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

by Hopkin, Ben

  “I’m sorry. I’m needed at the chapel.”

  The priest walked briskly down the hallway toward the nearest elevator. Man. Trey had gotten used to a lot of the stuff he saw out in the field. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for a man of the cloth.

  The doctor’s eyes left the retreating form of the cleric and returned to Captain Merle’s. “We’ve called in a child psychologist specializing in severe PTSD, but…” The doctor’s words trailed off as he looked in once more at the child in the bed.

  “So, she’s not talking?” the captain asked.

  The doctor shook his head, his eyes sad. Trey stirred at that, looking in at his partner.

  “Yeah, those two should get along just fine. The mute leading the mute.”

  The captain’s uncomfortable gaze zeroed in on Darc, who was swaying back and forth just a bit. Not a great sign.

  “When’s the last time he slept?” Merle asked.

  “Night before we found the parents’ bodies in the cab.”

  The captain grunted in acknowledgment. “There’s not much either of you can do tonight. You’d better get him home.”

  After another piercing stare, Captain Merle turned on his heel and followed where the pastor had led. Dude. Someday Trey was going to hold that man down and tickle him, so help him god.

  Trey went to drag his partner out of the room. From the look in Darc’s eye, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

  “All right, my man. Your chariot awaits.” Trey put as much enthusiasm in his tone as he could muster up.

  Just another night of babysitting. Hey. Trey would take it.

  CHAPTER 3

  The hallway of his apartment building was familiar yet foreign to Darc. Still, he moved ahead of his partner, doing what he could to outdistance him. The symbols continued to beckon to him, not quite falling into place, moving in an intricate dance across the surface of his vision. He needed time and silence away from his never-quiet companion to work with the letters, coaxing them to do his bidding. But from the look in Trey’s eye, which had only intensified on the way to Darc’s apartment, it was plain the smaller detective was determined to make sure that Darc got some rest.

  Sleep was not a part of the program for this evening. Sleep was not even a realistic possibility. Darc knew himself well enough to know that until the ciphers could be settled into a pattern that made sense, the black oblivion of the little death would be denied him.

  Besides, true death lurked if he slept, not for him, but for the killer’s next victims. He was the only one who could keep this darkness at bay, and even he was slipping. This was not arrogance. Arrogance meant nothing to him. Pride was an emotion, a landscape of grey, and he did not do emotions well. If only he had a way to convey that to those who would harm him by trying to help him.

  Darc pushed open the door to his apartment. It was unlocked, and had been since his Maggie had left. There was nothing here of any worth any longer. Why bolt out the world when the world was welcome to anything that was left? Including Darc himself.

  He swung the door to close it, only to have Trey stop its progress and force his own way in. Darc spoke without turning. “I don’t believe I invited you in.”

  Trey ignored the statement, peering around the apartment. His partner glanced at a framed picture of Darc and Maggie’s wedding, the only one left on the walls…or anywhere else, for that matter. Trey’s eyes dropped for a moment while a sigh escaped his lips. He looked over at the empty bookcase on the wall and moved over to examine it more closely.

  “Wow. She took everything”—he tried to shake the bookcase, only to find that it was attached to the wall—”that wasn’t nailed down.” He grinned over at Darc, apparently trying to lighten the mood, but the smile died on his lips.

  “Even after all this, Maggie still cares. I can call her. She’d come over.”

  Darc felt something surge inside of him. A wall of familiar grey. The only grey he had ever willingly sought out. The grey that had walked out of his life, leaving him to his bright colors that somehow weren’t as bright any longer. He pushed it back down with a certain grim satisfaction. Darc continued his statement to his partner as if there had been no intermediate speech in between.

  “Nor did I ask you to stay.”

  Trey’s head jerked as if he had been slapped. His face was suffused with color.

  “You know what?”

  Darc watched as his partner stopped whatever it was he had been about to say. Trey took several breaths, mouthed something that could have been numbers counting upward, and then met Darc’s eyes. The neutral-colored inner workings of emotional behavior were always a bit of a puzzler to Darc, but if he had to hazard a guess, what he saw in Trey’s eyes was sadness. After a long moment, his partner spoke once more.

  “I know you’ve got your issues—and they’re huge—but sometimes you can be a downright jerk.”

  That was unexpected. When Trey exhibited anger and then stopped to breathe, what came out afterward was some sort of what his partner always called a “heart-to-heart,” where he would try to “connect” with Darc. And then Trey would say something “inspirational.” This did not feel like that. Interesting. Perhaps more clarification was required.

  “And that was your pep talk?”

  That may not have been the correct thing to say at this moment, as Trey’s face again went red.

  “Peace out, man. Peace out.” Trey stalked off toward the door, pausing before he exited. “Just to get the captain off my butt, promise you’ll lie down?”

  Darc nodded, nonplussed, as Trey shut the door firmly behind him. And then Darc was alone once more in his apartment.

  But not quite alone. Bright strands of logic traced themselves like spiderwebs throughout the two-bedroom flat. The strongest and brightest of the strands, a brilliant blue-green, led out the way Keane had gone. That was not an avenue he could pursue right now. It would wait, at least for a little while.

  He took another strand, a glistening yellow, and followed it to what had been his office when Maggie was still here. He had found a single mattress at the thrift store around the corner and purchased it for twenty-five dollars. It now lay in the corner of this room. He did not go into the bedroom much anymore. Darc gazed at the four walls.

  They were covered with crime scene photos of the bodies of the victims in this case so far, interspersed with pictures of the bloody Latin symbols they had found at the other two sites. Photos from today’s efforts would soon join what was here. The letters in the pictures leapt off the walls, swirling in with the others already prancing about inside Darc’s head.

  Darc’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and read the text from Trey. I said, lie the eff down.

  Darc had promised. Breaking a promise was not good. This was another premise that had been difficult for Darc to fully grasp. He turned to the mattress in the corner and laid himself down on the bare mat. He texted his partner back. Done.

  But his eyes did not close. They traced patterns on the ceiling. The ceiling that was plastered with the worst of the crime scene photos. Symbols pulled themselves out of the pictures and cavorted across Darc’s inner vision.

  The detective looked up in the darkness and studied his small, dancing friends.

  * * *

  Dr. Mala Charan put on what she hoped was an engaged and reassuring smile as the ER doctor prattled on. He “filled her in” on the patient, little Jane Doe, lying in the hospital bed next to her. He made certain that Mala knew that the girl was the latest victim in the string of murders that had been taking place in Seattle over the past three weeks. And, as of this point, the only survivor.

  Like Mala hadn’t read the file on the way over here.

  But his lengthy diatribe had nothing to do with the girl. It had to do with establishing dominance over Mala. If she thought she could get away with a sigh, she would, but knew that would not go over well. But she was used to it. Not only was she a woman, and young for her accomp
lishments, she had darker skin than most. None of those things should matter, of course, yet somehow they did.

  Especially to fortysomething ER doctors who strangely wore surgical caps despite the fact they were seldom within twenty feet of a surgical suite. Ah, but there was the hairline, receding back past the edge of the cap. The real reason for the adornment. She would bet a paycheck he wore a baseball cap at all times outside the ER.

  Mala sat down in the chair next to the bed. Perhaps if she were in a more submissive position, he wouldn’t feel quite so threatened. Nope, the guy took a step forward, really increasing his cadence. His insecurity was probably increased by the natural dichotomy between physician and psychologist. Physicians liked facts and numbers and absolute diagnoses. Psychologists, especially pediatric psychologists, were a little too loosey-goosey for stalwart physicians.

  But this doctor also seemed to have a few, shall we say, personal issues he was working through as well. Take his hand position. Most men trying to dominate subconsciously would engage in”genital framing.” Meaning, they would put their hands in their pockets and shove forward, thereby framing their genitals. It was a prehistoric, “see how big I am” kind of thing. It signified an alpha-type personality.

  This man, though? Yes, his hands were in his pockets, but they were crossing over his groin. Someone was a little embarrassed by something. This hand position indicated not a beta personality but an omega one. So the guy talked an alpha game, but his hands were telling a completely different story.

  “I don’t know if you saw the article in the Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, but…”

  Mala didn’t bother listening to the rest. She was a guest editor for the journal. She had vetted the very article he was referencing. Like she didn’t know to keep the lights low and her tone soft with the patient. Or that she shouldn’t “stress” the child.

  So either the guy had some untreated mental issues or he was just a dick.

  Dealer’s choice. Either way, he wasn’t her patient. Thank goodness.

  The little girl lying next to her was. Mala put a hand out and tentatively touched the girl’s hand. It twitched once, then settled. She kept up the physical contact. It was important for Janey to know she wasn’t alone, even if she was unresponsive. The girl wasn’t in a coma, she had simply retreated from the world. And to Mala she had every reason to.

  What truly amazed Mala regarding the ER doctor’s continued lecture was that not once had he mentioned Janey’s role in all of this. The greatest therapist in the world could not help someone who didn’t want to be helped. Nor could they help if they didn’t listen to their patient. You could take all the knowledge out of every textbook out there and try and cram it down a patient’s throat without a single ounce of improvement.

  Mala’s approach was much more organic than that. She had all the scientific knowledge that this ER doctor probably just googled at her fingertips. But it was the ability to connect to the patient, to walk their mental labyrinth with them, that got her the accolades.

  Her basic philosophy? The patient knew best. It was only her role to help them achieve their recovery, never to force it.

  The ER doctor took a breath. Mala did not let the opportunity go.

  “Thank you, doctor,” she said with a warm smile. “If you don’t mind, I would like a little time alone with Janey.” He looked like he was going to argue, so she turned up the smile. “I need to integrate my neurological system with hers. Align our chakras, as it were.”

  Disbelief, horror, and a hint of disgust crossed his face. She was not going to do either of those things, but the touchy-feely stuff usually backed traditional doctors off. Not that she didn’t lay some credence in Eastern modalities. Mala figured if a healing treatment had lasted millennia, it probably had some advantages. It was just far too early in little Janey’s treatment to try and do anything else but comfort.

  Luckily, the ER doctor didn’t realize this. He hastily made his retreat, genitals safely covered.

  Mala let the room breathe for a moment or two. Letting his tense, anxious, insecure energy dissipate. Once she felt centered, she leaned over the bed. Gently she reached out and stroked Janey’s damp hair back. She murmured soft and comforting words in her ear.

  “You’re safe. Nothing bad can happen,” Mala whispered, reinforcing the message. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  A grimace passed across the face of the girl. A dream? A memory? Neither one sounded pleasant. What kind of dreams were you left with once you had woken up in a pool of your parents’ blood? The horrors this little girl had face would have been enough to make anyone else want to turn away in despair. As it was, all Mala could do was keep whispering her soothing words.

  “You’re safe. No one can harm you here. You’re safe. You’re protected.”

  And then the door opened. Mala turned to see who had entered and was confronted with a very tall man in an expertly tailored suit. His face masked in shadow, the only feature she could make out was his eyes, which were…piercing. Mala wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen such keen eyes. They stared straight at her, then through her. She had to resist the urge to turn around and look to see if he was looking at someone behind her.

  He took another step forward, illuminating his handsome features. Mala normally didn’t find bald attractive, but damn. He wore a dark beard, neatly trimmed to hug his chin. Arms at his side, he held a leather satchel pressed tight against his body.

  Yeah, this guy didn’t need genital masking or framing.

  Mala bet this man intimidated a lot of people. Despite her feeling slightly flustered, she was not quite that easy to intimidate.

  The man spoke, his tone flat, almost without inflection. “Who are you?” There wasn’t any outward sign in his face that was even talking to her. He spoke in an almost mechanical way. Except that machines didn’t typically stare into your very soul.

  Wow. Get a grip, Mala.

  Then a light bulb went on in her head. She knew who this was. She got up from her station beside the bed and moved toward the man with her hand out to shake his.

  “I was called in for an evaluation. I’m Dr. Mala Charan.”

  She held her hand in front of the completely unresponsive man for a long and awkward moment. Once she realized nothing was going to change unless she changed it, Mala lowered her hand. Yeah, no doubt now about who this was. She cleared her throat.

  “And I would guess you are Detective Robi Darcmel?”

  “Do I know you?”

  The question took Mala off guard. It was an honest question. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t trying to be rude. The man truly was looking for confirmation as to whether or not they’d met.

  “No. Not really.” Mala hemmed for a moment, a little embarrassed at what was coming next. Not that a bit of embarrassment was going to stop her. “Actually, you are a bit of a celebrity in my circles.”

  The implied compliment seemed to make no impact on the detective whatsoever. His expression didn’t change, and neither did his posture. He seemed to be waiting, not due to any sense of patience, but simply because it was the most efficient course of action at the present moment. Mala tried again.

  “To have your history in the foster care system and your Asperger’s syndrome?”

  Still not a flicker of response, or even much of an awareness that she was there in the room with him, for that matter. If it weren’t for the fact that she was in his direct eye line, he might not even be looking at her. You know, except for the whole I-can-read-your-thoughts vibe.

  “Then to rise to the level of detective?”

  Nothing. She decided to make one more effort to draw him out.

  “Your story could inspire a lot of people.”

  The detective finally shifted, his face showing…something. Determination? Maybe. Something more than what was there a moment ago, anyway. He opened his mouth to let loose one word.

  “Move.”

  Confused, Mala glanced around, then followed
his gaze to her chair. The one right next to the bed.

  “Of course,” she said, moving out of the way. “Sorry.”

  The detective placed himself in the chair with an economy of motion that was almost frightening in its robotic-like precision. It spoke of an almost total lack of awareness of how he might come across to others. Or if not a lack of awareness, a lack of concern.

  Mala couldn’t take her eyes off him. To have such an intellect packaged in such a completely outside-the-bell-curve personality? Fascinating didn’t even come close. She had to bite back the thousand questions she’d had for him since she read his story in the Advanced Criminology Journal. Mala knew he worked in Seattle, but it had never occurred to her to track him down. Her specialty was abnormal child psychology. His progress with his disorder, while amazing, was outside of her field. Or was it?

  “It’s just… to do a case study like yours could really help us understand—”

  Mala stopped as Detective Darcmel removed several small items from his satchel. They included a small lap desk, crayons, and paper. She got where he was going with this.

  “I’m not sure if Janey’s ready for draw therapy quite yet.”

  Darcmel swiveled about, his eyes boring into Mala’s. His gaze was like a furnace, only one with laser focus. She found herself wanting to step back from the power of the attention. It was messing with her sense of equilibrium, but damn, it was heady.

  “We have a name for her? Janey what?” The detective’s tone had sharpened.

  “Uh. Um. No,” Mala stuttered. “I’m sorry. I do that. You know, like John Doe? Jane Doe? So impersonal, like they’re not really…” Mala realized she was babbling, stopped herself, and looked at the girl on the bed. She took a moment, then turned back to the detective with a shrug and a half-apologetic smile.

  “She seemed more like a Janey to me.”

  The energy of Darcmel’s gaze ended with an abruptness that left Mala feeling the air had been sucked from the room. She grabbed the railing of the bed to steady herself. Like she’d said, fascinating.