by Hopkin, Ben
Confused, Mala asked, “What problem is that?”
“You know,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The whole bullying thing. There was a group of kids who were making Talia’s life miserable.”
“Oh?” Mala responded, the light dawning on her.
“You didn’t know about it? Talia didn’t even want to go to school, it was so bad. But she said Janey helped her.” She bent down and spoke to Janey. “You are such a good friend to my daughter. We’d love to have you over to our house any time.”
After giving Janey’s arm a rub and nodding to Mala, the woman got up and took her daughter out. A silence fell over the room as the door shut behind her.
Mala allowed the lack of sound to extend beyond the point that it was comfortable. It was important to make sure that the impact of what had just happened was indelibly imprinted on every mind here.
“This doesn’t change anything, Mrs. Charan,” Templeton finally spoke out into the pregnant pause.
“On the contrary,” challenged Mrs. Kingston. “I think it changes everything.” She knelt down next to Janey. “Have you been protecting your friends?”
Janey nodded her head, the smile never having left her face. She moved in closer to Mala’s leg. It didn’t seem like she was doing it to seek protection, but rather to include Mala in the moment.
“That brand of vigilante justice is not—” Templeton began, directing his comment to the principal.
“I think you need to be quiet right now,” Killarney responded, cutting him off. “The concerns you brought to my attention have all been resolved in my mind.”
“But… the crime scenes. And the classroom…”
“Mr. Templeton,” the principal said, holding up his hand. “Mrs. Kingston and I are the ones who should’ve known there were bullies operating here in our school. We didn’t, but she did.”
“But—”
“And she managed to figure out how to deal with it all on her own. As for the other stuff you brought to my attention, I only care for the wellbeing of my students. She seems just fine to me.” He bent down to address Janey. “But from here on out, young lady, you come to us with your problems, okay?”
Janey seemed to ponder that for a moment, then nodded her head. To Mala’s eye, it seemed to be a reluctant acceptance, at best.
The social worker had gone through several shades of color, none of which seemed all that healthy. Now he had clamped his mouth shut and was tapping the floor furiously with one foot.
“Mr. Templeton,” Mala addressed him. “My little girl is alive and flourishing because I was willing to go with her to places that seemed extreme. The choice is between catatonia and some small level of exposure. I hope you can see which is preferable.”
She turned to leave, but then thought better of it.
“Oh, and one more thing?” she said, looking at both the principal and Templeton. “It’s Dr. Charan.”
* * *
“Okay,” Trey said, mulling the problem over once more in his mind. “So, whether or not Speer is dirty… and he is,” he clarified, before Darc could get any other ideas. “He wouldn’t have a reason to scuttle the Waterfront Project.”
Darc sat mutely in the passenger seat of Trey’s Land Rover. That was always fun. They were on their way to talk to the Satanist Edward Hoffman again. Now that it was clear that his motive was much more direct than they had thought, he’d once more shot to the top of the suspect list.
Parking was always a problem this close to the waterfront. So the project thing might be totally corrupt, but Trey was definitely on board with the idea of reconstruction. This whole area could use a facelift.
You know, if it wasn’t all done through strong-arming and blackmail and murder. Which is exactly what it was looking like at this point.
Finally Trey was able to find a spot, right in between a huge Ford F-250 and some kind of an SUV. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to make it in. Getting out of the vehicle was a bit of a problem, but by the time Trey had managed to force his way out, Darc was already moving off down the pier. How the hell did he do that?
So, once more Trey was playing catch up, both figuratively and literally. He jogged up to his partner, who was already in front of the door of Edward’s shop.
It was locked up.
They were there within the hours of operation listed, but for some reason the proprietor had decided to leave his shop. A note was posted up beside the door, saying that the shop would open back up later that evening, but it gave no explanation as to why he was gone. A busy time, a day before Halloween, and an avowed Satanist leaves his curio store without anyone to man it?
That just didn’t compute.
Darc seemed to be thinking the same thing. He was doing that brooding thing he always did when he was surprised by something. There was no way of knowing how long he was going to stay in that state, either.
So Trey sat back, ready to wait it out.
He glanced around the pier, looking for something to eat. Not because he was all that hungry, but just because it was a habit of his to always know where he could get his next meal. And considering the fact that Darc was vegetating over there, it might get to the point that Trey needed to grab a bite.
There was the usual carnival-type fare, which always sounded good. One place had something they called a donut burger, which sounded just sick enough to be interesting. Maybe if they slapped some bacon on it?
Trey was seconds away from going to get one, hungry or not, when his phone rang. It was Mala.
“Just wanted you to know that the whole thing with Janey’s school… and I think even our social worker… is taken care of,” she said.
“Great! I’ll tell Darc,” Trey answered. “Well, once he gets out of his fugue state, that is.”
“Why do you think I called you this time?” she chuckled. “Last time I called him, I said Freemason and that was the end of the conversation.”
“That was where he got that link? How did you figure it out?”
“Well, there was Cody, of course, but then my social worker is also—”
“Wait a minute,” Trey interrupted. “Your social worker is a Freemason?”
“Well, yeah—”
“Gotta go,” Trey said, hanging up the phone. Mala would forgive him for this one. It might be nothing, but the fact that there was another connection with the Freemasons seemed like more than a coincidence.
Darc turned as he seemed to hear Trey move up behind him. He was no longer in that trance of his, but it didn’t seem like whatever he had discovered while in it was all that helpful.
“Darc, there’s something you need to know about,” Trey blurted. “Mala’s social worker… you know, the one that’s been all up in her grill? He’s a Mason.”
There wasn’t even a second’s pause. Darc was off and running toward the Land Rover. As much as Trey didn’t love following along behind his partner, this was more like it. Darc running meant that he had figured something out.
And some serious ass kicking was usually about to follow.
* * *
No amount of preparation could ever completely foresee every detail in a plan this large. The Intermediary knew this, and yet decided to go over it one more time.
This was the moment that would determine the future of Seattle for the next one hundred years. Bring the heroes of the city together. Give them a common cause, and then sit back and watch as they reshaped the world in their image.
Looking in the mirror, the Intermediary thought once more how unexpected it was that this vessel, the one reflected back in reverse on the glassy surface, would be the one to effect this change. It mattered nothing that no one would ever know of the Intermediary’s involvement. In fact, it was better this way.
Pride was a mirage, leading one to the place where water was promised, but leaving one stranded in the parched desert. There had been times when that path had tempted the Intermediary with its siren song. Times when it had seemed t
hat no one else could ever be entrusted with a responsibility this large.
The idea for this had come, strangely enough, from watching a terrorist attack in the West Bank. There had been an explosion, and people had come to help the victims. Then another bomb had detonated, killing the helpers.
It was not an uncommon tactic. The Intermediary had seen it before.
But for whatever reason, in this moment it had clicked. The plan had been laid out, almost in its entirety, in that very instant.
Create a trap. But not one to punish or kill those who came forward. One to identify them.
Put the city together in one place, create a crisis, and then watch the results. Gather the saviors together. Create a utopia from the ashes of the burning dross.
It was so simple, it was stunning that it had never been attempted before.
The loss of life would be regrettable, but it was a necessary sacrifice the city was making in order to forge ahead into its glorious future. The fact that the sacrifice was not a willing one did not lessen its nobility.
Seattle was a base metal, filled with impurities. The only way to purge it of its flaws was to send it through the refiner’s fire. A cleansing heat to wipe away the stains of decades of deterioration.
It was time.
The players were all in place. The outcomes were determined.
Even the antagonists of the melodrama that was being staged would be an integral part of the storyline. When pride was taken off the table, even those who opposed the plan could become a part of it.
The Intermediary put the final touches on the apparel that would be worn this evening. The preparations were coming to a close.
The new Seattle awaited.
CHAPTER 23
Darc observed the layering of the glowing pathways in his mind as they were superimposed over the physical landscape around them. Cars grew in the windshield as Trey sped up behind them, looking for a pathway through the late afternoon traffic. His partner swore, swerving from lane to lane, fighting for speedier passage.
They had stopped by the judges’ office to grab the warrant. It allowed them to search Carson Speer’s home, his place of work, his computer, his emails, his phone records. It was comprehensive.
Darc saw the lines come together. The thread connecting the CSI intern, the Mayor’s assistant and the APA now opened up to include Mala’s social worker.
The conflict between Mala and Richard Templeton was information that Darc was aware of in a peripheral fashion. This was where the interaction of the strands of logic became so vital. What seemed of little importance became crucial in the blink of an eye.
The fact that the man was also a Freemason was not information that he had possessed. And it had made all the difference.
Mala’s involvement in this case had been kept to a minimum, and as a consequence, so had Janey. It was more and more clear to Darc that Janey had insights into this killer than Darc lacked.
There was the physical evidence that Darc could sort through with no difficulty. There was the social context that Trey provided… what he would call street smarts. There was the psychological perspective that Mala brought to understanding the interpersonal motivations of individuals and the tracking of their shifting allegiances within their social spheres.
And then there was Janey. Somehow, she was able to follow the inner emotional workings of the individuals she came into contact with, even if that contact was secondary. The information she had gleaned from the Mayor’s office was a prime example. By merely being exposed to the results of the killer’s mind at work, Janey had been able to predict his movements.
The killer must know that.
And now, because of the interference from the social worker, who was also a Freemason, the case was suffering. There was a causal link here.
The obvious choice would have been for them to go question the worker. But there were two reasons for not doing so. First, the threads seemed to indicate that the involvement there was minimal, perhaps even unconscious, on the part of Richard Templeton.
The other reason was more complicated, and rooted in that gray emotional landscape that Janey seemed to navigate so well. Darc didn’t want Mala to suffer the negative consequences if Darc were mistaken. In talking to her worker, Mala would be exposed in a way that could threaten her relationship with Janey.
That was unacceptable. It was also something that would not have entered into Darc’s assessments several months ago.
So now they were on their way to speak once more with Carson Speer. The APA, as a Master Mason, would have access to additional information about the brotherhood.
Trey was on the phone, calling ahead to the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, and the call did not seem to be going well. He had been placed on hold multiple times, and each time the expression on his face seemed to become more and more hardened. What that indicated was lost on Darc.
He needed Janey.
“What do you mean he’s not in?” Trey yelled into the phone. “We were there like ten minutes ago. Is he taking a late lunch or something?”
The response, although more than likely inaudible to anyone else, was clear to Darc’s perceptions, even over the noise of the Land Rover's engine. “He left right after you and your partner. Said he had to take a personal day.”
“He went home?”
“I think so,” came the muffled response.
“I’ll need that address,” Trey urged.
When the requested information came over the line, Trey swore once more. He hung up the phone and looked into each one of the mirrors, checking his blind spot as well. Taking a deep breath, he slammed on the brakes and pulled hard on the wheel, spinning them around one hundred and eighty degrees. They were now headed in the opposite direction.
Darc stared at his partner and Trey caught his look. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve been practicing.”
Within minutes, they had arrived at the APA’s apartment. It was a high-rise building, one that housed many businessmen who were in town for an extended period of time, but not permanently. It may have been that Carson Speer was staying here as an interim measure, while he found something more long-term.
Or it could be that he was not planning on staying here in Seattle.
That strand of data merged with the others, filling in another gap in the tapestry of information. One more piece of the puzzle, leading to a more complete vision of the scenario they faced.
Carson Speer had been here long enough to find permanent housing. He had not.
Was it possible that he just had not had the time? Yes. However, with the other information at hand, that seemed a less likely explanation.
They took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, where the APA’s apartment was located. They moved in on the number they’d been given, ready with the warrant in hand. But as they neared the door to his place, it was clear that it was ajar.
“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Trey muttered as they stood directly outside the entryway.
Darc felt the lines shift with that addition. He knew what they would find inside before Trey opened the door.
The reality was equal to the internal expectation, but the visceral nature of the crime was always more graphic.
Carson Speer was spread out, naked on the floor of his studio apartment. He was encircled by a hastily drawn pentagram, the symbol painted in the victim’s blood.
“Aw, shit,” Trey swore, as he moved into the apartment. Darc was on the point of holding him back, as there could have been traps laid for them. But on closer examination, everything about this scene had been hastily done.
The pentagram was closer to what had been depicted in the Mayor’s office than what they had found at any of the other sites. It was roughly drawn and not quite proportionate. There were no symbols or messages around the edges of the circle. Very little other than the actual circle and star to link it to the other crimes.
Glittering lines coursed through Darc’s mind
. There was another problem here. The scene at the Mayor’s office had been unexpected, but the location had not been. While not quite as precise as the other crime scenes in terms of the proportions of the pentagram map of Seattle, it had been extremely close. Close enough that no one but Darc would probably notice.
But Carson Speer’s office was in the King County Courthouse, more than a block away from City Hall. This location was not on the map.
This could have been an impromptu killing, necessitated by Darc and Trey’s questioning of the APA earlier. But if that were true, why did it so closely resemble the scene at the Mayor’s office in City Hall?
Speer’s throat had been cut, but there appeared to be none of the other elements that had been a part of every other scene to date, other than the last one. The only body so far to escape the Masonic ritualistic mutilations had been the Mayor, who had been found before his death.
“Okay,” Trey said, looking down at the corpse. “This really pisses me off.”
That was confusing to Darc. “You are angered by his death?”
“Yeah. Well, no. Yeah. I mean, I knew there was something off about the guy, but…” his voice trailed off.
“His death seems to indicate that he was a part of the fraud.”
“Right,” Trey sighed. “I get that. It’s just… I thought he was the guy, you know? The killer.”
“Statistically it would have been improbable—”
“Screw statistics, Darc,” Trey moaned. “Everything in me was screaming that the guy was guilty.”
Then Darc saw it. Whether it was a residual effect of Janey’s drawing and the help she had given them or not, Darc could see Trey’s emotional pain. He understood, for a brief moment, the pain of feeling constantly less than another person.
No logic ruled here. It made no difference that Trey could do things that Darc could not even attempt. Trey felt less.
And Darc found that in understanding that pain, he wanted to help it go away.
“Your instincts were correct,” Darc reiterated. “Speer was guilty. And you understood that before I did.”