by Hopkin, Ben
Darc returned to his perusal of the crime scene. Here was something that made logical sense. Clues were left behind for him to decipher. His mind decoded the messages left. The killer was caught.
Simplicity itself.
* * *
The rain fell with a random sameness that coated the night sky in a velvet cocoon of sound. In this cushion, it was possible to whisper, to speak, even to scream and have no one the wiser for it a mere block away.
It was an emotional blanket for a morally tired city.
There was no real ambiguity here. Nor was there theologizing or philosophizing. There was only the acknowledgement of a populace that was stagnant. Corrupt. There was an acknowledgement of the battle. The one of which little was spoken in the daylight hours of proper business dealings.
Looking out into the darkness, the Intermediary drew in the smells of the precipitation. Wet asphalt. Ozone. Something danker. More pungent.
The scent of things dead and dying.
Ah, Seattle.
The night was the time to get things done. Nothing significant could ever happen in the light of day. Not any longer. Politicians and businessmen were increasingly brazen about their illicit financial copulations. Law enforcement and the criminal element moved about one another in a dysfunctional dance that mimicked the death throes of a headless rooster. During the day, wrong was right and right was increasingly wrong.
But in the darkness, light blossomed, beating back the dark at the same time it intensified the shadows. The light of intuition that spoke of things going bump in the night versus the blackness that created those very bumps. Under that covering, it was impossible for upright citizens to doubt that evil existed.
Not the evil of hell. No demons, no devils, no succubi or incubi. Nothing so ghastly or bourgeois as all that.
No, this was the evil that was created by the very individuals who invented those dark denizens, as well as their smoky, fiery habitat below. This was the purview of something far more sinister than an avenging spirit.
This was the domain of humans, and they were making a right mess of things.
The Intermediary sighed, blowing air out past lips wet with the falling moisture. The others had failed. Miserably. Both so preoccupied with their version of righteousness that they had been blinded to the exigencies of their assigned tasks.
That would not happen this time. This time there would be a true purging. No religious sycophants to muck up the waters that were rising up to do the deep cleaning required in this septic tank of a city.
A woman passed close by, her high heels wobbling with every step, the click of her soles managing to pierce the cotton-like batting of the rain, at least for a moment. The Intermediary watched without judgment. The woman was clearly drunk, just as clearly dressed to provoke masculine attention. Low-cut blouse. High-cut skirt. Heavy makeup.
She was not the issue here. There was nothing about her display that elicited a harsh response from the Intermediary. It was human nature in its most animal form. Nothing sinister. Perhaps a bit sad, but nothing more.
But this piece of animal flesh was called to serve, and that’s what made her of import tonight. She was called… to the wrong place at the wrong time, sadly… to satiate the insatiable. To gratify the lusts of one whose lusts were as vast as the ocean.
Perhaps she would not have to be a victim of friendly fire tonight. That remained to be seen. The Intermediary knew better than to lock down the details too tightly. Wriggle room was required when dealing with those that would wriggle to escape. Snakes, lizards and salamanders… the political, financial and criminal elite of Seattle.
The Intermediary moved out behind the woman, movements in synch with her and the night. Nothing out of place to sound the unconscious alarm that would ring in the mind of even the most intoxicated of women when out alone at night.
For that is what the Intermediary was for.
Moving through the light and through the dark with equal ease. At home with either one. A slave to neither.
The rain whispered secrets to the woman ahead, but she heard nothing.
The Intermediary, on the other hand, heard, and comprehended, all.
CHAPTER 2
It was a crisp late October day in Seattle. Which meant that it was cold, wet and mostly cloudy. Under most circumstances, Mala loved the gloomy weather. But right now it just seemed to mock her current frustration.
Mala loved being a mother.
She did not, however, love all the things that went along with it.
Janey clung to her with one hand, the other clutching her ratty stuffed bear. Well, stuffed might be a bit of an exaggeration. The poor thing had lost most of its padding somewhere along the way. But Janey and the bear were inseparable.
Mala’s foster child had been through the unimaginable, losing both of her parents before being encased in a barrel full of their blood to drown. What would have broken many had left Janey strong and determined. Silent— she wouldn’t speak— but unbeaten.
They had spent the last several months together with Mala doing everything she could to provide normal experiences for this little girl. But time after time they would get wrapped up in Darc and Trey’s latest case. The bizarre part of it all was that Janey had provided vital help more than once.
And she seemed to thrive on it. Mala had fought against Janey being a part of grisly crime scenes tooth and nail, supposing that it would re-traumatize her. But the reverse had been true. Janey was happy and healthy when on a case. Doing typical childhood activities seemed to bore her to tears. And make her grumpy as all get out.
The last of the summer’s adventures two months ago had been a trip out to Wild Waves Theme Park, down about a half-hour’s drive out of Seattle. It was a park that had water slides and rollercoasters. Perfect activity for an active child, right?
Wrong.
Oh, Janey had loved the rides. She seemed to get a thrill out of the most adult of them, riding the Ring of Fire three times in a row. None of the rides had been off limits for anything other than her height, and she’d managed to get onto several by pulling her heels out of her shoes and standing on the backside of them.
But after every ride, she would get out a piece of paper, grab a gold crayon and draw a detective’s badge. She missed Darc. She wanted to be with Darc. Darc needed her. The further the day progressed, the more aggressive the pictures became. One had shown Mala in handcuffs being escorted to prison by a tall, bald detective with a beard.
Subtle.
It didn’t help that Darc fed into Janey’s perception that he needed her at every moment. Especially on the cases that seemed to bear any relationship to her own. He pushed and prodded for any detail, any insight, that the little girl could give.
And give she did. With relish.
Left to her own devices, Mala might have just given in and let the girl have her gory fun. Her one-time belief that the patient always knew best had been tried and tested, but there was still a part of her that felt the only ones that truly knew how to deal with any kind of pain were the ones actually experiencing it.
But it wasn’t just up to her.
She had to answer to the Department of Social and Health Services, or her guardianship of Janey could be revoked. That was the club that kept Mala pushing forward with all of the “normal” poor Janey could take. Otherwise, she’d just let the girl’s freak flag fly.
They were on their way into that very building now. Mala had pulled Janey out of school early, but not before being forced into a conversation with the kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Kingston. Janey was showing signs of difficulty in her class. The principal, Mr. Killarney, had wanted Janey in with special ed, but Mala had insisted they give mainstreaming a try. Mrs. Kingston had been cautiously optimistic, but that view seemed to be changing by the day.
Mala let out a sigh. It was never easy.
DSHS was housed in a brick monstrosity that was proof of the lack of creativity surrounding government contracts. Whoe
ver had been commissioned to build this building had clearly never had an original thought in his or her life.
Mala looked again. His. Had to be a man. No woman would build this crime against nature. She felt her artistic sensibilities quail as she entered through the front door. Just one more thing she was going to have to swallow today.
Her appointment was with Richard Templeton, a man who appeared to have it in for her ever since she had gone over his head with some concerns about how he had run his PRIDE parenting course back when Mala was taking it. He and one of his coworkers, a Ms. Joan Bladworth, had raised concerns about her parenting abilities. Mala had been able to talk Joan out of pursuing things further, but Richard was another story.
“Ah, Ms. Charan,” Richard said as she neared his desk.
“Actually, it’s Dr. Charan, Mr. Templeton. As I’ve mentioned before.”
“Right. Sorry about that. I talk to so many people.” He closed the file he was reading and gave her a smile that seemed to have too many teeth to it. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come and meet with me.”
Her instinct was to rebut that she hadn’t any choice, but Mala restrained herself. “No trouble at all.”
Richard’s gaze went down to Janey. “Oh.” He pursed his lips. “I see you brought Caitlyn.” Caitlyn Walker was Janey’s legal name, but Mala and the two detectives had taken to calling her Janey during the case before they knew her identity. She had let them know since then that she preferred Janey, so it had stuck.
“Was I not supposed to? You didn’t specify the nature of our meeting, and since it involves Ja… Caitlyn…”
“Well, I would think it should be obvious. The meeting being about her is precisely the reason not to bring her,” he replied, his tone acerbic.
Mala took a breath. It was possible that Mr. Templeton was not trying to bait her. There was a strong likelihood that he was, in fact, just a prick. And dealing with pricks was a small price to pay for keeping the little girl holding fast to her hand.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t pick up on that,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. “What shall we do about it now?”
Richard Templeton was balding, with hair that was swirled around in an apparent attempt to hide that fact. Not only was it unsuccessful, but the product he must be using to try to control that hair made it look stringy and oily. It was not a pleasant combination. He tapped a ring against his desk in seeming irritation. The ring looked to be heavy, made of gold, with an onyx stone inscribed with something in its center.
“I’ll see if I can find a colleague who can take her for a bit.” As he walked away, he smoothed an errant strand of hair back into place. It might have been her imagination, but Mala would have sworn she heard a squishing sound when he did so. Glancing down at the man’s desk, Mala saw that the file he had been reading was Janey’s.
That couldn’t be good.
“Well, kiddo,” she said, looking down at Janey. “Looks like we’re going to have split up for a bit. You going to be okay?”
Janey pulled her bear in close and nodded. She was so grown up most of the time, but occasionally, like right now, she looked so small. Vulnerable.
Then she grabbed a sheet of paper and her crayons and drew a quick sketch. It was of Mala and a weasel-like man. Mala had him in a headlock and the man’s face was turning purple.
Stifling a laugh, Mala shook her head. “That’s not very nice, Janey. We have to try to get along with these people, all right?”
Janey made a face at that, but then pointed at a nearby drinking fountain. She was thirsty. Mala smiled and nodded.
“Go ahead.”
She skipped down the hall, pausing only to whack her bear on the head for some imagined fault. Mala’s heart skipped in time to the little girl’s feet.
Looking back at Templeton’s desk, her heart skipped once more, but this time for a very different reason.
The file was right in front of her. The social worker was nowhere to be seen. Janey was down the hall getting a drink. There was no one to see her.
It was a violation, true, but it was Janey’s file. And Templeton had already demonstrated more than once his dislike of Mala and an apparent vendetta against her fostering of Janey. A social worker on a crusade was a terrible thing, and Mala needed to know what she was up against.
The chance was slipping away as she sat contemplating it. She moved around the side of the desk and pulled open the file.
There, right up at the top, were the words that Mala had been afraid of ever since she had a run-in with Richard’s coworker, Joan Bladworth.
…sincere concerns about the wellbeing of Caitlyn Walker while under the care of Mala Charan.
She closed the file. There was no need to read any further. She knew what this meeting was about.
They were trying to take Janey away from her.
* * *
Janey was arguing with her bear, Popeye. He was demanding that they go back to be with Mala, but Janey wanted a drink. Plus, she had seen Mala looking at the folder on the freaky man’s desk. She had wanted to look at it, but there was no way she’d do it with Janey standing there.
She knew the freaky man. He’d been one of the ones that kept coming around when Janey had been moved from one group home to another, before they’d finally decided she could live with Mala.
She didn’t like him. Not one bit.
Besides, Popeye only wanted to be with Mala because he thought she might buy them some snacks. Popeye loved snacks. He never ate them, but like he always said, it was the principle of the thing. He liked to be thought of.
Silly bear. She smacked him on the head again.
He complained, like he always did when she smacked his head. Wanted to know what she had done that for.
For whatever he was going to do next, of course. She knew Popeye. He was naughty. He couldn’t go five minutes without getting into trouble.
He grumbled a bit at that but he couldn’t really argue. He was a naughty bear. And he knew it.
But right now, Janey had bigger problems than whether or not her bear was mad at her. She had to figure out what she was going to do.
It was important, she knew that much. It could mean the difference between her staying with Mala and going back to those awful group homes with all the crybaby children there.
Which would be better? Should she behave herself? Nod and smile and draw pretty pictures with flowers and cute animals and no secret messages about bad people who liked to kill? Or should she show the people just how much they needed Mala by throwing a fit and drawing pictures of people dying with the black and red crayons?
It was so hard to know what to do sometimes.
She wanted to behave, but Popeye’s answer was always to throw fits. She smacked him again. She did it because he deserved it, and also a little bit because it was fun. Did that make her bad, too?
There was no way to answer that, so she went back to the other question.
Good Janey or bad Janey?
Popeye was giving her that look. The one that said, I don’t want you to smack me again, but you know what to do.
And it was true. She did know what to do.
Now she just had to go and do it.
Bad bear. He really gave her the worst ideas.
* * *
It was almost lunchtime when the new Assistant Prosecuting Attorney decided to pay Darc a visit. Under normal circumstances, that timing would mean that Trey would be aware of very little outside of his own hunger.
That did not seem to be the case today.
Seconds after Carson Speer identified himself as the new APA, Trey had leapt out of his seat and was slapping handcuffs on the man. That behavior struck Darc as impulsive and illogical.
“What the…?” Carson squawked. “Why am I in handcuffs?”
“You’re the new APA,” Trey barked back at him. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Look, I know you didn’t like the guy--”
&n
bsp; “Oh, we liked him just fine. Hell, Darc got drunk for the first time with him.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” the lawyer begged.
“Prove it.”
“What…? I don’t… Come on, un-cuff me.”
Trey yanked on the attorney’s arms. “Not until I hear your alibi. Make that alibis.”
“For what?”
“What do you think?” Darc’s partner snapped. “The murder cases.”
“But that’s why I’m here,” the APA protested. “I want to help.”
“You see that?” Trey turned to Darc and asked. “He’s modulating. Total serial killer. He should be trying to get me fired right now. Instead he’s offering to help.” Trey gave the handcuffs another yank.
“Listen, I don’t have an alibi for the murders. I was just in my hotel room still settling in,” the attorney said, appealing to Darc this time. “You know. Curled up with a book.”
“Which book?” Trey pressed.
Darc moved forward, removing the APA from Trey’s grasp. He pulled out his handcuff keys and began releasing the lawyer.
“Darc, what are you doing?” his partner asked.
“We cannot hold him. There is no immediate evidence linking him to the crimes.”
Carson Speer breathed out a huge sigh, one that either indicated relief or that he had been physically exerting himself. It was hard to ascertain.
“Well, at least one of you is rational,” he said, rubbing his wrists.
Darc turned to look at the APA. The lawyer moved back as he caught Darc’s gaze. It was a reaction that many people seemed to have to eye contact. Or perhaps it was just eye contact with Darc. Regardless, he felt it was necessary to fully explain the situation to the new attorney.
“The fact that you have no alibi now places you in the ‘persons of interest’ category,” Darc explained.
“Ah…” he managed.
“Do not leave the city without notifying us.” Darc turned away from the speechless man. It was always interesting to Darc to see a person’s response to stimuli.
Unfortunate that it so rarely made any logical sense to him.