh that still clung to his clothes.
He was standing in the shower still fully dressed, the cloth clinging to his form like a leech, the trails of red branching into rivulets of what seemed to be his own lifeblood draining out of his form, leaving him an emptied-out shell.
The strands of coagulated blood strung along in swirls of brighter color before they vanished down the pipe.
Symbols formed and disintegrated and reformed in the water, the blood taking on significance in one moment, only to lose it in another. It was the story of this entire investigation. One moment things fit, and the next there was nothing but scattered, glowing bits of unrelated logic.
A murmur of conversation rose above the sound of the running water. Trey and Maggie talking in the other room. Arguing? Possibly. The facts swirled into another set of symbols, these more than ready to be read with no difficulty. Darc ignored them. They meant nothing to him. Or at least he did not want them to.
The letters that he needed continued to evade him. They sparked and spat at him, their acidic discharge biting through the spray of the almost boiling water pouring over Darc’s head. He had long since turned off the cold water, wanting the catharsis the scalding water might bring. But there was nothing more than the steady beat of the p
ins of water against his scalp, his face, his neck.
Darc leaned his head against the wall of the shower, the comparatively cool tiles pressing into the skin of his cheek. As he closed his eyes, the lights of logic flared and dimmed inside his head. They danced and sang and spat and cavorted.
Full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing.
*
The sound of the machinery in full blast. The slap of the meat on the tracks. The metallic grating of the wheels as they turned under the side of beef.
Henry loved his job. Had he said that to himself yet today?
It was time to get the prepped sides of beef down to cold storage. The whole setup was going at close to 100 percent capacity. The cut beef was coming down the chute, ready to be hooked and placed on the tracks that led to storage. It was mind-numbing work.
Unless you found ways to make it fun.
Henry snagged another huge side of beef and slammed it onto the tracks, propelling it forward with the momentum of the throw. The wheels screeched and complained as he tested the limits of the metal framework.
Another. Then another. One more. Pushing himself past his normal limits. He was a beef-slinging god. A god of blood and fury.
Hard. Harder. Hardest.
The next one, he slung so hard, it made sparks rise when the hook hit the metal track. Carl, his “I hate my job so much, I could just die” friend at work, lifted his head up from where he was calibrating the machine that powered the track.
“What the hell you doin’, Henry?”
Henry hooked another side and sent it spinning down the tracks, grinning to himself before he answered. And when he did answer, he kept it close to his vest.
“Practicing.”
“What the hell for?”
But Henry just smiled as he speared another side of dead flesh.
He had his reasons.
*
Trey listened as Maggie puttered around in the kitchen. Maggie only puttered when she was pissed off. Trey sort of remembered something from high school. Symbolism? Symbiotic? It started with an s. Syllogism. That was it. If Maggie was puttering, and she only puttered when she was pissed off, then Maggie must be pissed off.
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