“Going somewhere, Mrs. Harrington?” The woman gave a small shriek of surprise as Harry Treville emerged from the shadows.
“L-Lieutenant, you scared me! What are you doing here this late at night?” After that one slip, her composure was immediately back in place.
A smirk crossed the icy features. “You’re still determined to prove I killed my husband, aren’t you? I would think that the last embarrassment you had would have cured you of that fantasy. I’m taking a trip to relax and get away from these past weeks of horror since Horace’s death.”
The dieseled Latino detective ran a hand lightly across the hood of the XJ sedan. His dark eyes bored into hers as the diamond studs in his ears caught the light of a streetlamp and twinkled balefully in the darkness.
The initial investigation had uncovered an airtight alibi, but Harry knew that Gwendolyn Harrington had been responsible for her wealthy husband’s death. Despite dead-ends and obstacles, the darkly-handsome homicide lieutenant was determined to bring the black widow down.“I had an epiphany, Mrs. Harrington… Can you believe that? It happened when I was upgrading my Galaxy smartphone – or was trying to... I just switched from an iPhone 4…” He continued to stroll around the car – slowly – as Gwendolyn eyed him with disdain. “I couldn’t get it to work. No matter what. Finally, my buddy gave me his iPhone 6. 'I’ll do yours and you’ll do mine.’ He said."
He smiled as he saw a look of surprise, then fear flit across the perfect features. “You didn’t kill your husband, Gwen… and Mary Lasker didn’t kill hers either. You killed Jerry Lasker and Mary killed Horace.”
“That’s… that’s absu-“
“Mary confessed. It was only a matter of time before the fact that that particular mix of diesel particulate and pollen that was on both victims was identified. It was a masterfully executed plan, I must say. You did have me confused for a while. But not any more.”
In the blink of an eye, a blued-steel pistol was in Gwendoyn’s manicured hand. Her eyes took on a unwavering determination as she pointed it directly at his chest. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. A grim smile twisted her perfect features.
“Well, my congratulations... I’m so glad you finally figured it out. Both of our husbands were goddamned sonsofbitches that were cheating on us and they got just what they deserved. And no one – particularly some wetback policeman – is going to stop ME from enjoying the fruits of my labors. I’ve killed once, and leaving another body in my wake is going to be a piece of cake.” Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Say your prayers, Lieutenan-“
Suddenly, her back bowed as if some invisible force had come up behind her and held her immobile; her arm jerked to the side so the gun was facing away from Harry. And just as suddenly, her head separated from her body and the determined young detective was caught in the spray of blood as the corpse collapsed onto the ground.
* * *
“Dempsey.”
The dispatcher on the other side spoke quickly. “Captain, we’ve had a report of an officer down. Location is 1222 Flower Street in Manhasset. It’s… it’s Harry Treville, sir.”
Dempsey’s heart climbed into his throat. Dear Lord, not again. “I’ll be right there.”
“Marty… what’s wrong?” Hannah was wide awake now.
“Ten-Zero-Zero. It’s Harry….” He quickly got out of bed and hurried to dress.
* * *
The captain drove like a madman and reached his destination to encounter the flashing lights of multiple emergency vehicles. He jumped out of the car and grabbed the nearest officer he could find, flashing his badge. “Dempsey. NYPD. The officer down call. What happened? Where is he?”
“Harry!!! You’re alive!” That shook the young Latino out of the daze he had been in.
“Sir! What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from dispatch about an officer down – you – and I rushed over here. I thought… I thought…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Treville climbed down from the cab of the ambulance and embraced his CO. Dempsey could feel the young man trembling in his arms.
“ – When she lost her head.” Another plainsclothesman joined the two. He was an older, heavyset man with dark stubble and a receding hairline; there was a haunted look in his eyes that took Dempsey completely off guard. “Faisano. Nassau PD. Homicide. Something… is keeping an eye out for this guy of yours. According to Treville, here, Harrington had him in her crosshairs and was about to blow him away when she was decapitated. We can’t find any evidence that there was anyone else around; no weapon, either. Except hers. Lucky for us we had a patrol car around the corner when the emergency call came in.”
After the initial shock had worn off, Dempsey mind spun with the tale unfolding before him. “Harry’s not a suspect is he?” A shiver crawled down his spine. What does he mean by ’something’?
“You’re coming home with me, Harry… is that okay with you, Lieutenant?”
The Nassau detective nodded. “Yeah. Treville gave us a statement already. I don’t think we’ll need any more from him. At least not for now.”
With his arm around his lieutenant’s shoulder, Dempsey guided him through the police cordons and into his car. The red Monte Carlo pulled out and drove away from the scene of the killing.
* * *
Dempsey and Treville arrived home to find lights on in the kitchen and Hannah sitting at the table.
“Marty, what happened? Harry, are you all right? You’re as pale as a ghost!”
Treville looked sick. “Sorry Sir, it won’t happen again. I... I didn't think I needed it...”
“You’re damned right it won’t…”
“Martin Dempsey – that’s enough! Harry’s been through a shock tonight. I think he’d be better off with a hot shower and a warm bed than you chewing him out right now.” She rose and grasped the young detective’s hand. “Pay him no mind, Harry. I set up the extra bedroom for you…”
Harry did indeed feel better after the hot water had relaxed his tense muscles and had climbed gratefully onto the soft mattress and between the crisp sheets. The adrenaline rush gone; he fell asleep a few moments after his head hit the pillow.
* * *
The Latino detective sat bolt upright in bed. After a deep sleep, the events of the evening had replayed themselves in his mind and his dreams had taken a distinctly darker turn. During a particularly vivid nightmare he had been staring down the muzzle of Harrington’s gun when the hammer clicked and he woke soaking wet in his borrowed pajamas. His sixth sense was screeching like a banshee; then he realized he wasn’t alone in the room.
His blood ran cold as a shadow moved across the lighter black rectangle of the bedroom window. He reached for his gun, and only to realize that he had left it across the room on the dresser.
The muscular detective flicked on the bedside lamp and received the second shock of the night. Looking out the window was a powerfully-built young man in military fatigues, vest and belt loaded with ammo, grenades and a large knife. A drop-leg holster also contained a gleaming Sig-Sauer handgun. He had unnaturally bright golden-brown eyes and a small grin quirked lips surrounded by a dark ginger stubble. The soldier had a short military buzzcut as well. A pair of dark sunglasses were flipped over the top of his head. He was also almost, but not quite solid - Harry could see parts of the wall through him.
“W-who are you?”
“Let’s just say that your guardian angel was found wanting and the Powers That Be decided that you should get upgraded to a more capable model. ME. I’m not an angel, myself – I died in Afghanistan and I had the choice of spending the next two hundred years in Purgatory, or taking over the job of protecting you. Like I did tonight.”
“You killed Gwendolyn Harrington?”
The other young man nodded. “That’s an affirmative. My job is keeping you safe. Besides, she deserved it.”
A hand reached out to Treville’s head and he shrunk back in fear. A cool, feather-light touch stroked his forehead and he immediately felt his eyelids growing heavy.
“Go back to sleep, bud – sweet dreams. You’re safe…” Harry fought the drowsiness overtaking him, but in a few moments, he was once again deeply asleep and breathing quietly.
The soldier straightened up and smiled at his new charge. The smile took on a sad tinge as he looked around the familiar bedroom. Then he faded from sight.
* * *
The next morning – showered and shaved, Treville pulled on the underwear laid out for him and shrugged into the soft blue pullover that Hannah had left on the dresser. Following the scent of fresh coffee, the young detective walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dempsey’s wife gave him a bright smile as he sat down and proceeded to kiss the top of his head.
“Feeling better, Harry?”
“Much. Thanks, Mrs. Dempsey…”
“Oh, stop it… it’s ‘Hannah’ … how do you want your eggs?”
“Scrambled, please….” Dempsey was sitting across the table and gave his protégé a serious, but thoughtful look.
Breakfast was a fairly quiet affair as the events of the previous night overshadowed the three present. As the plates were removed, Dempsey stood up. “I’ll drive you into work today, Harry – and I’ll arrange for your car to get picked up and delivered to the precinct.” He kissed his wife as the two policemen left the house.
Harry began to protest. “But, Cap…” Dempsey gave him a look that made any objection die in his throat.
“First of all, those two have gotten lazy. You’re being taken advantage of. ‘Give that to Treville – he’ll clear that up in no time...' You’re so damn capable that no one feels they have to pull their weight – and you never gripe about anything…”
The captain continued. “…and I’ve got to get you a partner as well. You came into the NYPD when we had major budget cuts and you had to pull more than your own weight. Again, being the Boy Scout that you are, no complaints. But that was unfair. It’s also made you far too independent – you’re not aware of the risks you’re taking because no one is calling you out about them…”
“But, Sir….”
Dempsey slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to hear any excuses, Harry! It’s completely unprofessional, but don’t you understand how I feel about you? You’re like a son to me!” The captain’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what I felt when I got that ten-zero-zero last night? Hannah feels the same way! Do you think she deserves to be attending another ‘hero’s funeral’?? There are still times something reminds us of Gareth and both of us fall to pieces! God-dammit Harry! How could you do that to her?” He angrily rubbed the moisture away from his eyes.
Harry was at a loss for words. “I’m sorry Sir. I really am. You and Mrs. Dempsey mean the world to me as well.” The Latino sniffled back some tears as well.
His CO looked askance at him and a small grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. “We’d better stop someplace and wash up before we head into the precinct. It’s not going to look right with the two of us all red-eyed…. And no hangover...”
* * *
Harry dropped the load of case files onto Herman Colson’s desk. “That’s the last of them.”
The other detective gave him a sour look. “Thanks a lot, Harry… what the fuck did you do to get Dempsey so pissed at you?”
“Taking too many risks. At least he didn’t put me on traffic patrol…” Treville gave him a sad smile. “I deserved it.”
* * *
The seven men sat around the conference room table and the atmosphere was grim.“You’re sure about this, George?” Nick Mitchell spoke up. The Chief of Staff looked angry and worried at the same time. “Why hasn’t this shown up before?”
“Because we've never looked at the information this way before, ass-clown!” George O’Neill, the Chief of the Intelligence Bureau glared at him. O’Neill had been quietly introducing a number of heuristic supervisor programs into the NYPD databases and this had been the first fruit of his labors.
“I don’t see how we could have missed another Son of Sam…” Ira Barron – The Chief of Operations made a rude noise. “With something this big, it would have come to my…”
“Ira, no one is putting any blame on anyone here. The fact of the matter is that we have a serial killer on the loose and we need to catch him.” Amos Northrup, the acting Police Commissioner cut him off.
“You know, Morgan – no one really gives a flying fuck what you think!” Barron erupted. “I don’t even know why you and Dempsey are at this meeting! I’ve been on the job for thirty-two years now and I know how to handle a fucking investigation like this!”
Morgan arched a dark eyebrow and paused. “By all means, Ira – please share your pearls of wisdom with all of us present…” There was a deceptive casualness to his tone that made hackles rise around the room. Tanner Morgan’s nickname of “The Dark Lord” was well-known by all present – except, apparently the COO.
“The first thing we need to do is…. CHOO!” The COO sneezed.
“Bless you.” Someone offered.
“Thanks. Establish a … CHOO!”
Barron sneezed again. And again. And again. The Chief of Ops was struck with a sneezing fit that had him doubled over the table. This proceeded for a full five minutes before Martin Dempsey placed a hand on Morgan’s arm. A look passed between the two captains and after an imperceptible nod from the Four-One’s commander, the sneezing stopped. Ira looked ready to faint as he labored to breathe normally again and looked at Morgan with a newfound fear in his eyes.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted…” Morgan continued as if nothing had happened. “The killer is quite accomplished and careful in the timings of the murders to have it go unnoticed for this long. In order to catch someone like this, we have to surpass that brilliance with the best minds we have for this operation. And the most brilliant detective I know of is Lieutenant Harry Treville. Marty – can you free him up to run a task force? I think we need to try to take care of this ourselves before we call in the Feds.” He turned to the acting PC. “There’s enough dirty laundry we have right now that we don’t need the FBI or Justice rooting about and finding any more.”
“I… sure. No problem…” Dempsey was at a loss for words at the unexpected turn of events.
“I’ll second two of my patrolmen. Hawke speaks six languages I know of and McLaren is an amazing puzzle-solver. I’m sure we’ll have some re-interviewing and canvassing, and citizens find it very easy to talk to those two…” He turned to the COO. “I expect that we won’t have any issues operationally?”
Barron paused and as Morgan arched a dark eyebrow, he sneezed again. He shook his head. “Just let me know what you need, and you’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Ira.”
The PC turned to Dempsey. “You’ll fill Harry in on the major points here, Marty? Meanwhile, I’ll make sure we get the files for all the murders over to the Five-Two for him to dig into.” He turned to the other men present. “Like Ira said, anything Treville and his people need, they get. No questions asked. Is that understood?” With nods around the table, the PC got up. “Good. Thank you for your cooperation and attendance.”
The upper-echelon officers left the room, leaving the two captains by themselves. Marty turned to Tanner. “That was quite impressive. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
Tanner gave him an unforced grin, which completely transformed his normally grim visage. “Barron is a prick. He needed to be brought down a few notches. How’s Harry doing after last night?”
After the Uresti affair and its continuing aftermath, Dempsey had grown accustomed at the uncanny paranormal abilities that the other captain possessed, but was sometimes still surprised at the exercise of their use. Treville’s commanding officer had grown to know, respect … and genuinely like the other man as well.
“He’s okay, but still a bit shaky. Harry’s been taking too many chances. I put him on desk duty this morning and told him to distribute his caseload to two other detectives…” He sighed. “I can’t even discipline him properly, can I? Not with this…” He ran a hand through his silvered hair.
Morgan chuckled. “Harry is destined for great things, Marty. Wait and see. When he solves this case, it’ll bring a lot of benefits to the NYPD. And to you and me both.”
* * *
The two men – spectral soldier and detective – walked down the corridor; Harry noticed as they passed a large window that his companion did not cast a shadow. Well, that makes him either a vampire or a ghost and since vampires can’t come out during the day and generally are solid…
A patrolmen was walking along the opposite side of the hallway and walked through Treville’s companion. The soldier winced.
“You okay?”
The ghost gave Treville a wry smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just feels weird when that happens…” Harry stopped at a door at the end of the corridor and swiped his passkey in the lock. The light blinked green and the two men found themselves in an unused classroom.
“I’m coming around to believe what you said last night. You ARE a ghost, right? And you’re my new guardian angel?”
“Hell?”
“Well, Purgatory. Hell and Purgatory are the same place. But if you’re not destined for the tortures of the damned for all eternity, you get an exit visa burned into your chest…” He unbuttoned his shirt and lifted the compression tee to show a series of sigils branded across his defined pecs. “Dante really nailed the geography of The Inferno… anyways, there I was sentenced and about to be put into the River of Blood for 200 years when this other guy steps up and asks Minos if he could co-opt me instead.”
The story was growing more and more fantastic, but Harry had already seen enough unexplainable things over the past twenty-four hours to let it play out.
“Who was this other guy? A demon?”
Harvey shook his head. “I saw some of them, and they are scary as fuck… nope, he had the rusty skin and the horns, but he definitely wasn’t one of them. He explained that he’s a certain type of fallen angel – but he and guys work as independent operators. Since they don't exactly go by the book, they get the horns...” The ghost smiled. “One of his assigned areas is providing military-grade guardian spirits to high-risk mortals – like you.”
“He wanted to be sure that I could handle the job.” The ghost grew sober. “I was forced to see the shadows of your death, Harry. Multiple times. In an infinite number of possibilities. Over and over and over again. I saw your body in that driveway. I saw how your loss affected my… Captain Dempsey and his wife. How things changed for the worse without you alive. I saw your boyfriend at your funeral… I saw him weeping on your grave and dying of an overdose to be with you… it was like a demonic version of “It’s A Wonderful Life” – I was ready to do anything to keep you safe with no hesitation on my part – and that was what he needed to know.”
Harvey hopped off the desk and approached Treville; he grasped Harry tightly by the arms - at this point, the young Latino was no longer was fearful of the specter – the ghostly soldier pulled him close and held him tight. “I’ll always have your six, Harry… and if you call me, I’ll be at your side in a heartbeat…” the Latino breathed deeply and his fingers felt the strong body beneath them; The lieutenant marveled at the solidity of his new companion.
“… though that’s not to say I won’t let your pants get pulled down from time to time… and I don’t mean by EJ…”
The dieseled Latino held the ghost at arms length and gave him a surprised look. “You know about EJ?”
With that, Treville left the classroom and headed downstairs to find Captain Martin Dempsey.
* * *
He pitched his voice low. “You know what this is about, Rafe?”
The other officer shook his head. “Only that it’s something big…”
Dempsey finished the call. “What I’m about to tell the both of you must be kept on a need-to-know basis. At this point, the only other people that are aware of what I am about to tell you are the acting PC, his immediate staff and Captain Tanner Morgan.”
He took a deep breath. “We have a serial killer on our hands. The last victim was Donna Cartier – Rafael’s case.”
Spicer turned pale. “Oh, shit…”
“Given the state of the Department at the moment, it was decided that we should set up a very small, very quiet task force to try and find the murderer before we have to go public and get the Feds involved. The killer has been doing this for six years now; we’re dealing with someone who’s careful, methodical, and extremely intelligent … and probably batshit-crazy as well. It was the unanimous decision that our only hope of catching this sonofabitch is to put someone even more brilliant on his tail… and that someone is YOU, Harry. You’re in charge of finding this monster.”
“Sir, I…”
“You’re also getting two patrolmen from the Four-One to help you out with anything you need – two of Tanner’s best. As of one hour ago, all division heads and every precinct in the city has been alerted by the PC to render any and all assistance, information and resources you require, but the reason was left unspecified, and no questions to be asked.”
Harvey suddenly materialized behind Dempsey’s desk. “Ask him for a separate room or something for the investigation. That’ll give us a chance to talk.” His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Wouldn’t be good for you to be seen talking to empty air in public...you know…” He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
“Cap, I wouldn’t want to affect the regular department operations here – could we use the big classroom upstairs as a situation room? That would keep our investigations quiet and apart – and we can recode the passkeys to only allow certain people access.”
Dempsey nodded. “Good idea – I’ll take care of that right away. We’ll move out some of the tables and add some phones and computers. The room is wired up already.”
Harvey stroked his chin. “Harry, get the information about the latest victim for me… where she lived, if she’s still at the morgue, whatever. I may be able to get some information from her, if she’s still earthbound. Murder victims usually stay around longer than folks that pass from a natural death.”
“Any questions?”
Treville turned to the other detective. “Rafe, let me look over your case file and see if anything starts jumping out at me?” The bronze-haired detective nodded.
“I’ll let you two go then. Godspeed on finding the killer.”
* * *
The Latino looked at the crime scene photographs. “This was how they found her?”
“Yeah. With makeup, hair all done up and posed. Just like a boudoir photo.”
“No evidence of forced entry?”
Spicer shook his head. “Tox screen came back normal with some very slight traces of some unknown material. We sent it to the CDC lab for further testing.”
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck….”
At that moment, a patrolman approached the two and cleared his throat. “ ‘cuse me, Sirs, but there are two uniforms downstairs asking for you…” He paused and gave the two detectives a stunned look. “They’re from the Four-One.” There was a tone of awe in his voice.
“Send them up.”
“Y’know Harry, this has got to be pretty bad to have two Jedi from the Dark Lord on the case…”
Treville gave Spicer a wry grin. “Well, given Captain Morgan’s reputation, I’m glad to see the guys around here don’t think of them as ‘Stormtroopers’.”
“Some do. I did some work with Danny Kaminski when I was a rookie and they are… Mother of God...”
Spicer’s mouth had dropped open in shock and Harry followed his eyes to the two cops standing in the entrance to the squad room. At that moment, the sun had broken out behind the intermittent clouds and bathed the patrolmen in a bright golden nimbus.
It was as if life had been breathed into a pair of heroic Greek bronzes. They were BIG – their dieseled frames were sheathed in short-sleeves and breeches that clung to every well-defined muscle in their bodies; their duty belts rode low over trim hips. Powerful legs were enclosed in knee-high black leather boots that gleamed in the afternoon sun. The patrolman in the lead saw Harry and the two began walking towards him. Apart from the slightest jingle of their equipment, both men moved almost silently with a lithe and formidable grace. With a start, Treville recognized Charlie Hawke; he had grown in height and in muscularity since they had met a few years ago. He stood up to greet him.
The patrolman shook the lieutenant’s hand warmly. His bright smile traveled all the way to his gold-flecked blue eyes. “Captain Morgan called us in and told us to get down to you ASAP. This is my partner, Tony McLaren... and yeah, a little TOO big... just doing cardio now to trim back down - if you think this is big, you should have seen me four months ago!"
“It’s great to meet you, Sir, your reputation precedes you!” Charlie’s partner had about ten to fifteen pounds of additional muscle tacked onto his Promethean frame than his companion. His uniform sleeves were turned up and barely contained the powerful guns of his biceps and triceps. Portions of intricate tattoos peeked out beneath the material and moved like sharks cruising underwater on his smooth, tanned skin.Harry turned to the other detective. “And this is Rafe Spicer, he’ll we working with us. He’s been investigating the last victim.”
The men shook hands. “We should probably talk somewhere quiet. Hopefully, our situation room is all set up by now.”
The four men proceeded out of the squad room, with Treville in the lead speaking quietly with Hawke. Tony laid a friendly hand on the other detective’s shoulder. “By the way, Sir… Cap doesn’t let us wear our lightsabers on duty…” He gave the other man a wink as he followed his partner while Spicer’s jaw dropped open in shock. "I'm an excellent lip-reader, too..."
* * *
The four men arrived at the converted classroom and Harry ushered them in. The two uniforms looked about in satisfaction. McLaren spoke up.
“Sir, did you get the files on the rest of the victims yet?”
Treville shook his head. “I only found out about the cases and the task force a few hours ago. They should be here this afternoon or tomorrow morning.”
“I guess you didn’t request Metrocard maps yet, right?”
The homicide detective gave him a puzzled look. “What are those?”
Hawke spoke up. “You can order up a citywide map of where a Metrocard was swiped. Using some algorithms Tony sussed out, we can gauge the entry and exit points of where the card was used. They’re not generally known outside of the FBI and DIA.” The homicide detective’s eyebrows crawled upwards in shock.
McLaren pulled out his cellphone. “Cap? It’s McLaren. We’re with Lieutenant Treville right now, but he hasn’t gotten the files on the other five victims yet. Can you please find out who the others were and get the Metrocard map requests in?” The brown-haired patrolman nodded. “Great! Thank you, Sir.”
He put the phone away. “Captain Morgan will get the vics’ information and start the ball rolling.”
"You can call your CO like that?" Rafe was amazed.
McLaren was nonplussed. "Sure. We can call Cap any time. He's always there for us."
Charlie turned to the other detective. “Sir, could we start looking at the information you have already? The sooner we all review the stuff, the faster we’ll start making connections.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll be right back.” Spicer jogged out of the room.
His partner cleared his throat and wagged a finger at him. “I don’t think Mattie would like those thoughts running through your head, buddy…” He was grinning from ear to ear.
Treville whistled. “Wow, he is gorgeous… anyway, I think Rafe is straight…”
Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure he is. So is spaghetti until you heat it up…”
* * *
Another Monday. Treville and McLaren were deep in conversation peering intently at a computer screen when Hawke and Spicer entered the room. Charlie was in what he had termed “casual tac” today – snug deep blue-black fatigue pants clung to every curve of his powerful lower body that were bloused expertly into tactical boots; a black UnderArmour compression tee with a small gray “41 Pct” logo over his heart wrapped itself around his muscular torso and arms; his shield was clipped off-center onto a military web belt and was accompanied by his sidearm in a drop-leg holster on his hip. He wore an oversized watch embedded in a leather gauntlet on his left wrist; the right was covered in a similar piece of leather. Spicer was in a short-sleeved dress shirt and snug grey slacks. McLaren was in a short-sleeved navy uniform that had been well-tailored to show off his powerful physique.
Charlie held up a large box of McLaren Scottish Shortbread cookies and grinned. “Captain Dempsey’s assistant gave me these on the way in … she said she knows we’ve been working hard… but I think what she really wants to see is Tony in a kilt and blue war paint…hint, hint, hint…”
Treville chuckled at the remark. “Well, it doesn’t help matters that in or out of uniform you two look and move like professional male strippers, you know… plus the pair of you are so different than the rest of cops here. You’re not only not cocky or arrogant, but there’s this incredible air of utter competence and calm around you two. Plus the fact you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ has every woman here drooling in your wake." Harry smiled. “Present company excluded, Rafe…”Charlie laughed. “That’s sprezzatura - The art of doing everything gracefully and well, without the appearance of effort – Cap demands that of all his men and Sarge drums it into us. If he wants us to learn something, we do it, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time. Like blade fighting – Cap told Tony and me we had to learn how to fight with sabers and broadswords. We’re at the top of the national Circle of Steel ladder now. But you should come in wearing your tartan, Tony – I’m sure the ladies here would love it… they could finally find out what’s worn underneath it…”
“I’m sure everything is in perfect working order, Officer McLaren…”
McLaren looked up and joined the banter. “Yeah, right… that’s all I need…” Charlie was next to the whiteboard covered in crime stats – the plaid of the box was being held at waist level – perpendicular to the list of the dates of the murders. Tony’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“Holy fuck – that’s it… THAT’S IT!!! There’s the periodicity of the killings!!”
* * *
Ignoring the puzzled glances of the other men, Tony leaped up and bounded over to the whiteboard. And drew an eight-pointed star next to the list of victims.
Harry let out a deep breath. “Shit… that was an amazing catch Tony… where’d you learn about that stuff?”
McLaren looked down in embarrassment. “I started reading the “Outlander” series and I sorta got caught up in it… I began to read more about Celtic and Gaelic religion and mythology as well…”
“At least that gives us some time to catch the fucker.”
“Fuckers.” McLaren and Hawke said together.
“I want to get a second opinion on that hypothesis, Harry. Along with the makeup closeups, there’s an expert I want to look at the posed crime scene postmortem photos; you up to a little field trip?"
Treville nodded as Charlie walked over and looked at the screen. “What were you two looking at?”
“We got the Metrocard maps back. We got some interesting leads from that as well.”
“All of the victims were making regular bi-weekly trips to Chinatown. Based on the algorithms I developed, we can narrow down the area to about a 10-block radius with ninety percent confidence.”
Rafe sighed. “It’s better than I thought, but that’s still a lot of ground to cover, given the density of the area.. let’s hope our luck holds…”
* * *
“Where are we going?”
“Forty-third and Seventh.” Charlie hailed a cab and the two climbed in.
* * *
The black-haired patrolman pulled out his id and showed it to the guard. The two were directed to an elevator on the far side of the lobby. Charlie pressed the button for the 48th floor.
“Who’s Mattie’s cousin?”
Charlie reddened further. “Alexander Masiokos.”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “The clothing designer?” His voice lowered. “The one with the leather collection?”
“Mattie and I do his Spring and Fall shows in Europe every year. And yeah – his ‘Prive’ leather catalog too. We're the ones in the leather or rubber hoods.”
The doors opened up to the executive offices of Vogue Magazine. A statuesque young woman met them at the receptionist’s desk.
“Chaz!” The supermodel threw her arms around Charlie and gave him a hug.
* * *
“Aww… thanks stud! What’s up? The Queen Bee said you were coming up…” She turned to Harry and arched an eyebrow. “Hi, I’m Gabrielle and you’re…?”
“This is Lieutenant Harry Treville… we’re here on official business with Anna… unofficially”
“Uh-oh… Well, c’mon – let’s not keep her waiting.”
The two followed the beautiful young model through several plushly decorated corridors. Finally, Gabrielle knocked on a large door and ushered them in. Anna Wintour looked up from her desk and gave Hawke a warm smile. She stood up and crossed over to the two policemen.
“Chaz!!!” She put up her cheek. Charlie’s blue eyes sparkled as he gave her a gentle kiss and then proceeded to take her hand and slowly spin her around, sweeping her into a low dip and then back up again.
“Lieutenant Harry Treville, ma’am… A pleasure to meet you…” Jeez, she makes Gwendolyn Harrington look like a Brownie Girl Scout.
She gestured the two policemen to sit. “How may I help you?”
Charlie spoke up. “We’re involved in a rather …sensitive… investigation and we need someone to look at some crime scene photos. Something is bothering me about them and I need an expert opinion.”
Wintour put on her glasses and snapped her fingers. “Let me see…”
Hawke took out the pictures of Donna Cartier and handed them to her. “Something seems very familiar about these, but somehow... off... and I can’t quite figure out why…”
The editrix looked at the photos and gave the young patrolman a scathing look. “It should… these are copies of this month’s feature spread. Not very well done, either. Look at the makeup on that woman – she’s so pale… and that nightgown is definitely NOT a Tahari…”
“Ms. Wintour, the woman is pale because she’s dead…”
Wintour cleared her throat. “Oh. I… I see…”
“… but you’ve confirmed one of Charlie’s suspicions. The murderer was using Vogue as a guide for laying out the victim.”
“Anna – look at the closeups of the makeup. Can you – or someone who is absolutely discreet – make a determination if a man or woman applied that makeup?”
Well-manicured nails tapped on the surface of the desk as she processed the question. “Patricio. He’s got an excellent eye. He’s on location and will be back next week.”
“Now that we’ve established the connection with the magazine, is there some way we can review past issues of Vogue for the last five years? We need to establish a chain of relativity between the photo shoots and the murders.”
“Murders? There’s been more than one?”
“Six altogether.”
She put a hand to her forehead. “Damn… of course, we have a digital archive.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Gabrielle – come in here.” In a moment, her assistant re-entered the room.
“Please bring Chaz and Lieutenant Treville to Conference Room 4 and cancel all meetings in there indefinitely. And email Patricio – tell him I need to see him as soon as he’s back.”
“Yes, Ms. Wintour. Gentlemen, follow me please?”
As they stood up, Charlie gave the editrix a soft kiss. “Thanks for your help, Anna.”
She stroked his face and smiled. “Just make sure Alex gives me the exclusive for next year’s Spring collection…and give Mattie a hug from me as well...” He gave her hand a kiss as he left the office.
* * *
Charlie rotated his neck and one could hear the cracking as he moved. “Damn, I’m beat. I’ve been less worn out chasing down smash and grabs. But at least we’re two steps closer to finding out who the murderers are.”
At that moment there was a knock on the door and Gabby swept into the room, holding a large tray with cups, a carafe and a variety of pastries. The scent of coffee filled the room and both men stared hungrily at the spread.
Gabby put the tray down onto the table. “Any luck?”
Charlie nodded as he grabbed a square croissant. “Lots. Thanks to Anna, we were able to prove our suspicions about the…. Mmm, this is delicious!”
The statuesque assistant laughed. “That’s almost the same face you had when you bit into Sonia’s wedding cake!” The dark-haired Hawke chuckled as well. At Harry’s inquisitive glance, he replied – “Gabby’s my second…???”
“Third.” She corrected.
“… third cousin on Mattie’s side. And she’s completely trustworthy about keeping information to herself.”
Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and added some brown sugar cubes to it. He stirred it thoughtfully. He made a decision – hopefully one he wouldn’t regret.
“Gabby, this needs to be kept in the strictest confidence – we’re investigating a serial murderer and whomever it has been using the feature spreads of Vogue as their inspiration...”
Her eyes widened. “Shit…”
“This is a longshot… do you have any idea why six women – all professional types – would be going down to Chinatown every two weeks or so? From what we’ve been able to gather, they weren’t going for dim sum and they weren’t buying knockoff bags or anything like that.”
The assistant’s eyes narrowed as she thought. She sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee and drank it with both hands.
“What’s that?”
“These little Asian ladies go digging into your face to remove blackheads, whiteheads, pimples, whatever. Really painful, but supposedly works really well. Elizabeth Arden does it for like $600 a treatment – while if you go downtown, you get a no-frills version for about $75.”
She took another sip of coffee. “I’ll get a list together for you. Your gmail account okay?” Charlie nodded and kissed the top of her head.
Harry finished his coffee. “Gabby – thank you for that, and please thank Anna for both of us – we should be getting back to the station and start working on this new information.”
* * *
As the two officers left the building, Charlie’s phone rang. He excused himself and moved off to the side. At that point, Harvey appeared to the dieseled Latino detective.
“We’re in luck, Harry… it took a while, but I found her. But we should talk to her tonight; I don’t know how much longer she's going to stay earthbound.”
“Okay… when?”
“3 am. That’s the time when the barriers between the planes of realities are thinnest. You have her address, right?”
Treville nodded. "I’ll meet you there." The ghost faded from view.
Charlie returned. “Sorry about that – Mattie needed something. I don’t think there’s anything we can do with the new info tonight. I texted Tony about the salon lead, but we need Gabby’s list for him first.”
“I agree – why don’t we call it a day, Charlie? We’ve been at it since ten o’clock this morning and I for one am all out. I think going through all those magazine was more tiring than anything else. I need some time to let this info percolate in my brain.”
Hawke clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “Fine with me. See you tomorrow bright and early.”
* * *
Someone cleared his throat and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Harvey appeared sitting on the low stone wall outside the apartment building. He grinned. “You okay, bud?”
“Dammit, Harvey – stop sneaking up on me!”
His guardian gave him a sardonic look. “You want me start moaning and rattling a chain first?”
Treville shook his head. “Forget it. Let’s go.” The ghost stood up and the two men proceeded up the path to the building.
“I’ll get the door.” Harvey jogged up to the heavy glass door and walked through it. He twisted the knob and opened it for the detective. Once in the lobby, they took an elevator up to the murdered woman’s apartment.
* * *
The detective shook his head. “Hmmph – the landlord couldn’t clean this out fast enough, could he?”
Harvey called out. “Diana – we’re here.” He motioned to his charge to follow him. He pointed to an empty corner.
“She’s right there.”
“Miss Cartier? Can you hear me?”
“She says ‘Yes’.“
Harry was at a loss as to how to start. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you… do you think you can answer some questions for me? You’re not the first person that this murderer has killed… we are going to catch this monster before he does it again.”
Harvey walked over and embraced the invisible figure. He looked over his shoulder at Harry. “She’s crying again.” It was odd to see him with his arms about thin air and then stroking an invisible head. After a few minutes, the ghost motioned him to continue.
“First off, do you know who did this to you?”
Harvey nodded. “She says it was two people. Her makeup lady and a jacked up young stud.” He tilted his head, listening. “Diana says it’s probably easier if I just repeat exactly what she says rather than translating it.”
Harry nodded. “What’s her name?”
“Sharon Moffett.”
“How did you meet her?”
“I met her at the facial salon in Chinatown. She had some cards there as well. She was really friendly and her stuff made my face feel so much better after the procedures. And the makeup was nice. Really high quality and very reasonably priced too.”
“What was it called?”
“Aleumdaun.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes… you speak Korean?”
Harry nodded. “Can you tell me what happened the night of your murder?”
“Well, Sharon gave me some night cream to try. Last time I saw her, she said my skin looked a little dry and I should try this stuff. It felt light and smooth going on … all of a sudden, I got really sleepy, so I turned off the TV and went to sleep.”“I thought I was having a nightmare when I saw this man standing over me. He had a really short buzzcut and some designer stubble on his face as well. Handsome , but looked like he had a mean streak. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He had on a pair of thin leather gloves and sunglasses. He climbed onto the bed and straddled me. Then his hands went around my throat and started to tighten."
“I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move either. I think I moaned a little bit, but that only made him smirk as he tightened his grip. My vision started to go dark at the edges and then it blacked out completely. I don’t know where I was for a while, but then I found myself standing in the corner of the room and everything was so incredibly clear and sharp. I started to scream when I saw my body on the bed, but no one heard me. He ripped my nightie off. The guy got up and stripped out of his clothes – he had this huge snake tattoo on his back and ass - and more stuff on his chest - and then he put on a condom and started to rape me. He kept his gloves on the whole time.”Harvey paused. “I think… I think I was dead by then.”
The spectral soldier continued. “He was really rough with me and then after a while arched his back and howled. Then he pulled out. He carried me into the bathroom – Sharon must have filled the bath – and then lowered me in. She washed me and my hair and then rinsed everything off. Then the guy lifted me out of the bath again and held me as Sharon dried me off. I got carried back into the bedroom where she did my hair and makeup. Then the man held me upright as Sharon put some lingerie on me and positioned me on the bed. She called him ‘David’, if that helps.”
“Never mentioned a last name?”
Harvey shook his head. "He took out a pocket camera and snapped about a dozen shots. Sharon gathered up all my Aleumdaun makeup and took it with her when they left. The two of them made sure they put everything neatly away and both David and she wiped everything down.”
Harry sighed. “Which explains the lack of prints on everything… and none of that makeup… Diana, I need evidence… please think very hard about this… did you ever give any of that makeup away? Did you ever give any to a friend? Is there any way we can prove a connection between you and Sharon Moffett?”
Harvey was quiet as the murdered woman’s ghost thought about Harry’s question. He was excited when he spoke again. “Sherry! I gave Sherry Kraus – we worked at J. Walter Thompson together – a lipstick. I didn’t like the color.”
Harry smiled. The first time during this very strange night. “One more thing… do you remember what David’s tattoos looked like?” At the ghost's affirmative, he pulled out a notebook and spoke directly to his guardian. “Harvey – can you see if you two can draw the ink?” The soldier nodded and started speaking to the empty air; soon, he was scribbling in the book and filled up several pages. His golden eyes turned to the detective. “Got it.”
Harry turned to the invisible ghost of the murdered woman. “I swear to God we’ll get these people, Diana… I won’t rest till I do. Your death won’t go unpunished.” He felt a slight chill on his face and arms.
“She just kissed you... Jesus Christ…” Harvey was staring slackjawed at a point behind Treville. Then he waved his hand.
“What??” The specter was silent and then shook himself.
Harry shivered. “Let’s get the fuck out of here…”
* * *
Treville’s step had noticeably lightened as he and Harvey entered the operations room the next morning. The two patrolmen from the Four-One looked up as he greeted them warmly.
“You’re in a happy mood… have a good night?” Charlie gave the lieutenant a wide grin. “We got the list from Gabby – I figured Tony and I will start canvassing the salons today.”
“Was ‘Sai Kay 21’ on the list?”
“Let me check … yeah, yeah it is…” A strange look passed between the two officers. “Looks like you’ve been doing some R&D after hours… You have anything else you want to tell us, Harry?”
“Where’s Rafe?”
“He had to go to court. One of his cases got moved up on the docket. He said he should be back in the afternoon.”
“Well…” A wide smile broke across the detective’s face. “You two were right. It is a pair of serial killers. The woman’s name is Sharon Moffett and the male is named “David” – no last name yet. I do have a description of him. He’s extensively tattooed and I have a description of his ink as well.”
Tony leaned forward into his chair. “How did you get this info, Harry? You find a witness?”
“I was able to tap into an extremely reliable source of information.”
Treville’s mouth dropped open in shock and that look of amazement was mirrored on the spectral soldier’s mien as well.
“He can see me?”
“Of course I can see you! And hear you as well. We BOTH can see you. Tony, describe what he’s wearing from the belt down.”
“Desert tan boots, USN MARPAT camo pants tucked into said boots, K-BAR knife in a drop holster on the right side, blued steel pistol in a drop holster on left. Web belt…” The Promethean officer squinted a bit. “… web belt with brass buckle, sanded down to prevent glare…. How’d I do?”
Charlie continued. “Buzzcut auburn hair, ginger stubble, bright brown-gold eyes, MARPAT shirt, desert sand compression tee underneath it, nametag says…”
“OK that’s enough!” Harvey ran a hand through his short hair. “How could this happen? No one else is supposed to be able to see me except Harry….”
“And Carreau and his crew, right?”
“N-no… green.”
Charlie walked towards the detective and held him by the shoulders. “That was the dead giveaway. Look at my eyes, bud. Look close. Really close.”
Harry peered into the black-haired Hawke’s eyes. They were the darkest of sapphire blue, but deep, deep within them, golden flecks glittered and danced with a life of their own. The auric splinters were the same color as his guardian’s orbs.
“Holy fuck…”
“Golden eyes … or the flecks like Tony and I have… are a sigil of the Archistrategos – the Archangel Michael, Lord Commander of the Heavenly Host. Carreau works for him, and by extension, so do we. Carreau is sort of an independent operator... you can think of him as a PI in the scheme of things between Heaven's cops and Hell's robbers.”
Tony grinned. “We know Carreau personally … and in a biblical sense as well...”
Hawke turned to the ghost. “You have us at a bit of a disadvantage, bud. What should we call you?”
Charlie shook his hand –“It’s a pleasure to meet you … Harvey.” Tony got up and shook his hand as well.
“I guess some good old-fashioned policework is needed now. We have the perps, but now we have to back into the evidence to convict the sonsofbitches.”
“Are you going to tell Rafe about Harvey? He’s your partner – he should know.”
“I don’t have a partner. Never did. Cap is gonna make me get one.”
“And Dempsey is auditioning Rafe for the job. Not a bad choice. He’s got a sharp eye and besides, he’s a little in awe of you anyway…”
Charlie picked up his coffee cup. “While Rafe’s at court, let’s figure out how you came by this knowledge so we can tell him and not raise any eyebrows. It took me a while to tell Tony about Carreau myself... what about a ‘peeper’ video? You know, the super or someone planted a camera, was afraid to come forward, yadda, yadda, yadda…”
Harry rubbed his chin. “Hmmm… I know someone that can create something that will hold up in court…”
* * *
The four men (and one ghost) began to build their case against Sharon Moffett. Thanks to the information provided by the murder victim, Charlie was able to locate Sherry Kraus and obtain the lipstick given to her by Cartier; Rafe and Tony visited the Sai Kay 21 Chinatown salon and were able to determine that all of the murder victims had used their services and also had been able to verify that Moffett was also a customer. Harry – thanks to his fluency in Korean – had visited the Alemdaun corporate offices in Copaigue and had been able to obtain the serial murderer’s client list. Again, all of the victims were at one time or another part of her book of business.
Harvey had provided snippets of detailed information about the crimes as well. There were multiple times the ghost had appeared haggard and drained. He had explained that while he was not temporally bound the same way as living souls, going backwards to a point in time when he was still alive was painful and exhausting. And the information he retrieved was damning, to say the very least.
But it was still not enough.
“Goddamnit, Sir… we’re so close…” Dempsey had come into the operations room for his weekly update. "We know who she is, we can connect her to the victims, but we don’t have a motive yet. Or evidence."
“But we’ve got the opportunity, Sir… as well as the means…” Hawke leaned forward. “Moffett could get access to the victims’ keys and personal data when they were receiving their treatments. She was a regular fixture there as well since Alemdaun sold a lot of product to those women going to salons like that. We found her cards in at least six other places down there...”
“But we still don’t know who her accomplice ‘David’ is either, Cap...” Rafe spoke up.
“I think he’s the key to nailing the bitch… sorry Sir…” Tony added.Dempsey smiled. “It’s absolutely amazing what you’ve been able to piece together so far. You four make an incredible team. I’ll fill in the PC on your progress here – meantime, keep at it. Something is bound to shake loose and their whole house of cards will collapse. Thanks to McLaren here, we know we have a little bit of breathing room to nail these two.”
“Will do, Cap”
“On it, Sir.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
* * *
Patricio Fornari tapped on the door of Wintour’s office and walked in. The Beauty and Fashion editor was a strikingly handsome and powerfully built man with dark hair, dark eyes and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow on his squared jaw.
She gave him a look that would have shriveled anyone else. “I need you to look at some photographs and tell me in your opinion if the makeup was applied by either a man or a woman.” She handed him the stack of photos left by Harry Treville.
“Copies of last month’s spread, hmmm…” He studied the pictures of the dead woman and then motioned the editrix to hand him a magnifying glass.
“Almost ninety-eight percent done by a woman, and a bitchy one at that.”
Wintour looked surprised. “How can you tell?”
“Well, a man – even a straight one – puts makeup on a woman with some gentleness and TLC. Because he’s making a work of art. A woman applying makeup to another woman does so with a harder hand. At some level, she doesn’t want the subject to look good – which is exactly the opposite of a man applying the same materials.”
He put down the stack. “But we have a bigger problem. You see the timestamp on these pictures?” He pointed to the imprint at the bottom right of each photo. “While you were off gallivanting in Cannes for something or other, the printer had a mini-strike on his hands for a few days. These pictures…” He tapped the photos. “...were taken before the magazine hit the newsstands. So unless we have a budding fashion photographer on the final assembly staff, we have a spy.”
Wintour paled visibly; she took a deep breath and composed herself. “Send Gabby in here right now! And shut the door when you leave!” He looked at her as if she had sprouted another head. “Well, what are you waiting for? GET OUT!!!”
The fashion editor bolted out as if pursued by demons. With a shaking hand, Wintour took out Harry’s business card and dialed the number.
* * *
“Well, that went well…” The four officers returned to the ops room when Harry’s cellphone rang.
“Hello?” He looked surprised. “Miss Wintour?” His eyes widened. “Would you mind if I put you on speaker? I have the rest of my people here – Chaz, Tony McLaren and Rafe Spicer. Hold on a moment.”
“Chaz?” Rafe mouthed to Hawke. He was grinning from ear to ear. Charlie gave him the finger and motioned Harry to continue.
Treville transferred the call from his cell to the desk phone and pushed the speaker button.
“Can you hear me?”
McLaren and Hawke gave each other a high-five.
“… he also told me that we had had a business interruption I had been unaware of. Last month’s magazine was delivered a week late to the public…" She paused.
“…so the only way for someone to have taken those pictures on the day they were taken was if someone internal to Vogue did it. Your serial killer works in our final assembly group.”
There was dead silence in the room as the four men looked at each other. This was the break they were looking for. This could be the key to finding 'David' the accomplice.
“Anna, how large is this group?”
She paused and her reply was sharp. “Ten, twelve people? How should I know those mundane details?? Oh Chaz, I’m sorry. This has shaken me to the core. I’m sorry for being so peevish.”
Another voice spoke up. “Chaz, Harry- this is Gabby. I’m here with Anna. I’ll check with HR and pull photos and demographics for you. I’ll have them ready in a few hours. Do you want to come by?”
“Thanks! That will be perfect. And please, don’t mention any of this to anyone. If who we think is in the building, we don’t want to spook him, okay?”
“We won’t. See you in a few hours.” Harry hung up the phone.
Tony grinned. “We’re gonna find ‘David’ … I know it! And once we get his ass in the here, Sharon is next!”
* * *
His email program beeped and he looked at the message. His boss wanted to see him. “Shit…” he got up and walked down the hall.
Three men were in the office with his boss. One was a powerfully sculpted black-haired uniformed cop that gave him a steely glare. A hard ball of terror began to form in his stomach.
“David, these are Detectives Treville and Spicer. They want to talk to you.”
“Mr. Cannavale, we’d like to ask you some questions in regard to the recent murder of Diana Cartier. Would you come with us, please?”
“Am I a suspect or something?” Fuck…we were so careful with that bitch… how did they find me? Do they know about the other ones?
“We can discuss that at the precinct.”
“Sure, let me get my jacket.” I gotta get out of here and warn Sharon.
The uniformed cop left the office ahead of him and Cannavale exited with the detectives. Halfway down the hallway, the murderer broke into a run; the cop reached out to stop him and just missed – he grabbed his shirt and David felt the buttons pop and the shirt rip off his back. He looked back quickly to see how close his pursuers were when something clotheslined him and landed heavily on the marble flooring. In a flash, the black-haired cop was on top of him; he was flipped onto his back; his arms were pulled painfully backwards and his hands were cuffed behind him. Charlie looked up at the spectral guardian standing in the corridor. "Nice move, Gareth..."
The two detectives caught up with runner.
“Well, look at that…” Cannavale shivered as rough fingers traced the large serpent inking on his back. “David, you are in a heap of trouble…”
* * *
Dempsey looked through the two-way mirror into the interrogation room. “That’s him? That’s ‘David’?”
“Yes, Sir.” Hawke volunteered. “Once we break him, Sharon Moffett will be next.”
Harry and Rafe looked at the murder glowering at him across the table. He was wearing a light blue t-shirt that had been supplied to him at the precinct and his cuffed hands were twitching on the top of the metal table.
“Nancy Crenshaw. Patricia Craft. Natasha Morgan. Jessie Mahoney. Melissa Roque. Donna Cartier. Or should I say, Yule. Samhain. Mabon. Lughnasadh. Midsummer. And Beltane?”
Cannavale paled visibly.
Rafe spoke. “You see, David, that last murder was a big mistake. HUGE. On two counts. One, it seems that the super at the building had a peeper problem. He wired up some apartments to watch women undress, have sex, whatever. Ms. Cartier was on his list and look we got…”
The blonde detective turned on a small projector and aimed it at the wall. A black-and-white video began to play, showing someone looking exactly like the suspect removing his clothing and climbing onto the bed. The distinctive snake tattoo on his back was highly visible, as was his actions in tearing the nightgown off the woman on the bed, strangling her, and then raping the dead body. No one except the two patrolmen and one detective knew the video had been digitally created from Donna Cartier’s description of her own death.
Harry looked hard at the man before him and noticed the sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Never underestimate my ability to find shit out, David. It took us a while to get this break, but we’ve been aware of the murders for a while. The most effective lies in the world are always mixed with a lot of truth. This little movie made all the pieces fall into place.” He tapped Craft’s photo. “Remember all that red powder that someone threw on your car that was parked three blocks away? You were cursing a blue streak about having to get it washed before you returned it to the garage? And washing the gunk off the plates you had switched?”
David’s eyes bulged in shock; Harry said a silent thank-you to his guardian for getting that information for him from the past.
“And here's reason number two... David, I’d like you to meet Vasily Andropov… he’s the head of the Malina – the Ukrainian Mafia.”
Dempsey turned to Hawke on the other side of the two-way mirrored partition.
“That’s not Vasily Andropov. He’s a middle-aged, balding bastard with a squint.”
Hawke gave the police captain a feral grin. “Sir, you know that and we know that, but that murderous little fuck in there doesn’t. We’ve planned this out and with luck, we have him broken and begging to turn Moffett in. Watch.”
“Iz zhis ze one?” He voice was a deeply accented growl.
Harry shook his head. “You see, David, while that video shows you murdering Vasily’s fiancé, we may have a problem introducing it in court as evidence – fruit of the poisoned tree and all – so there’s a chance that we can't prosecute you for Donna’s murder or for the others.”
He turned to the crime lord. “Vasily – what would happen if David was released? Hypothetically, of course.”
The Ukrainian took a seat and stroked his dark beard. He stretched out long legs and a frigid smile crossed his sharp features. “Hypothetically, he vould find himself abducted and zhen brought to a varehouse in Brighton Beach. Zhen he vould find himself in zhe company of a very thorough Yemeni named Addis who specializes in flaying skin.”
Cannavale turned ashen. Andropov continued. “Every inch ov skin vould be removed oh so slowly and painfully. Zhe normal process usually takes a few days, but Addis has assured me zhat ve could prolong ze process and keep him alive for at least two veeks.”
Vasily steepled his fingers. “Zhen ve would start ze amputations. Again, slowly. To savor zhe experience. I like vorking upvards from ze feet, one joint at a time. Tarsals, metatarsals, ankle, knee… zen fingers, wrists, elbows and shoulders...” He gave a chilling grin. “Of course, ve have to cauterize every operation…”
Harry nodded. “Of course. Very smart of you… wouldn't want an infection to set in...”
During the conversation, Cannavale had gone from white to green and had vomited onto the floor. Rafe wrinkled his nose when he got up and hauled the murderer back upright into the chair.
“I leave zhe tongue and zhe genitals for last. It’s very satisfying to hear zhe screams until zhe very end…”
“And then?”
“Head iz removed and zhe torso is thrown into zhe East River. Ze head iz fed to pigs, as are zhe rest of zhe body parts.” The Ukrainian mobster gave an bone-chilling chuckle. David threw up again, with dry heaves wracking his body. “Hypothetically, ov course, Lieutenant Treville.”
“Of course, Vasily. Hypothetically. That was quite instructive. Thank you.”
The mafia boss stood up. “My pleasure. Alvays villing to assist zhe police vhen ve hav common cause. But I hav appointments zhat I must attend.” He reached over and grasped Cannavale’s chin in a firm grip. His eyes were like chips of black ice. “I look forward to seeing you again under more… enjoyable… circumstances, Tovarisch … at least to me. And Addis...” The mobster left the room.
David's blue t-shirt was blotched with sweat and vomit.
Rafe stroked his chin. “Well, David – do you want to sign a confession? And give us all the gory details on the murders? Or do you want us to let you go home?”
Cannavale swallowed hard. “Gimme a pen.”
* * *
The door behind the interrogation room opened and the ersatz Russian criminal entered. Once he closed the door behind him, a wide, happy smile broke out on his face, which completely transfigured the man before Hawke and Dempsey.
“How’d I do, Charlie?”
“See for yourself, Vic – the little fucker is signing a confession. Hell, I’d rather take the chance of lethal injection than what you described…” He turned to the police captain. “Sir, meet Victor Volkov – he’s one of the guys at the Four-One.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Sir. Glad I was able to help you out!” The accent had vanished, and the patrolman’s voice was now a firm mid-tenor - up from the deeper growl used for effect in the other room.
Dempsey gave a shaky laugh. “God, you even scared the shit out of me!” Jesus Christ, does every cop at the Four-One look like a warrior god?
Hawke put out a hand. “I’m gonna need that headlight back, Vic. It’s gotta go back into Evidence.”
“Sure. Here you go.” The patrolman fished the massive engagement ring out of his pants pocket. “I’ve got to get uptown to the precinct – I told Sarge I might be a little late for roll call since I was helping you out, but I’d rather not if I don’t have to.”
“See you later, bud!” The two patrolman embraced, and Volkov shook Dempsey’s hand as he left.
“That was amazing, Charlie. Absolutely amazing...”
“Thanks, Sir. Now that we have David, Sharon is next.”
* * *
After Cannavale's confession, the murderer had been kept under wraps and a surveillance program was set up to surreptitiously monitor Sharon Moffett's activities while the four men planned their next move. Harry and Tony had gone out to review the findings with the teams. Charlie and Rafe were in the ops room when Spicer cleared his throat.
"Charlie? Can I ask you something?"
Hawke turned from the computer to face the blonde-haired detective. "Sure, Rafe. What's up?"
"Cap is looking for a partner for Harry, and he wanted for us to work together on this case - sort of like a trial balloon. I've got to be able to trust him with my life ... and there's something I've got to tell him that I don't know will affect that."
Spicer gasped. Hawke continued. "Tony and I knew as soon as we met you. Join the club."
"You're.... Tony is ... ??"
The patrolman nodded. "Mattie - my husband - understands that Tony is my partner and we've been together - on and off-duty - for a long time. Tony understands Mattie is the love of my life. It's a complicated relationship, but it works for us."
Spicer let out a deep breath. "Well that's a load off my shoulders...." He grew sober. "But the three of you are holding something back from me on this case... why? Did I do something? Keeping secrets from your potential partner is not a good way to start..."
Hawke's face became thoughtful. "Harry's information about the details of Diana's murder came from a very unusual source. Tony and I are somewhat... familiar... with the source but this was Harry's first experience with it. He's still adjusting. We said to him that he should tell you if you two become partners, and he will. It's just not the right time yet, Rafe... but he will tell you. I promise."
Spicer's face gained a determined cast. "Now you've gotten me intrigued, Charlie. There wasn't a peeper, then?"
The patrolman chuckled. "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy... want to grab a beer?"
Spicer gave his friend a wide smile. "Let's go!"
* * *
“Who’s going where?”
Treville smiled. “I think I’ll leave that up to my partner.”
It took Rafe a moment for that statement to sink in; when it did, a huge grin bloomed across his face. “You mean that, Harry?”
“I do… that is, if it’s okay with Cap…”
Dempsey smiled as well. “Fine with me as well. I was hoping this would happen. You two make a great team.”
* * *
"Another beautiful job, Mei-Ling - thank you..." Sharon Moffett handed the cashier behind the counter at Sai Kay 21 her payment for the plum facial. She turned back towards the salon proper and called out, "Make sure you try that moisturizer Maureen - I'm sure you'll love it!"
"Yes?? May I help..." He handed her a sheaf of papers wrapped in a legal blue casing. "This is a search warrant for your apartment. You're under arrest for the murder of Diana Cartier." Her face twisted into a rictus of rage and she raised her hand to strike him. Her forward movement was halted almost instantaneously by the uniformed officer who had appeared behind her and quickly pulled her arm backwards. My God, he's fast. I didn't even see him move.
"Uh-uh-uh, Ms. Moffett. You can't go striking police officers. You could go to jail for that." He pulled her other arm behind her and fastened the wrists together with a pair of cuffs. He stooped to pick up her purse and the murderess was escorted out of the salon by the two men.
* * *
“David said that she kept trophies and we haven’t been able to find a single thing… now it’s only Cannavale’s word against hers… SHIT!”
Harry Treville was equally glum. “Tony’s with Rafe. She is one cold-hearted piece of work. Just laughed in their faces when they showed her David’s confession. She’s lawyered up as well.” He sat down heavily on the overstuffed sofa, which had been torn apart during the search and put his head in his hands. “That psycho-bitch is going to get away with it…”
Harvey was leaning against the wall. He had searched the interstices of the apartment – between walls, behind closets and even under the floors - and had come up empty-handed as well. “Well, she wasn’t carrying the stuff on her – that’s why we made sure we didn’t arrest her here. Damn… I wish I could still smoke…” The spectral soldier turned his head towards the open-concept kitchen and at that moment, the setting sun made an appearance through the window, gleaming off the stainless steel refrigerator and bathing the room in an aureate glow. His eyes widened in surprise.
The soldier got down to examine the marks at eye level; fortunately, the sunlight passed right through him as he examined the depressions. “Something’s been moved back and forth here multiple times… and almost in the same position every time…”
“But what…????” Harry mused. “Those are too wide for a chair…”
“Shit, shit, SHIT!!! Just to change a fucking light bulb!!” Harry cursed. Harvey, however, stoked his beard stubble as he stared directly into the lights.
“Charlie, bring that floor lamp in here and plug it in. Then climb up and take out all the bulbs.” The dark-haired policeman complied. He turned to Treville. “Harry, what do you see?”
“Four goddamned empty sockets and light fixture!” The ghost moved behind him and grabbed his head and twisted. “What do you see NOW?”
“I don’t see anything diff-“ The Latino detective stopped. “Waitaminit..There’s a small black button next to one of the sockets…” He turned to his guardian. “How did you see that?”
Harry handed Charlie a pair of rubber gloves and donned a pair himself.The three men stood around as he gingerly opened the lid. Inside was a diary and several plastic bags containing assorted items of makeup. The one on top was labeled, “Donna Cartier”. The other ones had the names of the other murder victims written on them. Beneath those, more bags with more names were present. The two policeman let out whoops of laughter and embraced.
“Jackpot! We got the bitch!!!”
* * *
“If you have no further evidence against my client, other than the hearsay from this “David” person, I insist that she be released immediately!” The woman lawyer that had come in on the behest of Moffett was short and dumpy; her ill-fitting skirt was covered by an equally poorly designed blazer. Straight, iron-gray hair was cut short and watery-blue eyes were intense behind thick glasses.
“Ladies, something has come up and I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you for a few moments. Please be patient. Officer McLaren will be here if you need anything.” The blonde detective stood up and left the room, while the powerful patrolman blocked the door. Out of view from the cameras, he gave the two women a malicious grin and slowly drew his finger across his throat.
* * *
30 Minutes Later
The two women looked up as the knob rattled and Spicer reentered the room with his partner and Charlie Hawke.
“I want to know the meaning of this delay, Detective…”
" ‘Natasha looked so fresh after David had bathed her and placed her back on the bed. I decided to use the Oriental Plum lipstick on her. It wasn’t a color that looked good on her when she was alive, but it suited her perfectly now.’
Dated September 23, 2013 at 3:04am. Natasha Gilbert was murdered on September 22."
The color drained out of Moffett’s face as Harry repeated verbatim the entry from her diary. “Oh yes, Sharon – we found the strongbox… and all the trophies inside.” He glanced over at the lawyer. “We have now irrefutable evidence that your client was an active participant not only at Donna Cartier's murder, but the five other ones as well. We’ve got her fingerprints on items belonging to each murder victim as well as the victims’ DNA on each item. Plus the little narratives in her diary. AND David Cannavale's confession implicating your client as well.”“Five? Five other murders?” The lawyer looked incredulously at Harry. Then at Moffett. She got up and began to put on her coat.
“Edith, where are you going?” Sharon looked at her with panic in her eyes.
“Find yourself another lawyer, Ms. Moffett. I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but it looks like you already have.”
* * *
"This is a surprise, buddy. What's up?"
The ghost looked troubled. "You didn't tell Harry who I really am, did you?"
The specter looked relieved and smiled back. "That was my handle on my SEAL team. I found out later on that my lieutenant was a big Jimmy Stewart fan and he named me after the Pooka in the movie 'Harvey'. Another reason Carreau recruited me was that I never had a chance to say goodbye to my parents. At least I can still see them, and it makes me happy that Harry's become a big part of their lives. They don't deserve to be mourning me forever."
"You're secret's safe with Tony and me - no worries. Unless you tell him or he eventually sees your tag, he's never going to find out from us that his guardian angel is his CO's murdered son."
The ghost embraced him and thumped him on the back. "Thanks Charlie, it means a lot to me."
* * *
One interview with the CO of the Four-One went viral. In speaking about the case and his officers, the grim-faced captain had replied, "Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter, but darker."
But as with any hot item, interest started to wane after several weeks. Some of the newshounds came up with a different spin on the situation - the unmitigated gall and malfeasance of the police in keeping the murders secret - lives could have been saved if "blue pride" hadn't kept the law enforcement from going to the FBI. That tactic was short-lived, however. The acting PC artfully turned the tables on them by connecting the supposed shortcomings of the Department on the previous PC and the corrupt Sean Uresti, as well as some of the more egregious dealings of the uber-liberal mayor. Faced with evidence of their fawning behavior towards those officials, the media quickly and quietly pulled back from their criticism and again returned to covering Harry and the task force in an extremely positive light.
The blue-eyed policeman twirled the stem of a wineglass between his fingers. "I don't think we told you what we did to Cannavale at the courthouse, did we?"
Harry quirked a dark eyebrow. "No, you didn't. But I was wondering what happened when the DA asked for a short recess when he was supposed to testify."
Tony picked up the tale. "We had Vic in the hallway when they were bringing him up - in uniform of course - and he had his KGB face on..."
Rafe choked and spit a mouthful of wine across the table. Harry thumped him on the back as the four policeman burst out in gales of laughter.
"He... he... he pissed himself..." Hawke spoke between chortles. "The court officers had to find another pair of pants for him before he could go into the courtroom. Of course, all of them are overweight... so it took them a while... they had to take a pair off another perp in one of the holding cells. He was screaming that Vic wasn't a cop - he was a Russian mobster in disguise that was going to kill him... and they couldn't convince him otherwise. They had to give him a couple of Xanax and a nap to get him calm enough to testify."
Tony finally stopped chuckling. "How are you two doing?"
"Great! I didn't realize what I was missing without a partner." He smiled at Rafe, who pulled him close into a hug.
"Best thing that ever happened was Marty Kasperov - my old partner - retiring. I've never been happier!"
"So you two have... talked?"
Both detectives nodded. "I didn't realize what a weight that was on my chest until it was gone... I've got you two to thank for that, Charlie in particular. We've both got someone to share that particular part of our lives with now."
"What does Cap Dempsey have you on?"
"We're investigating a jewel robbery - no murders this time... yet..." Harry grinned.
Hawke raised his glass. "Well, here's to a brand new partnership - congratulations again, and may it last a lifetime!"
* * *
So I waited.
The idea of "Spectral Evidence" had initially been one for Charlie to investigate some odd goings-on in the precinct - finding a poltergeist - which was going to expose some of the "gifts" given to him by Carreau and the Archangel Michael. But the more I thought about it, the less I liked that idea. However, I still liked the name, and when the idea came into my head for Harry to have a bit of otherworldly assistance, I knew what the story was going to be called.
As you have no doubt noticed, this is definitely a lighter story than some of the ones that I have recently penned. And apart from a few veiled references, NO SEX. I will try to do more of these as I have heard from some folks that the others have been a little ...uncomfortable... to read (and this is somewhat borne out by the stats I get to see on blog entries, but not entirely...)
This story had more than usual number of characters and I think the complexities between them had a lot to do with the difficulty in getting it finished. For me, everything has to be "just right" when characters are interacting with each other that I need to write, check, reflect and check again to make sure the sequencing is correct.
And while this was a story that revolved around Harry, Charlie and Tony decided to make themselves a major portion of it. That's the way it works with me - my characters sometimes make my decisions for me - and usually they're right.
So - please tell me what you think and as always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome!
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