Darc Murders Collection (The #1 Police Procedural/Hard Boiled Mystery Series)

by Hopkin, Ben

  However, in testing his untried skills, he might damage the vehicle, rendering it incapable of movement. That would waste time not only for him, but for his partner, once Trey was able to leave the crime scene. Darc would also have to explain what he had done to Trey’s car to him at some point. For some unfathomable reason, that option was also tinged grey. So, no hotwiring. Perhaps another time.

  Darc moved away from the apartment complex and began walking south on Fourteenth Avenue. The majority of the lines of logic were pointing northwest toward Seattle Children’s Hospital. There were emergency rooms closer, but the lines encircling the girl had spoken to her medical stability. She was in need of medical attention, but she could travel without risk. They would take her to the best pediatric intensive care unit in Seattle.

  The strongest and bluest of the lines was the path that Darc now trod. A map of Seattle overlaid the glowing lines in his head, transit routes marked in a glistening yellow-orange. He strode toward the intersection of Fourteenth Avenue and Henderson Street. There was a bus stop just south of that intersection. He could pick up the 8:05 bus or hail a taxi on the busier thoroughfare of Henderson.

  The alternatives laid themselves out in front of him, symbols and pictures forming a dancing pattern in his mind. Taking a bus would require a greater expenditure of time. The taxi ride would be shorter by a factor of three but would require human interaction. The taxicab was a choice, once more tainted with grey. Strangely, the grey did not interfere with or obscure the line Darc followed. He would take the taxi.

  Decision made, he picked up his pace. Moving under a streetlamp, Darc noticed the bright red stain across his shirt. The rest of his suit was dark enough to mask the blood. This would not do. Any taxi driver would question such a stain. The cab would be filled with a nebulous grey. Turning the crisply ironed lapels of his jacket over his shirt, Darc minimized the stain.

  He made his way toward one of the new clubs that Trey deemed “trendy.” It seemed that the youth of the city preferred to hold their alcohol- and drug-laced parties in areas with a higher crime rate than the neighborhood they lived in. Could not everyone see why this grey cloud of emotion was useless?

  The reasons did not matter, though. What mattered was that cabs flittered to and from this establishment all night.

  Waiting at the curb for the next such one, Darc turned his mind back to the killings. This case, with its copious amounts of blood, had caught him off guard. Not the blood, per se, but the reason for the blood. This killer was no ordinary serialist. Statistically speaking, serial killers normally killed for several well-documented reasons.

  None of which applied to this case. There were no psychosexual elements to the killings. Not of the parents. Not of the children. And while placing a child in a vat of their own parents’ blood was deemed cruel by society, it did not seem that the killer had a sadistic streak. If anything, the killer sedated the children, apparently to keep them calm while they drowned.

  Until this one. This little girl who had survived.

  Had the killer miscalculated the dose? Did the girl have a resistance to the over-the-counter antihistamine the killer used? Or did the killer mean for Darc to find her alive?

  At the parents’ crime scene, Darc had thought himself to finally be gaining on the killer. That through his perception of logic and patterns he had cracked the killer’s code. Even after finding the girl and saving her, Darc did not feel that he could take any credit in the accomplishment. He felt like a valedictorian who had been given the answers to the finals by the principal.

  The killer had led him to the girl. He had made the equation easier. Dumbing it down for Darc to solve. The logic lines only morphed into a pattern because the killer wished for Darc to see the pattern. The killer’s pattern was evolving, and now it seemed he wished for an audience to his triumph.

  Darc was now a pawn in the killer’s game. That knowledge did not sit well with Darc. It felt uncomfortable right beneath his sternum.

  Yet knowing that he was a chess piece brightened the logic lines. Knowing one to be a pawn and playing the pawn were two distinctly different paths.

  As a cab pulled up to the curb and deposited its sequined partiers, Darc waited patiently.

  In giving Darc a single clue, the killer had opened so many other lines of inquiry. This most recent set of symbols, a mixture of Greek, Latin, and Aramaic symbols combined with numbers. The patterns linked ancient Christianity with Catholicism but put them in the context of the humanism of the Greeks. These elements were then filtered through the rigidity of numerology.

  It should be gibberish, except for those bright blue lines. Lines that if urged and coaxed and tugged enough would lead back to the one who wove them in the first place.

  * * *

  Getting out of the crime scene had proved to be a bit of a challenge, but an efficient CSI and a helpful beat cop got Trey out of there sooner than he would have feared. Especially once he told them his partner was in the wind. Darc was kind of infamous amongst the members of the Seattle police force. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. But no matter if they loved or hated him, everyone could agree that Darcmel should not be on his own. Bad things happened when Darc went off the grid.

  So everyone from the EMTs to the crime scene boys had hustled Trey out of there. He was pretty sure that he’d only lost a little time on his partner.

  Plus, he knew where Darc was going.

  Even after changing out of his bloody clothes and into his spare set in the trunk—he was partners with Darc, so having a backup was just plain ole common sense—he was still less than fifteen minutes behind. Trey glanced down at the T-shirt he had just pulled on. I’M WITH STUPID, the shirt proclaimed in block letters. Trey grinned. Sure, it was silly, but hey, he’d just pulled a kid out of a vat of her own parents’ blood. Right about now, silly wasn’t just good, it was essential.

  Hitting his lights and siren, Trey made his way across town. He pulled up into the circular driveway that led to the emergency room of the Seattle Children’s Hospital as a taxicab pulled away from the curb, a dark form racing toward the door. From the gait and the shaved head, he knew it was his partner. Darc must’ve caught a cab. Unbelievable. The idea of the detective hailing a cab, then talking to a complete stranger while dressed in bloody clothes…well, if the situation wasn’t so serious, it would have made him giggle like a little girl.

  It also made him feel something very close to parental pride. Not that he would ever share that with Darc. Dude, the guy had caught a cab. Would wonders never cease?

  But for now, Trey had to get in there to run interference. The Rover jerked to a halt, and Trey was out the door almost before it had stopped moving. He raced down the hallway, spewing phrases like “It’s okay, he’s a cop” and “Don’t worry, blood’s from a crime scene” to the concerned ER nurses gaping in Darc’s bloody wake. Well, at least losing his partner wouldn’t be a problem. Trey could just follow the shocked reactions.

  Seeing the lack of relief on the nurses’ faces, Trey realized they might not be all that reassured by a thirty-something guy in a novelty tee running down the hallway, screaming that everything would be okay. He might just find that he got locked up before Darc did. And would that just be the most spectacular ending to a perfect day?

  Stepping up the pace to a near sprint, Trey found himself staring at the back of his partner’s shaved head. There was a little mole on the upper-left-hand side that Darc would occasionally nick while shaving. Trey realized that he would probably have an easier time identifying his partner’s back than his face in a lineup. That was Darc, though, right? Always a step ahead…and not just of him, but of pretty much everybody on the planet Earth.

  At least when it came to detective stuff. Force the guy to have a conversation, and it was a whole other story. Then it was sit back and watch the tall, dark detective do his best impersonation of a flounder that had just been pulled out of the ocean.

  Which was why the taxicab thing
was such a big deal.

  Darc stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to go up to the PICU. Trey had to really pour on the speed those last few yards in order to hop in before the doors shut.

  “You know, you could’ve held the door for me,” Trey muttered at his companion, not expecting a response.

  Good thing, too, because there wasn’t one. Darc was in full-on trance mode. His eyes darted about, seeing who knew what all over the walls of the elevators. When he got like this, there wasn’t much talking to him. You just followed him around and tried to keep him from running into walls. Or, you know, punching through them when they might have booby traps on the other side.

  Wow. Trey wasn’t even a good babysitter. He let out a huge sigh, wanting nothing more than to sink to the floor of the elevator and take a long nap. Being a detective was hard enough. Trying to keep up with Darc at the same time was exhausting.

  Trey glanced over at Darc, who was inexplicably pushing the buttons to the floors beneath them in some kind of random pattern. Squinting his eyes and looking at the lights of the buttons sort of sideways, Trey thought he could see something that looked like one of the symbols traced on the apartment walls in blood. Awesome.

  Whatever Darc was doing over there, the people waiting for the elevator downstairs were gonna be pissed. At least this wasn’t something Trey had to take care of. Was it? Trey pictured himself running from floor to floor, apologizing to cranky people looking at their watches. Definitely not in his job description. He hoped. Probably best not to ask.

  The elevator dinged their floor and the doors opened up. Darc was out and practically running over the people waiting to get on before Trey could issue an apology. Trey groaned and pushed himself away from the wall of the elevator and starting jogging again. For some reason, Three 6 Mafia’s “It’s Hard out Here for a Pimp” was running through his head. Go figure.

  A few turns later, and after Trey had nearly lost Darc twice, they were there at the pediatric intensive care unit. The girl they—well, Darc—had rescued was here and hooked up to all kinds of machines. A doctor stood by her bed, with a guy next to him with a white collar around his neck. Great. A priest. Trey mentally tried to calculate the last time he had darkened the door of his church. He came up with a big fat blank.

  The priest was dressed in the typical black shirt but had on a grey sport jacket, jeans, and running shoes. Not quite like the Jesuit priest back in Trey’s altar boy days. Ah, good times.

  This whole scenario was sounding like the start to a really bad joke. A cop, a doctor, and a priest walk into an intensive care unit…Trey shook his head, wondering if there was something seriously wrong with him. Ah, well. At least he hadn’t said anything out loud this time.

  Darc moved into the girl’s room and, without saying a word, positioned himself in the corner. He stood like some sort of predatory bird, watching with intent eyes every tiny movement made by their little Jane Doe, or anyone else in her vicinity, for that matter.

  If he didn’t know better, Trey would have said Darc was being protective. And he guessed in a way, that was true. Darc was protecting the information he knew the little girl had in her head. Trey made a mental note to himself to make sure he was around when their tiny patient woke up. Darc could be a little…intense when he was homed in on a case.

  Trey looked around, searching for someplace to take up residence, since he was pretty sure they were going to be here for a while. As he gazed about, his eyes landed on pretty much the last person he expected to see here. His captain.

  Captain Thomas Merle was an armchair kind of supervisor. He liked to do his captaining from the backseat. Trey had only seen him out from behind his desk a couple of times, and that was when he was in the bullpen. Trey had never seen him outside the precinct office.

  And that suited Trey just fine. Not that he didn’t like the captain. Okay. He didn’t like him. But still. The real thing here was that Trey didn’t want to feel like someone was watching over his shoulder. And now someone was watching over his shoulder. Almost literally.

  Plus, the captain never laughed at his jokes. Not once. Oh, he smiled from time to time, but it wasn’t a real one. The most Trey had ever gotten out of him was a “that’s funny.” Saying that something’s funny when you’re not laughing is like saying something’s delicious without taking a bite. It’s just straight-up rude.

  And what in the name of all that’s holy had gotten the captain out from behind his desk?

  Well, whatever it was, it was time to do what Trey did best. Talk.

  “Captain Merle. Sir. Your Highness.” Trey sketched a little bow and quirked his eyebrow at his commanding officer. Just because he hadn’t made the captain laugh yet didn’t mean he was going to stop trying.

  Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. The captain slowly let his gaze slip down Trey’s face and land on his T-shirt. Okay, maybe the outfit change hadn’t been such a brilliant idea.

  Not that this would probably change the captain’s opinion of him. Trey had squeaked his way into the position of detective, and everyone knew it. Including his boss. Especially his boss.

  He pretty much had gotten the position for one reason and one reason only. To watch over Darc. While Darc might be the best thing to happen to detective work since fingerprinting powder, he was a bit high-maintenance. And most of the other detectives weren’t all that interested in babysitting.

  Whatever. At least Trey was in the game. He was part of the Show. The big time.

  Even if he didn’t really deserve to be here.

  The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity, before Trey finally opened his mouth once more. Better to stick his foot in it again than to listen to the crickets chirp around them.

  “So…what’s brought you out here, sir?”

  Captain Merle’s gaze drifted from Trey’s shirt to the PICU behind them. “This case has caught the attention of the public. I’m getting some pressure to see that it gets taken care of. Soon.” The captain’s voice was a basso profundo rumble that Trey would’ve sworn was Darth Vader, minus the heavy breathing.

  “Uh, yeah. We’re all over it. Well, Darc is.” Trey gestured over his shoulder at his partner, who hadn’t even breathed, as far as Trey could tell. He just…hovered. Oh well. At least the doctor hadn’t complained. Yet.

  “Yes. Well, it’s good to see that you managed to make it out of the barrio alive.”

  “You know, that wasn’t a given. Those Latinos almost ate me alive. There was one that I swear I’ve seen on Telecinco doing lucha libre. I even though for a sec that he was wearing a mask. Then I realized he was just the ugliest em-effer I’ve ever seen.”

  Still nothing. Man, this guy could give a block of granite lessons.

  The captain’s next statement made it clear that at least he was paying attention. “‘Em-effer’? Where is your usual colorful litany of rude descriptors?”

  For a moment Trey didn’t know what in the hell the captain was talking about. Did he take a Darc communications class? Then it dawned on him. Cursing. The captain was talking about cursing.

  “Oh. That,” Trey said, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, I gave up swearing for Lent.”

  “Lent? I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

  “Hey, hey. Keep it down.” Keane gave a nervous glance to the cleric inside the room. “I don’t have much time to make it to Mass, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rise above the rest of you heathens.”

  “Okay, but swearing? You?”

  “Yeah, it’s not easy. I’ve started using German insults. And British ones. I figure they don’t count. Plus, they’re kinda cool. I was—” A beeping rose up from one of the monitors strapped to the little girl inside the room, cutting Trey off. The doctor moved over to adjust the equipment.

  Yeah, nothing like a reality check like that to cut off the not-so-witty repartee between you and your boss. Captain Merle gave a quick look in at Darc, who hadn’t even flinched when the noise started.

 
; “How did he know which apartment?”

  “How do I ever know?” Trey would’ve thought by now that he wouldn’t have to field these questions, but they came every single time. Like clockwork.

  “Did he know which wall, or did he just guess which one?” The captain seemed unusually intent, staring deep into Trey’s eyes like he could see into the detective’s soul. Trey found it quite uncomfortable. He rubbed a hand over his face.

  “You know, he’s really not much of a ‘sharer.’”

  “The other walls were wired with enough C-4 to take out an entire city block.”

  No kidding. Knowing for sure what he had already suspected probably should’ve given Trey more pause, but after so many years of working with Darc, it was just par for the course.

  “Yeah. That would be the savant part.”

  The two fell silent as they watched the doctor and the priest converse over the girl’s bed, then turn to exit the room. The captain caught the doctor’s eye.

  “How is she doing?”

  The doctor grimaced. “Physically? Mild shock. We’ll have to watch for aspiration pneumonia.”

  Okay, somebody had to ask it. Trey stepped up to the plate.

  “And how is she doing emotionally?”

  The priest responded, his tone bleak. “After the horror that poor child experienced?”

  “Right. Yeah. Well, Father, thanks for being here for her,” Trey murmured.

  “Of course. But you don’t have to call me Father. I’m Anglican.”

  “Oh. Great!” Whoa. Come on, Keane, get with the program. Trey tried to dial back his relief a couple of notches. “I mean…that’s good. I guess. I’m Catholic…I just…”

  The pastor cracked a smile. Trey got the feeling it didn’t happen much.

  “Haven’t been to Mass in a while, eh?”

  “Uh. No, Father…I mean, Reverend. I mean…What do you guys like to be called?”

  The holy man’s smile grew even wider. “Most people call me by my name. I’m John.”

  The sound of a cell phone vibrating came from the direction of the priest. He held his phone up to view the incoming text. The light from the phone’s panel lit up the white of the pastor’s clerical collar at his throat.