by Hopkin, Ben
Trey continued with little regard to Darc’s lack of response. “We’re close, so we can just swing by the station to get the address. Matter of fact, I’ll just jet in real fast. You can stay in the car.”
That suited Darc. For some reason, the talk of the website designer that suffered from unrequited love for her boss had stirred up clouds of gray inside of Darc’s mind. Perhaps the moments of quiet by himself would help to settle the emotional flotsam. If not, it would simply mean additional moments of silence.
Darc found that he was starting to get used to them.
CHAPTER 3
It had only taken Trey a couple of seconds to snatch the address he needed from the file. It was, of course, in Magnolia, one of the swankier areas in Seattle. Time to get a move on. If the killer’s pattern now was anything like it was before, there would be another killing tonight, and then possibly several tomorrow.
Apparently Valentine’s Day was like crack to their little lovebird. Trey found himself wondering what had made their guy so hostile against cheaters. Not that Trey was a huge fan, but man… Going on a killing spree seemed a bit excessive.
As Trey turned to head back out of the precinct building, he almost collided with a familiar figure. Red hair flew everywhere as the lithe form darted a few steps backward to avoid the collision.
It was Maggie.
She was holding another bag and seemed to be searching around the building for something. Or someone. Trey mentally smacked himself in the forehead. Of course she was looking for someone. She was looking for Darc.
Holding up the bag with one hand, Maggie pushed the hair out of her face with the other. “I brought you guys some more food. You know…”
“For Darc?” Trey said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Man, he had it bad. This whole situation was not okay on so many levels. “I’ll make sure he eats, Maggie. I promise. You don’t have to keep coming down here to feed him. It’s got to be tough for you.”
Maggie shrugged. “It’s not so tough. I still care about him, you know. I just…”
“Yeah,” Trey stepped in. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Maggie asked suddenly, her eyes piercing. “I’m not sure about that, Trey.”
He shook his head. “You’re probably right. What do I know about any of it? Just that I’m sure your feelings for him are complicated. That you’re conflicted.”
Chuckling, Maggie handed him the bag of food she was holding. “Nope. Not conflicted. Not about Darc, anyway.”
“Then what?” Trey asked, baffled. He felt like Maggie was trying to tell him something, but that he just wasn’t smart enough to pick up on it.
She sighed. “Trey. I know you’ll take care of Darc. You have for years now. I’m not worried about him.”
“Then why—?”
“Why am I here?” Maggie completed his sentence. “Well, I’m not here for Darc.” She leveled her gaze at him once more. Man, she was gorgeous. Trey felt his heart beat in his fingers. Throb, throb.
Trey wracked his brain, trying to figure out what it was that Maggie was trying to get through to him. He couldn’t figure it out.
“I… I got nothing.”
A bark of laughter burst out of Maggie. “You know, for a detective, you’re remarkably dim.”
“Tell me about it,” Trey groused.
She smiled at that, then pointed at the bag that Trey was now clutching. “Eat your sandwich. I made it for you.” Whipping her hair around her head, Maggie turned to leave. She called back over her shoulder, “Oh, and there’s something in there for Darc, too.”
Trey reached into the bag and pulled out the sandwich with his name on it. It was a BLT. The woman had managed to make him lunch out of breakfast meat. He loved her so much.
And then, like a sudden clap of thunder, Trey realized. He loved Maggie. Really. This wasn’t just an awkward crush. He’d gotten to know her over the course of her entire relationship with Darc, and Trey had fallen in love with her. He hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t even fully admitted to himself until now that it was true.
But it was.
What’s more, he was pretty sure she felt the same way. Matter of fact, now that his eyes were open, he was sure of it. Maggie was right. He had to be the dumbest detective on the planet.
There was a sensation in his gut, a feeling of… what? Kinda like he wanted to vomit, actually. Okay, so Trey wasn’t much of a words guy. Whatever it was, it felt both amazing and overwhelming at the same time.
Then he looked into the bag and saw the other sandwich. It had gotten squished underneath his, and it looked mangled and mushy. Broken.
Trey began to walk back out to the car to join his partner, who was waiting for him. His partner with whom he had worked for almost the entirety of the last decade. Trey felt the balloon within him shrivel and his stomach drop to somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. Like he wanted to vomit, but in a very different way than just a second ago.
Love sucked.
* * *
The house was a gray three-story colonial with white trim and a red door. Around the center window of the second story, a widow’s walk broke up the otherwise simple façade of the house.
The dimensions of the home swirled with incandescent light, the data accumulating, adding to the other pieces of information, forming symbols that coalesced, then faded into the background, a tacit acknowledgement of their relative insignificance. Darc retained the knowledge at his fingertips, but not all information received the same weight of attention. That way lay madness.
Darc observed as Trey rang the doorbell, a sonorous gong that echoed through the inside of the house. Within moments, an attractive young Latina approached the door, seen through the windows on either side of the scarlet entrance.
“Can I help you?” the woman inquired in heavily accented English.
“We’re here to see Mr. Doherty,” Trey answered, taking out his detective’s shield to lend urgency to the request.
“One moment.”
As the woman began to shut the door, a figure appeared from around the corner. An older man hunched in a wheelchair peered at the two detectives and cleared his throat loudly. The woman started, then glanced back at her employer.
“Oh, Señor Doherty. Que susto. You scared me.”
“Dolores, let our two guests in, please.” Roland Doherty’s voice was a strong tenor, comfortable in command. He waved the two detectives in, backing his wheelchair into a sitting room as he did so.
The streams of logic flowed around the man’s swollen and distorted fingers, and took in the painful angle of his arms, the splay of his legs. Rheumatoid arthritis.
Roland Doherty was not their killer.
And yet the strands of probability continued to weave themselves about this wizened figure. There were too many apparent coincidences to be ignored. The chance of Doherty’s involvement, however peripheral, was high.
Darc and Trey sat down on high-backed chairs that faced their host. Mr. Doherty maneuvered his chair to face them both, his eyebrows rising. Inquiry? Or surprise? The differences were a gray wash to Darc. This was the main reason for Trey taking point on all interrogations that happened outside of the precinct building. Any time social graces were called for, Trey led.
“Mr. Doherty, we need to ask you some uncomfortable questions,” Trey began.
“About the two murders that happened last night?” Mr. Doherty stepped in.
Trey shifted in his seat. “Ah, yes. How—?”
“Detective,” the man chided. “I’m not an idiot. I watch the news. They’re calling it the return of the Kupid Killer. And I remember when the last duo came to put me to the question. And now you’re here. Doesn’t take much to put two and two together.”
“Yes, well—” Trey began.
“Please, do we have to do this?” the gentleman begged. He gestured at his legs. “It’s clear that I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I’m glad you two came. I’ve lived with the knowledge that I was und
er suspicion for more than eight years now.”
“Mr. Doherty, there are a few too many things that seem to connect you to this case,” Trey pressed. “For one thing, the two people who were killed were in your son’s employ.”
“I have nothing to do with his business. From the time I had to take to my wheelchair, I decided to sell off all of my business ventures. Can’t really keep track the way I need to when I can’t walk. Or type.” He lifted one of his crippled hands.
“When did you retire?” Darc stepped in, the strands of light probing.
“Five years ago.”
“That is the approximate time the killings ended, as well,” Darc continued.
Roland Doherty blew out a long breath. “If you were here to arrest me for those killings, I would be in handcuffs right now.” He chuckled suddenly. “Well, if you could figure out how to put them on me without wrenching my arms out of their sockets.” Doherty directed his chair over to the doorway. “I had hoped my condition would put your fears to rest. It seems that is not the case. I’m not sure we have anything else to say to each other.”
Trey brushed his hands against his legs and stood up. “You’re right. Don’t have anything on you at all. Nothing concrete, anyway.” Trey looked down at the man in the wheelchair, seeming to pin the man with his gaze. “Answer me one question? Hypothetically?”
Doherty gave Trey a wan smile. “Ah, hypotheticals. Lovely.”
“Why would someone do something like this? Kill unfaithful couples.”
Roland looked down at his lap and was silent for a long moment. Darc had just decided that the man would not answer and was starting to walk out when the man lifted his head back up.
“Maybe he was trying to keep from doing something worse.”
“Worse than murder? What’s worse than murder?” Trey asked, his tone rising in pitch. Surprise? Outrage? Puberty? Darc could not tell, although puberty seemed unlikely at this point in Trey’s physical development.
“Hey, just a guess. You know. Hypothetically.”
Darc followed Trey as his partner walked around the man in the wheelchair on his way to the front door. There was nothing more to do here.
And yet the strands of logic continued to point back to the man hunched over in a wheelchair, incapable of movement. It was strange.
Darc did not like strange. Especially in connection with a murder investigation. Strange had a tendency to develop into deadly.
* * *
It was late and Trey was stumped. What was worse, Darc seemed to be stumped, as well. They’d come back to the station and were going through old files, trying to figure out where to go next. There was a connection to the Doherty’s' and Birds of a Feather. There had to be. But so far, they hadn’t figured it out.
They had gone after Caden’s alibis, but everything had checked out. The guy had not only been out with a gang of his friends, but they’d been accompanied by enough hot girls that everyone at Re-Bar and at the restaurant had remembered them. Well. His entire timeline for that evening was accounted for.
As for Gail, the website designer, she was a possibility, but had no criminal record or history of mental problems. There was nothing there that pointed to her other than her being pissed off. That and a partial conversation with a co-worker who thought she might be obsessed with the C.E.O.
And it was Valentine’s Day. There would be another killing today, if their guy… or girl… stayed true to form. Knowing that was going to happen without any way of stopping it was making Trey more than a little nuts.
“Nothing. We’ve got nothing.”
Darc said nothing. The bald detective was perusing the list of employees from Birds of a Feather. He had gone over it three times already. Trey knew how Darc’s mind worked. If he hadn’t seen something the first time, it likely wasn’t there.
The phone on Trey’s desk rang and he grabbed it up.
It was dispatch. “Detective Keane? We’ve got another two. Outside the Alibi Room down on Pike Street.”
“I know it. On our way.” Trey grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “Maybe the Doherty’s have nothing to do with this one. Unless there’s another event happening at the Alibi Room that Caden didn’t mention.”
Darc said nothing. He just scooped up his own jacket and followed. Trey hated it when Darc went all quiet. It might just be that he was calculating stuff in that gigantic brain of his, but it always felt a little bit like judgment to Trey.
In minutes they were on their way down to Pike Place Market. It was Valentine’s, so of course the traffic was horrendous, but a siren stuck on top of the Land Rover helped them get through some of the worst of it.
The area around Pike Place Market was one of Trey’s favorites, and the Alibi Room was a bar Trey had been to more than once. It was opposite the Gum Wall, which was exactly what it sounded like, and the street in that area was paved with cobblestones. It almost felt like you had stepped back in time.
But when Darc and Trey finally managed to press through the Valentine’s Day crowds who had gathered to gawk and stood in front of the murdered couple, it felt all too much like the present. Trey swore to himself. One more favorite spot of his, tainted by his job. He should make a list of places that dispatch wasn’t allowed to send him.
The couple looked like they had just taken a moment to slip behind a pillar for some touchy-feely playtime. They were in the underground corner just around the bend from the bar. Both of their throats had been slit, the blood spilling out to drench their amorous counterpart from head to toe before they fell to the ground.
“Well, this puts a damper on the whole Doherty angle. This doesn’t seem to have any connection with them whatsoever,” Trey muttered. He called out to one of the uniforms. “Find anything? I.D.? Purse? Wallet?”
The uni trotted over, carrying a blood-covered purse in his gloved hands. “This was right beside them. Looks like it belongs to her.”
Trey grabbed a glove and a pencil from the uni, and used the writing instrument to pull open up the purse, holding the other side of the opening using the glove. Inside were the typical contents of a woman’s handbag—lipstick, a wallet, change, gum… and a folded-up piece of paper.
“Hey, Darc. Take a look at this.” Trey pulled the glove on over his hand at this point, reaching in to take out the page and unfold it. It was a printout of a profile page.
From Birds of a Feather.
* * *
Darc ran down 1st Avenue, Trey stumbling along behind him. The pathways of logic had crystallized immediately upon seeing the printout from the victim’s purse. The killing had been intended to throw them off the trail, at least long enough for the killer to strike with impunity.
Hotel 1000 was only four and a half blocks away from the bar, so the glowing streams guided Darc on foot. Fighting the traffic would have taken longer than running to the location, although the calculations had not taken into account Trey’s leg cramp.
“Go, go! I’ll catch up!” Trey urged Darc in between gulps of air from farther down the street. The threads of information concurred, and Darc increased his speed. The remaining distance to the hotel was less than a block.
The building itself was bathed in deep-blue neon lighting, giving the edifice an otherworldly feel. Men and women poured into and out of the hotel. Most going in were alone. Most coming out were not. A large banner overhead proclaimed, Birds of a Feather Flock Here on Valentine’s.
As Darc entered the spacious lobby, he noted the enormous ice sculpture of Cupid, his bow and arrow pointed toward the ceiling, which was several stories up. There were railed balconies peering down from above, where couples huddled in whatever dark corners they could find.
Darc approached the registration table as Trey wheezed up next to him. “I’m here.” He put his head in between his legs and panted for a moment. “Sort of.” He waved Darc on toward the long table, which was manned by three women—one blonde, one brunette, one redhead.
The closest woman to Darc, the
redhead, looked him up and down, a smile on her face. That seemed to be a relatively straightforward sexual approach, but Darc was unsure. It could also be a humiliation tactic. It would be wasted on him, but the woman would not know that.
“Can I help you?” the redhead purred.
“I need to know if Gail Atherson is attending this party,” Darc replied.
“You mean the website girl? Yeah. She’s here. Never seen her dressed like that, either. Skimpy red dress. I thought it was weird, especially for her, but—”
“I need to know her location.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Last time I saw her, she was headed to the bar. Caden’s in there, too. He should be able to help.”
As he moved in the direction indicated by the woman, Darc felt Trey’s hand on his shoulder. “You think it’s the website designer?”
“I believe it is a good place to start. She had access to the information fed through their server, and therefore could have read the messages to and from the couple at the bar.”
Trey wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Are we even positive that it matched the M.O. of our killer? I mean, we don’t even know if they were cheating.”
“The man’s profile indicated ‘discreet relationships,’” Darc responded in a flat tone.
“Well, okay, that’s pretty clear.” Trey straightened out his shirt, tucking it back into his pants. “But still—”
“This is our best lead,” Darc cut him off as he moved to speak with the bartender behind the bar. Once again, the décor in the bar was ultra modern. Deep neon-colored lights, bizarre metal sculptures, sharp lines everywhere. The entire atmosphere was cultivated for a young crowd.
The bartender, a young man with spiked hair that was bleached blond at the tips, looked up as they approached. “Can I get you guys anything?”
“We were told that the C.E.O. of the company was in here with his website designer,” Trey told the bartender, his voice finally back under his control.