by Hopkin, Ben
Another flash of the hand, and Robert felt a band of heat across his own throat, and a second wash of wet warmth flooded down his torso. As his vision began to tunnel, Robert thought he saw a shimmer of a reflection through the open door of his car.
It looked like the lens of a video camera. Someone was recording this.
And then the last scene of his life faded to black.
CHAPTER 1
Detective Robi Darcmel sat in his room, the strands of logic lighting a twisted path around the space where the bed had been. It was Maggie’s bed, so of course it would go with her, but the negative space it had left when it was moved formed a glowing symbol in Darc’s mind that spun about without settling into a pattern. Other than the obvious one, of course.
The pattern that spoke of his wife leaving him.
His Asperger’s caused his emotional world to be interpreted as shades of gray on a flat but broken landscape. And now, that landscape was beyond broken. There was a gaping pit of blackness right in the center of it that threatened to swallow Darc whole.
And yet, the hole made no more sense to him than the rest of the bleak interior landscape. Perhaps if it did, he would be able to repair the damage, make right what was so wrong. Or at least avoid falling back into that pit of cold emptiness every time something reminded him of Maggie.
He pushed himself up off of the chair, the only remaining item now occupying space in what had been Maggie’s and his bedroom. The seat creaked, the springs inside moving back into their normal shape. It was his chair, but it was not formed to his body. Darc spent little time at home, and less of that sitting down.
Dragging the chair behind him, he listened as the legs scraped along the hardwood floor. Maggie had wanted hardwood. It had been important to her for some reason. Darc enjoyed the feel of carpeting under his feet, but in the end had not cared enough to countermand his wife. He knew of his empathetic weakness. Compromise had been a conscious choice regarding this conflict.
The door creaked as he pulled it shut. The entire habitation was old. The floors squeaked. The windows would not open. Every hinge on every door found in the apartment made a noise specific to itself, but based on a range of frequencies designed to maximize irritation to the auditory system.
And then there was the music. Maggie was constantly listening to music. It didn’t seem to matter what it was, although she had a penchant for classic rock. Supertramp. The Beatles. Queen. But then there were Bach and Beethoven and Brahms. The Dixie Chicks. The Spice Girls. There was rarely a moment that Maggie was home that there wasn’t some kind of music blasting through the apartment.
Darc’s hearing was superb. Superhuman, even. Where most others would filter out familiar sounds, Darc heard them all, even when they overlapped. This place was a constant source of overstimulation for him.
And yet, the thought of leaving it was unthinkable.
Not illogical, although that certainly played into the decision-making process here. But when Darc was being honest with himself, he was not leaving because every time he tried to think of starting the process, his thoughts would simply… end.
For someone like Darc, for whom thinking was a solace, the end of thoughts was a terrifying place. Therefore, Darc would stay.
His phone, resting on the card table he had set up in lieu of the solid oak table that had left with the bed, chimed with the distinctive tone of a text. Trey.
Detective Trey Keane was now the only person who had a reason to text him.
He moved through the room to stand over the phone. An unreasoning desire to ignore the message suddenly possessed him. It would be something work related, and Darc felt a lethargy invade his limbs, urging him to give in to inertia.
But then he glanced around the apartment, the empty spaces forming swirling symbols that created a clear pattern that Darc did not want to see. The silence of the space spoke of a lack of human habitation. While Maggie was here, the noise was constant.
Regardless of what the work issue was, it should be an improvement over staying here in this apartment by himself. He calculated the probability at 92 percent.
To escape the black pit awaiting him within the gray landscape, he would have gone with much lower odds.
* * *
Yeah, this one was weird.
Trey was going over the file that Captain Merle had just handed him while trying to keep the car headed in the right direction. That, and rocking out to Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Maybe not the safest way to do things, but that was how he rolled. It was a case file from years ago, one that had gone dead as a doornail. Well, up until tonight.
The guy’d been dubbed the Kupid Killer, thanks to some journalist with a gift for alliteration and misspellings, but it had been at least five years since he’d been active. The M.O. was pretty ugly, which was one of the reasons it had gotten as much press as it had. The killer would track down unfaithful lovers or spouses and cut them down right in the heat of the moment, so to speak. He was always the most active right around Valentine’s Day, and guess what? Valentine’s Day was the day after tomorrow.
The method of killing hadn’t changed much from incident to incident, and there had been a lot of incidents over the twenty years they’d been tracking this guy. The killer would wait until the couple was right in the heat of the moment, then would slit both of their throats and let them bleed out.
And apparently, he had almost gotten caught at one point because C.S.I. had found a dropped video camera at the scene with two of the murders recorded on it. Taping his crime to get off on it later. At least that’s what the shrinks had to say about it.
There’d even been a suspect. A Mr. Ronald Doherty, an entrepreneur who had his fingers in just about every successful start-up that had ever come out of Seattle. The guy had been up and down more than a jack-in-the-box. More ups than downs. The guy was stinkin’ rich. The guys on the case back then had traced the camcorder back to Doherty, but he’d reported the camera stolen a full year earlier and there hadn’t been enough other evidence to bring the sucker to trial.
And now he’d started back up again.
Trey pulled up to the curb in front of Darc’s apartment, which was on the way to the crime scene. Darc was standing outside, apparently oblivious to the ever-present light rain that was falling in Seattle.
There was something about his stance, though, that spoke of something different. A slight hunch in his shoulders? Maybe a harder set to his face? There wasn’t typically much variance to Darc’s facial expressions. His Asperger’s made it difficult for him to communicate or understand much along the emotional spectrum. But as the light from Trey’s Land Rover reflected off the wet, shaved head of his partner, Trey could tell that something was wrong.
The stubble of the detective’s beard seemed darker, harsher. Darc was tall, and tended toward the lean side, but now he seemed almost gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes more sunken and bleak.
As Darc opened the passenger side door and started to get in, Trey reached around to the backseat, grabbed a towel, and thrust it at his partner. He yelled over the music that had now switched to David Bowie. “Seriously, dude. It’s like you’ve never heard of an umbrella. You’re just determined to get sick.”
“Exposure to cold and moisture does not cause disease,” Darc croaked, then added, “and could you please turn off that music?” Trey didn’t turn if off, but did turn it down a little bit, if only to allow for easier speech. Darc frowned at that, but duly first scrubbed at his head, then passed the towel along the length of his body, spreading drops every time he moved. Trey sighed. More water stains on the leather. Par for the course with Darc, but hey… that was part of the package.
The other part was his partner’s uncanny ability to see and interpret patterns in a case. Well, that and to keep track of huge numbers in his head, all at the same time. But since Trey had never taken Darc to Vegas, there hadn’t been as much use for that particular skill set.
Yet.
&nb
sp; Once Darc was mostly dry, Trey tossed the file over onto his partner’s lap. “This one’s similar to the unsub that killed all those cheating couples before. Case’s been cold for like five or six years, but this looks like the same guy. Same M.O., anyway.” Looking at the windshield, Trey could see that the rain was picking up. “Man, sometimes I think I should move to California. At least we’re going to be under an overpass. It’s only a couple of minutes away from here.”
Darc said nothing, and just continued to look through the file. Trey wasn’t sure why. He’d probably read every single file for every single murder case that had occurred in Seattle over the course of the last fifteen years. And once Darc read something, that information wasn’t going anywhere.
Trey knew his partner did it because other detectives had complained to him about it. They’d come to Trey, complaining about their cases getting turned on end, and all Trey could think was that he was glad Darc was his partner. All Trey had to do was put up with him. Which was no easy task, granted… but Trey would take it over the alternative any day of the week. He glanced over at his partner, whose only words so far had been to contradict Trey. Okay, maybe most days of the week.
They were moving into a sketchier part of town. Not that either Trey or Darc could afford to live in the swanky part of Seattle, but they at least knew the parts to actively avoid. Like this one, as an example. Right where I-90 and I-5 met. Most of the people who came to this area weren’t up to much good.
Trey heaved a sigh and decided to wade into the deep end. “Okay, Darc. What’s up?”
Darc looked up from the file and fixed his gaze on Trey. “I do not understand what you are asking.”
Yeah, well, that wasn’t all that unusual. Darc very rarely understood everything that Trey said.
“You just seem… off. Like you’re not yourself.”
“Who else would I be?” Darc responded, his tone flat.
Okay, he had to be kidding, right? Except that Darc didn’t kid. Back when they’d started working together, there had been so many times that Trey had thought that Darc was doing it all on purpose, just to get to him. Sometimes he still felt that way.
Like right now.
“You know what I mean, Darc. You seem… I dunno… upset. Did something happen?” Trey pressed.
“Yes. There was a double homicide, and you picked me up.”
Trey took another deep breath and let it out on a ten count. “I know that. I’m talking about something else. Something personal, maybe?” Trey paused for a second, realizing that he had to be more specific if he wanted anything out of his partner. “Okay, let me rephrase. Has anything personal happened within the last twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
Holding back a scream that felt like it was pushing at the back of his throat, ready to rip itself out at a moment’s notice, Trey continued. “Great. Want to share, maybe?”
“Maggie left me.”
“What?!” Trey turned completely toward Darc, but the car began to swerve, so he had to put his attention back on the road.
“Maggie removed her belongings from our domicile this afternoon,” Darc said, his tone sounding as if he were discussing the weather. He then turned back to the file. Trey was beginning to suspect that this might be an avoidance tactic.
“Wow. Wow. Man, I’m so sorry,” Trey murmured, not sure how to handle this. It was emotional territory, which was right up Trey’s alley. Usually, he’d know exactly what to do. But this was Darc. How did you talk about feelings with a guy who barely acknowledged that they even existed?
“Why are you sorry? You did nothing wrong.”
Trey felt a pang of guilt. It was true. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not a word, not a gesture, not even a look. Well, maybe a look or two. Or three. But nothing more. What Trey felt for Darc’s wife was something that he’d been dealing with ever since the two of them started dating. But he’d kept it to himself. Totally.
Well, he was pretty sure he had, anyway.
“I know I didn’t do anything wrong, Darc. I am just saying sorry that you have to go through this. I know it’s gotta be tough.”
Darc shrugged his shoulders, still buried in the file. Yep. Total avoidance. Trey couldn’t blame the guy. He didn’t have enough empathy to recognize when a kid was crying, much less to understand his own pain after his wife left him.
And this put Trey in a weird place. His attraction to Maggie was something that had been haunting him for years. Now that she and Darc were no longer together, there was a feeling of almost elation that she was available. But the more practical side of Trey realized the fact that she wouldn’t be around nearly as much now. And, more importantly, how could Trey betray his partner that way?
Pulling into a narrow side street that went under I-90, Trey could see the crime scene up ahead. Cop cars with their red and blue lights flashing blocked off the entire area. There were a couple of uniformed policemen posted to direct the infrequent traffic away from the site.
Trey parked the Land Rover, the gravel on the side of the road crunching under his tires. As the two detectives clambered out of the vehicle, one of the uniforms came to greet them.
“The M.E. is on-site, but nothing’s been touched yet. Wanted to make sure that Detective Darcmel had a chance to look at everything first.” The young cop was eager and fresh faced. Man, had Trey ever looked that young and earnest? He nodded at the officer, since Darc had walked past the guy without even acknowledging his existence. Maybe Trey should write up a list of rules for Darc. Just to help him get through the day without pissing off every single person around him.
“Thanks, man.” Trey nodded up at the retreating back of his partner. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just really focused.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s okay. He’s incredible.” The guy got a look on his face that Trey had seen before. The worshipper face. “It must be amazing to be his partner.”
“You have no idea,” Trey muttered, moving into the crime scene before the guy could question him further about his experience with the savant detective. But as Trey was walking in, he almost ran into Darc, who was going in the opposite direction. “Um, dude. The crime scene’s that way.”
“There is nothing there of interest,” Darc intoned. “I have gleaned all the information from the scene that there is to obtain.” He stalked off in the direction of the Land Rover.
“In just two seconds?” Trey called after him.
“Yes,” Darc spoke over his shoulder.
Trey glanced at the young cop and gave a half-smile. “I’m telling you. No idea.”
* * *
Sleep was a territory off limits to Darc. Every time he closed his eyes, the lack of another presence beside him was a brightly glowing shape that invaded his mind, robbing him of the solace of repose.
There was no breathing at his side. No shifting of weight on the mattress. No mattress, for that matter. Maggie had taken the bed. Darc had fixed himself a pallet on the floor in the other room. Everything was different, even though the sounds and smells of the apartment were largely the same.
So now Darc sat at his desk at the precinct, one of the first to arrive that morning, waiting for Trey to arrive so that they could go and question the victims’ coworkers. After ascertaining the identities of each of the victims, Darc had spent the previous evening tracking their recent activities, looking for commonalities. He hadn’t needed to look far.
Robert Jergesen was the Vice President of Marketing for an online dating service called Birds of a Feather. The other victim, Trisha Blake, had started there as a temp three weeks ago. The lighted pathways of Darc’s inner vision pointed to the company as the first and best place to look. Logic took shape within Darc’s mind, his savant abilities tracking the information that flooded into his mind, creating shapes and images of the data, lines and roadmaps, guiding Darc every time he worked a case.
From around the corner, down the hallway at the entrance to the precinct building, Darc could hear h
is partner’s voice. He greeted the custodian, the receptionist, and another policeman before he rounded the corner. The reasons for all of this nonsensical conversation escaped Darc. He could not comprehend why Trey wasted so much of his time and energy on inanities such as the weather and how certain sports franchises were doing in some competition or other.
“Darc, what’ve we got?” Trey called out once he could see that Darc was sitting at his desk. It took a moment for the lines of logic to sort through the idioms to register that Trey was asking him about the case.
“We need to go to Birds of a Feather,” Darc responded.
“Wait. Is that the online dating thingy?” Trey sat down at his own desk, which faced Darc’s. “Sounds a little weird for us to go together, but whatever. You sure you’re ready to get back out there?”
Another moment to process the idioms and the misinterpretations, and then Darc was ready to reply. “We are not going there for me. Both of the victims worked there.”
Trey snapped his fingers. “Right. Okay. So, if this fits the M.O., the killer had to know that they were cheating somehow. Might have been someone at the company.”
Rather than respond to a statement as obvious as that one, Darc stood up in preparation to leave. As he was doing so, another form appeared in the hallway. One that was as familiar to Darc as his own visage.
Maggie.
She looked tired and somewhat worn and was carrying a paper bag. She was also humming some tune in what seemed to be an absentminded way. As she entered the space, Trey perked up and muttered, “That’s ‘Sunshine of Your Love.’ Cream. Love that band.” He then followed Darc’s gaze and turned around to see her.
“Maggie?” The detective’s spiky brown hair seemed to quiver as Trey turned to view first Maggie, then Darc. “Hey… what are you…? I mean… do you…?” He stopped, shook his head and muttered, “Hi. I’m going to go… grab a cup of coffee or something.”
“No, Trey,” Maggie answered. “Stay right here. I just wanted to bring by some food.” She held up the bag. “My guess is that you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday at breakfast. Right, Darc?”