San Francisco, July 2nd, 2013. 10:24 PM.
Detective Clancy McCutchen Jr. gripped his neck tightly as he looked up at the sky. It was painted a brilliant gold by the fireworks. But it was not the beautiful spectacle he had expected. In fact, nothing in the world was normally what it seemed. When something was gilded, golden and beautiful, there was always something sinister underneath. Being a hard nosed detective did that you. Cynicism took over idealism. Instead of looking for the truth, he now dove into the mess full-on until the truth hit him dead on in the face.
He sighed into the air and turned around. Having just exited the building, he reentered it. Obviously, the flare had come from SOMA, where the call-in for the bank robbery had come. He had work to do. He was not looking to going home to an angry wife.
She was getting worse by the day, and that wasn't the worst part of it. He knew she loved him and needed him there. He knew she hated being at home alone. And he loved her very much.
But he just loved his job so much. He could never imagine ever leaving his job. He loved his job even more. It was in the family, everyone told him. He remembered the first day in the forces. The chief had remarked, "chip of the old blocks".
Both Clancy's father, Clancy Sr. and his mother, Andrea, had worked for the forces. And both had been killed in the line of duty. Initially Clancy had not wanted to be a law-enforcement officer, but fate had conspired to make him feel as if he had to continue his lineage and finish the job. The job his parents had started.
He walked absentmindedly up the steps. What a night it had been. While the evidence and SWAT teams had been dispatched to the bloodbath at that mall, he had wanted to go home and accompany Britt until she fell asleep, then take up coffee as his partner for a night of investigation.
He saw his assistant, Thomas, before he could reach his office on the third floor. Tom looked worried.
"Something weird, Clance. The dots connect in a startling way. I think you'll want to know this..."
Thoughts of his worried wife were on his mind as he trudged to his desk and listened to the babbling man in front of him.
James couldn't think of anything to say. Well, a black gun pointed in your face is pretty presuasive, but at the same time he was rendered speechless. He tried to think his way out of things, but sweat clouded his vision and a dull throb impeded his thoughts.
The man finally took the gun off James's face, and moved into the bathroom. He rumaged around a little. James suddenly felt a little curious. Rational, good ol' fear dominated his thinking, but part of him wanted to know what this was about. He guessed it didn't matter if he woke up next morning with a hole in his head.
The man rumbled through the cabinets, and it became apparent he was looking for something. Something important. James wondered briefly if he could overpower the man, but then he remembered the man's buff physique, and scratched that thought.
Then he walked out, and he appeared to fill up the whole bathroom doorway, menacing and phantom-like.
"You could have just told me you were in on it." The gun wasn't pointed at his face, so James could think. What the hell was he talking about. It would at least stave off death for a little if he went on with the ruse, so he joined in.
"Goddammit. You didn't have to do that." His voice was steady, and James thought he did a pretty good job of hiding the consuming fear underneath.
"So then where is it?" It took a few seconds for the quietly spoken words to sink in, but then Jame's heart dropped.
"I never saw it." He wanted to take back those words immediately. The wrong thing to say at the worst time. As the man's patience clock reached 0 and he began to second guess himself, he would look for something to vent his frustration on. And rationally, in a wildly irrational night, he would pick the thing in front of him: James.
"What are you talking about? The trigger!" The man's eyes, underneath the navy blue ski mask, flashed intensely and dangerously.
"I know. It wasn't here." James was shocked that the words had come so easily, in this life or death situation.
"What the f-ck are you talking about? It has to be here?!" The man took a little steps towards James, probably to focus in on what he was saying, but the menacing effect it had was profound.
"I know. A mix-up. Who told you it was here?"
The man cursed colorfully, and James remembered the rap song he had been blasting prior to this rude interruption. "F-ck it! I should have known! How the f-ck could I forget?! I'm sorry. I guess they put you here as a safety net. Where do you think it is?"
James mind worked like a supercomputer, desperate to cobble together an answer to give him. Cautiously he said, "What do you mean?"
"Like where? Like what hotel do you think it would be at. I mean, it has to be near Insurion, right? In FiDi somewhere. F-ck! I have to figure this out, man? Help?!" The name of the phone company was not lost on him. It flashed in his mind like a neon sign, over and over again so he wouldn't forget.
"U-uh. There's a Hilton not too far, on Kearny." He remembered the location from the list of hotels the Insurion guy had given him to choose from. He had chosen the InterContinental because it sounded mysterious, exotic and luxurious at the same time.
"Room 3408, like this one, right?"
"U-uh-Yeah."
Then something completely unexpected happened. The man reached down to shake James's hand. Well, more like he wrung it up and down while James prayed to God feebly to give him his life back.
Then the man turned to the hole he had made in the window, and without another look back, jumped into the night. James felt sorry for whomever was staying in room 3408 at the FiDi Hilton, and wondered if he'd made the right choice after all.
The masked man left behind a mess of glass, thoughts and questions, especially about Insurion. And worst of all, the masked man left no trace he had been there at all.
No trace.
Clancy listened with subdued shock to the story his assistant wove about the connection between the funding and partnerships held between the Westfield, New Resource Bank and Insurion. Partnerships that, once the ambitious Thomas had put under further scrutiny, lacked the proper permits and legal puzzlework. But it had enough to scrape by, scrape by underneath the inquisitive eyes of a careful, cautious young clerk trying to impress his superior.
Thomas was careful and cautious, and did all the right things. Laughed at Clancy's bad jokes, cleaned up his messes and woked terrible hours. Clancy was only thirty-three, but he had toiled enough. Toiled just like Tom had, and he intended to make the boy earn his stripes and suffer just like he had. Just like his father had made him suffer and writhe as a boy before he got rewarded.
But this really was a great find. The type of find that makes careers. And he realized Thomas was ready. Ready for the outside world.
Insurion's partnerships, to the naked eye, looked like the lazy work of a disinterested PR office, the type too many companies had today. But not wanting to sift through the mounds of paperwork to come to no conclusion, the police just left the megacorporation to its own devices and went about their daily business. Until something big happened, and coincidence occurred in strange ways.
And everyone knew detectives weren't allowed to believe in coincidence.
"...And the man who signed the contracts for partnerships? One mister Jay Wickman, 43 and a rising star but late bloomer to the Silicon Valley business scene?"
"Yeah, we all know." Clancy had tuned into the conversation at the last second. Thomas had spoken in an animated monologue for about fifteen minutes about the connection between the permits and partnerships. Building permits, endorsements, donations, all that good mumbo jumbo.
"The one Jay Wickman rumored to be involved in deep with the mob? Well, you said it himself. Everyone knows about what happened to him. He signed the papers. But the weirdest thing was that the signatures, upon further observation, seemed to be exact copies of each other. Not even a little alteration between a single letter," he concluded and swallowed, his large Adam's apple protruding comically for a split second. When his superior didn't seem to acknowledge his speech, he continued, "That's it, Mr. McCutchen? Come om, you have to think there's something there."
"I do. Really. Tom, you've been great. I'll speak to Chief O'Connor first thing tomorrow morning about you. I just need to stew it over for a little. Thanks again."
The man's eyes shone momentarily. "Thanks, Clance. I really appreciate it. I can't express enough-"
"I know, Tom. Really. You've had it coming for a long time."
"Of course, Clance. You need to throw it all into the ol' pot, let it rest a little and a conclusion come. I've seen you do this so many times. Of course." He hastily got up, collected his papers, and opened the door.
"One more thing, Tom, just to make sure we're on the same page. About Jay Wickman? The alleged business mogul turned mob boss/ associate? What do you think happened?"
"Well, Mr. McCutchen, as I've been taught, I believe what I'm told is the truth. That he simply disappeared one day. With no trace."
Tom thought he saw a flash of disappointment in Clancy's deep, gray eyes, but he tried to forget about it and left.
Back in the drab third story office, Clancy thought over Tom and what he had said. Sometimes, when you look deeply into what you've been told, you find it's not the truth. Sometimes even, you find nothing of the truth in it.
No trace.
James looked at the empty window, into which a slight breeze had begun to blow. The night was so terrifyingly alive all of a sudden.
Across from the Hilton was the old, well soon to be old, Insurion headquarters. They were building a new 2,000 feet office building next to the TransAmerica building, James had been told. And the old building would be demolished. but what did that have to do with anything? All James knew was that something pretty big had to be happening later tonight.
Suddenly James knew that the events had to be linked to the Insurion headquarters. When given a tour of the building earlier in the day, nothing had been out of the ordinary. he tried to think back to what he had been told, but nothing stood out. Grimly, he realized that if anything significant was going on, he, a lowly possible recuit, would not be told. And even more so, he realized that most likely Insurion didn't even know what was going on.
One thing he did know, was that he had to get out of the room quick. He glanced over at the door, and half-expected police to burst in shooting any moment. But nothing happened, and he felt foolish.
Slowly, with one eye on the door and one eye on the gaping hole in the window (which he had the irrational need to take a look through, but that need was quickly surpressed by the part of him that wanted to live), he gathered his item.
When he thought he had finished, he took one last sweeping look over the room. He saw one corner of an item poking out of the sheets on the bed.
It was his book. He had gotten his iPod and the headphones, but somehow the book had evaded his gaze. He picked it up, and for the first time he realized how relevant the title was to his predicament.
Then he was sure he had taken everything. Then he left the room, only one place to go in his mind. And along with that, he was sure of one thing: he had left nothing of his in the room.
No trace.
Clancy rubbed his pinched eyebrows for the millionth time. He wondered in frustration how many wrinkled he would have in five years. But he couldn't help it, for this case was as intriguing and crucial as anything he had ever been through. As intriguing as the case that had killed Clancy Sr. all those years ago...
But thinking about that served no purpose other than moping around. And he had to focus. But he had to check up on Britt, just reassure her that he cared, so he got up and left his office. He shut the door quietly, so as to not alert any of the hard heads still working at this hour.
When he turned around, he was shocked. Everyone and their sisters was still plugging away with renewed energy unlike anything. But as he looked closer, he realized that it wasn't an excited type of energy. It was a save-the-world-or-else type of energy. Desperate energy.
He intercepted Thomas walking down the hall with a huge stack of papers. When the young man looked up, Clancy was shocked to see the young man weary and tired. He saw wisdowm beyond his years in those eyes.
"What woke them up, Tom?"
"Clancy, I was just going to your office. We got a message."
"What do you mean?"
"It's-well, just go to the evidence room. You've been warned. Not something we can show in the papers tomorrow."
Clancy trudged to the evidence room, having a bad feeling about this. Everyone looked at him and noticed where he was walking, and in their gazes he could see some pity.
He pushed open the door, and five men with nurses' masks were hunched over a box on the lone table in the center of the plain room. One of those delivery boxes that mid-sized items came in from FedEx or UPS. He walked over. One of the evidence analyzers, Wyatt, looked at him and nodded.
Clancy looked in the box and jumped back immediately. The five men continued working.
Three heads looked blankly towards the ceiling, the eyes glassy eyed and the skin bloodied, dull and lifeless. But the heads weren't connected to anything. And in blood (presumably from the bodies the heads had been attached to), a chilling note was written on the side of the box.
"AFTER ALL, PEOPLE DESERVE BETTER THESE DAYS"
"What?" Clancy addressed the men, puzzled.
"Think. You watch TV, right, Clancy? I know you do, because I've been to your apartment. You pay attention to commercials? Specifically, the phone one with the kids and the cute poodles?"
It slowly sunk in. Horrifically, Clancy realized what it all meant. "Insurion."
"Yep. But that's the end of the trail for us. We've been looking for fingerprints, secret coding or writing before the uh, heads, get taken in for DNA analysis, but nothing. It is the Insurion motto. You're the detective. You got anything for us?"
"I'm working on it, Wyatt."
"Why would they just come forward with this lead about Insurion? I don't get it. I mean--"
"Because they're not done yet."
The men worked in silence for a couple of moments while Clancy watched, throwing the occasional glance towards the gruesome heads.
"No trace?"
"No trace, Clance. No trace."
James walked through the hotel lobby stiffly. Somehow, he made it out without further incident. The bag was really cutting into his shoulder by the time he made it onto the concrete, so he switched it to the other shoulder.
To make it to the police station, he would have to take a roundabout route. He would have to pass the pretty big mall he had went to for dinner. He considered picking up a snack to calm himself down, but decided against it. Once the masked man figured out the mix-up, there would no doubt be someone on James's head. Maybe there already was.
He walked faster down the block. In the distance, he heard police sirens. Maybe they were rushing to the hotel. Maybe they had caught the terrifying masked man. Either way, it didn't matter. He didn't look back.
But as he passed block after block, passing numerous people but not really seeing them, the sirens grew louder. Then, as he neared Market Street, he realized they were on that throughfare. Police cars on Market Street? And they were stopped? He felt bad for whichever cars were on that road.
He turned from 4th to Market. Then his mouth dropped.
The whole street had been sectioned off near the big mall he had gone to. A brigade, no, a whole army of police cruisers, parameds, and other official looking cars had blocked the road noisily, as an even larger amount of cars honked and hollered behind the scene. Then he realized they were in front of the mall. Something had happened inside.
He didn't want to get involved even deeper in the law than he already was, so he continued down 4th, turned onto the parallel street, Mission, and continued down, trying to focus on his own situation. The time to read and hear about the obviously prominent situation on Market would come after this had all settled down. But the sirens continued to blare, and he couldn't get the sight of the cruisers and more importantly, paramedics, there. Had deaths occurred? He suddenly couldn't believe his luck.
The world around him blurred as he trudged solemnly down the street. He saw more pedestrians, and many smiled, but even more looked solemn. Dread clutched his heart as he asked himself whether his and the mall's situations were related.
Finally, he saw the police distance, even from a distance. A sleuth of reporters were gathered in front, and he kept his head down as he pushed and shoved his way through, doging questions and cameras. These men weren't for him. There was one man he was looking for. One man who he had been lifelong friends with, that could help him. That could give him the best shot at protection...
He bumped into someone as he walked up the steps. He fell back, and for a quick second, fear gripped his heart even tighter, but someone grabbed him. The person he had bumped into.
It was Clancy. "Jesus, James? Can this night get any weirder?"
"Tell me about it, Clance."
"Something happened?"
"You have no idea."
Clancy rubbed his wrinkled eyebrows, glanced back at the reporters jostling for position, the ones that would have eaten him up. Then he sighed. "Come inside. Let's talk."
On the way up to Clancy's office, James told him quickly about what had happened in hushed whispers.
"So, can you help me? I'm afraid for my life, to be honest, Clance," he finished as he settled into Clancy's plush but suddenly hard-feeling chair.
"Jesus. There's a pretty big case that just came up, man."
James was indignant. "Goddammit. I've known you your whole life. And you push me away when me life is in danger to work on some hackjob case?"
"You didn't watch the news tonight, did you, James?"
"How could I? I was in mortal danger, in case you've forgotten?!"
"Trust me, if there's anything that is deserving of your attention in that moment, this is." Quickly, Clancy told James about the events at the bank and the mall.
James looked awed. "Wow. Clance, I got food in that mall like, thirty minutes before. It could've been me!"
Clancy just shut his eyes and blew out his mouth.
"What now?" he asked no one in particular.
James asked about the heads in more detail.
"Yeah. I sh-t you not. It actually happened."
"Wow. No trace, huh?"
"No trace."
And the two men looked at the world around them silently, so close to each other yet so far. Each thought about how much had changed for them and how life had covered its tracks so perfectly. In fact, both thought, it had left no trace.
No trace.