I sit in one of the plush chairs in Dad’s office while Dad serves Sam his arse. Ever since we got back from the crime scene and to the precinct, Dad hasn’t stopped yelling. At least with his shouts of anger, it’s enough to block out the whispers that still circulate through my thoughts.
Baines are werewolves, men that can control their turning into beasts. I pull the almanac from Dad’s desk regarding mythical creatures and flip to the article on B. I frowned at the page to see that the article regarding Baines had been cut out in a neat rectangle above Behemoth and below Basilisk. I slap the almanac shut and toss it back on the pile of Dad’s case files.
“You pulled a firearm on my daughter,” Dad growls, his nails digging into the varnish of his oak desk.
“Technically, she pulled her weapon on me,” Sam remains calm and simply folds his arms over his chest.
“That’s my daughter you’re regarding,” Dad hisses as if he treats me like a princess, which he most certainly doesn’t. The intrusion of FBI Prat the Tight Arse is enough to send Dad into overprotective parent-mode and it’s starting to get on my nerves.
“Stevens armed herself with no reason and prepared to shoot me, I had no choice but to retaliate,” Sam replied. “I tried to talk her down but it was Doctor Snaginsky that eventually disarmed her―I really do think you should take Stevens off the job, she’s on Ritalin. I’m looking out for your daughter’s health, not acting out of spite.”
“Bullshit,” Dad continues to yell. “The FBI simply can’t walk in here and take over the Angel Blue proposition without a slip of documentation regarding it. You believe that my daughter isn’t physically and mentally capable of being a detective!”
“I know she isn’t mentally capable,” Sam glances down at me picking at my black painted nails, “I mean honestly Robert; she’s eighteen, is on numbing medication and doesn’t know how to handle the job.”
“Yet while you puked your guts up at the crime scene my daughter helped process Jane Doe and retrieved the eyes, hand and photograph from the victim,” Dad seethes. “Don’t you dare tell me what my daughter is capable of when she certainly trumps you, Samuel. Maybe it is you that isn’t physically or mentally capable of being an agent―your superior won’t take your gutlessness lightly to hear that you possibly contaminated the crime scene.”
Sam remains silent, but his nostrils flare.
“You’ve been working in the field for five years now; you cheated the system as well so cut with the shit about my daughter being too young,” Dad reprimands. “Get out of my sight, and if you dare challenge my Chief Medical Examiner again, consider yourself back on the desk, Pingelly.”
My eyebrow twitches slightly as I struggle to raise it. Sam was a desk cop and cheated the system like me, Banks and Blake? I can’t help but snicker softly as Sam stuffs his hands in his slacks pockets and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him. I watch as the shutters bat against the glass and I burst out laughing.
“You’re not off the hook either,” Dad rubs his temples, “I’ll deal with you later, no go, you don’t want to keep Snag waiting.”
• • •
Once we’re at the lab to speak with Snag, Sam waits at the elevator doors as he taps his fingers against the brown leather of his watch band. The first floor is closed since it’s for administration purposes. I watch as Sam glides his ID card through the slot and types in his pin, just to be rejected by the elevator.
“FED credentials don’t work,” I shoulder him out of the way and swipe my ID and enter my pin. The LED bulb blinks green and the metal doors open. I sweep my hand in an ‘enter’ gesture. Sam ruffles his suit jacket and rolls his eyes. “Nothing personal but none of us at the NYPD likes the FBI.”
“Oh I can tell from the hour-long argument I just had with your father,” Sam grumbles and then raises an eyebrow when he sees the bag of Doritos in my hand (they were for Snag okay?). “To be fair, the FBI thinks very lowly of your police work as well.”
Just because they have more resources and can pull a suspect out of a hat doesn’t mean anything, it requires skill to catch a killer. I glance down at Sam’s dress shoes that he keeps checking, I notice that there are a few scuffs on the polished leather and I can’t help but snort. He’ll still never be able to run three blocks in those.
I reach past Sam to press the ground floor where the morgue is located. I call it Snag’s Den because the man practically eats, sleeps, and lives in the refrigeration room. He breathes autopsies and feeds off his reports, I won’t be surprised if he makes his assistants live down there too to keep his sane.
I step out of the elevator with Sam close behind me, when we reach the glass doors of the morgue, Sam swipes his ID again―forgetting that we weren’t in the vanilla latte hub of the crime unit. He steps aside for me to swipe my card and the door’s airlock releases.
Sam surprisingly opens the door for me since I’m juggling my ID and a bag of Cheese Supreme Doritos. I nod my thanks to him and see Joseph put the sheet over Jane Doe’s body and closing the refrigerator door, indicating that they’d finished autopsy. Snag, on the other hand, sits in the centre of the room between two metal tables, wearing a sombrero and glaring wistfully at the guacamole on the steel bench.
“About God damn time Akira,” Snag ruffles his white lab coat and pry’s the Doritos from my hands. He opens the bag and scoops one into the avocado mix, humming with every bite. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, the Tox-Report is on the bench.”
“Isn’t this strictly against protocol?” Sam says and picks up the file, flicking through briefly. “Everything comes back negative, the woman was clean.”
“I finished autopsy an hour ago,” Snag passes the bag of Doritos to Joseph who grins and takes a handful. “I’ve been Chief Medical Examiner for about twelve years here, I think I know what I’m doing,” Snag tightens the cord on his sombrero and sighs. “Cause of Death was pretty self-explanatory with the gash to the torso, however, there was no substantial blood at the scene apart from the drops concerning the lost hands.”
“Just because she had a clean bill from Toxicology doesn’t mean anything, if this really is a warning to those that know of Angel Blue then a creature murdered her, but it was not by Baines,” Snag grabs another file from the small stack next to the guacamole and hands it out to me.
“I have an ID; the victim’s name is Dianne Hemming. Born on December fourth, nineteen-ninety in Jacobi Medical Centre, the Bronx,” I dictate.
“But we have one large problem,” Snag announces with a mouthful of corn chips. “Dianne Hemming died five months ago. She was gunned down on patrol when booking two men in possession of cocaine. Her body is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery, and I’ve already called the precinct up there and there have been no break-ins by Necrophiliacs or any other deranged person,” Snag plucks the file from my hand and replaces it with a fresh one. “That being said, I took tissue samples from the body and it comes back to Dianne Hemming.”
“If Dianne Hemming’s body is supposed to be in Woodlawn, then how does the tissue come back as hers?” Sam closes the Tox-Report and pulls up one of the metal chairs, sitting himself next to the blonde haired Joseph.
“I have no bloody clue,” Snag says.
“Can you show me Dianne’s ID photo again?” I ask and Snag holds it up to me. A woman in her early twenties with a ponytail of curly red hair stares back at me with fair skin and blue eyes, her face is familiar. “I’ve seen her before,” I tap my fingers against my knees as I try to remember. “I was in the locker room with Banks getting our black shirts because we were going on our break and that girl, Dianne comes in…but she was dressed as a cleaner not a patrol officer.”
Snag leans forward in his seat, “Did she say anything to you?”
“Um,” I scowl at my black Vans and bite my lip, “she–she didn’t say anything at first because she saw Banks pull out her licensed revolver from the locker but,” I rubbed my temples, “she uh, she said she was here to clean the floors―some kind of accident with coffee. Banks and I didn’t think much of it at first so we walked off…I don’t think Banks had closed her locker properly.”
“So Dianne Hemming’s acquired your clothing on her own accord,” Snag mutters.
“We found in her trachea more pieces of paper that the killer shoved down her throat,” Joseph stands up and beckons me towards two wrinkled pieces of thick cardboard that’d been cleaned of blood. “They make no sense, a bunch of gibberish if you ask me.”
The first piece of crumpled cardboard has writing on it from some kind of ballpoint pen since the ink hadn’t bled. I reach for the tweezers and lift it off the glass; the person has horrible writing with mixed capital letters and degrees of pressure. Every four letters, the person would use a capital regardless if it was at the beginning of a sentence or name of an object.
I nevEr was; Am alWays To be. NO one eVer saW me, noR ever Will. ANd yet I Am the ConfiDence Of all wHo livE and bReathE on thE Earth’S ball.
“Snag and I have tried to decipher it, we even turned to Google for answers but none came up,” Joseph says, slightly flustered. “The other piece of paper, however, speaks of mythical creatures in numeric order.”
I place the cardboard back down on the glass slide and pick up the second piece of cardboard, frowning slightly. There are twenty numbers, equalling twenty creatures. The first seven are marked off in the same black ink and writing. I turn the lamp towards me and read silently.
Night Crawlers, Shifters, Vrykokolas, Aries, Kitsune, Sphinx, Baines. There were seven victims including the mysterious Dianne Hemming. Seven creatures were ticked off, is this some kind of witness list or creatures that committed the crimes?
“I need a map of Manhattan with the seven victims locations,” I demand and lower the paper.
Joseph fishes out a large map and rolls it out on the steel table, using the guacamole bowl as a weight. He hands me a marker and pulls out the clipboard with the files regarding the previous six victims.
I pull off the marker’s cap with my teeth and scan my finger for an alley way near Hell’s Kitchen. Snag clarifies that Night Crawlers, otherwise known as people that can move short distances through shadows, live in alley ways―that’s their designated territory. I put a circle around Hell’s Kitchen and move to victim number two.
Shifters are apparently everywhere according to Snag since they can change shape and appearance almost instantly. The second victim, Blake Donovan’s father, was found in near the dumpsters on West Fourteenth in West Village.
The third victim was found in Madison Avenue in yet another alley in the Upper East end of Manhattan where Vrykokolas prey on the homeless. Whereas the fourth was found in the Harlem district in the side alley of a club owned by Aries―blonde haired men revered as gods among men (apparently to Snag anyway).
Kitsune were fox people in Murray Hill, there’s a restaurant that employs Kitsune, and in an alley Officer Pike was found. The sixth was in East Village where Sphinx aren’t just statues but only hunt at night.
Dianne Hemming was found across from Central Park; Baines live in the woodland of the park and hunt around that area but have never taken a police officer―hookers and prostitutes, yes. Distinguishable Officers, no.
I connect the dots, starting in Upper Manhattan towards Midtown and West Village. I follow the line back up to Upper Manhattan to cut through Harlem and East Village, going diagonally to Dianne’s location, across to Upper East and finishing the diagonal back to West Village.
“You write with both hands,” Sam observes, looking at my hands that are stained with the blue ink.
“I’m ambidextrous,” I say, “Did you need to be FBI to figure that out?”
“Would you speak to your desk friend like this if she were in the FBI?” Sam snaps.
“No, because she hates the FBI,” I wave him off with and point back to the map. “It creates a pentagram. Now, I’m not religious maniac or anything but a pentagram signifies death and all things evil. Was there anything left at the crime scenes or mutilation of any kind?”
Snag leans back and grabs the clipboard from Joseph, skimming through all of the reports before he flicks back to the fourth one. He places the clipboard on the table and goes to inspect the numbered fridge doors, he stops and pulls out one of the silver trays to unveil a cadaver.
“Officer Langley displayed different characteristics from the others, not only was he too old for the presumed age bracket of victims, he had needle marks on his forearm,” from his pocket he pulls out two sets of rubber gloves and tosses me one glove and Sam with other as he holds up Langley’s opaque arm. “He was found in the Aries district in the alley beside the club, Toxicology came back negative so it wasn’t from a needle and usually Vrykokolas don’t feed off blood.”
Snag closes the refrigerator and moves to the metal slot three down from Langley’s to pull out Dianne’s cadaver. Her face is ghostly pale and her empty sockets have turned a purple/crimson colour. Her fiery red hair is ratty and becomes a nest for her head to lie on.
I feel Sam grab my hand while he covers his mouth with his forearm. I give a slight squeeze as Snag turns Dianne’s head to show no ligature marks, meaning that the rope was hung around her neck post-mortem. On the remaining forearm, there are mimicking pinpricks like on Langley’s arm.
“Trace is still coming back on the hair found on Dianne’s clothing,” Snag watches Sam’s face pale and the coroner smirks in satisfaction, sliding the body back into the nook and sealing the door. “I thought you FBI could stomach death better, why else do you think I insist on wearing this infernal hat? Dressing like an idiot keeps me and Joseph sane.”
For some unknown reason, Sam doesn’t let go of my hand, even after our gloves are disposed of.
“Personally, I believe Dianne is key to this. If her body truly is no longer in Woodlawn for some apparent reason or another, I think this list placed in her throat are locations where more bodies could possibly turn up. I believe that Dianne approached a Vrykokolas before her shooting and said if she dies to bring her back. Vrykokolas feed on souls, indicating the pinpricks with no blood taken, as for the same marks on Langley, I’m not too sure,” Snag sighs. “I think you both need to start rounding up suspects starting off in Upper Manhattan.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Sam raises an eyebrow.
“Agent Ping-Pong, there are two things you must know when it comes to me,” Snag holds up two fingers, ignoring Sam saying Pingelly. “Number one, never call me Doctor Snaginsky unless you’re my mother and I am never wrong when it comes to my hunches.”
“Unless it comes to Madonna’s lyrics of Material Girl,” Joseph comments through a mouthful of Doritos and guacamole.
“We don’t speak of that, Joseph,” Snag pouts. “It’s not my fault I sing the wrong lines.”
“Back on topic,” I snap my fingers in front of Snag’s face to bring him back to attention. “Did you find anything on the photo that I retrieved from Dianne’s throat?”
“Ah the one of you and DC Stevens,” Joseph pulls the trace file from beside the sink and adjusts his Boston Red Sox cap that he must’ve put aside while they were working on autopsy. He clears his throat and starts to read, “There were prominent spikes of monomethyl-amimophenol, sodium hydroxide and sodium sulphite―otherwise known as developing fluid.”
“That means the person that took that photograph had to have a camera and had to be there after the press conference was aired,” Sam continues to constrict the circulation to my fingertips. “The suspect probably dressed like a journalist and blended in with the crowd. Stevens, did you notice anyone out of the ordinary? Like, did anything look out of place?”
“My memory doesn’t clock back straight to the press conference,” I try to take my mind off Sam holding my hand. Who am I kidding; it feels nice, especially since he’s spent most of the night/morning, acting like a prat. “Um, Fox News was there and pushed to the front but I remember this one guy who got pushed over and he had a…a bulky camera around his neck on a lanyard.”
“Good start, what else?” Snag asks.
“He wasn’t dressed like the others since they were in black suits and looked formal. He was in some kind of tweed vest over a red―pink shirt? And a pair of grungy jeans. He made sure to keep his head down, but he didn’t have any recording device to ask Dad questions,” I frown. “I think some Patrol Officers told him to move along when Dad brought me back to the precinct.”
“What was his build?” Sam questions.
“Really lanky, he had hollow cheeks I think, like he was anorexic or on cocaine,” my head twitches slightly to the left as my eyes flutter closed, “I saw that…that when the band of press was disbanded and Dad and Chief Banks stepped down from the podium, he stomped on people’s shadows like it was some kind of game. I recognised it because I used to play it as a kid, you’d try to step on your mate’s shadow and you’d look like idiots trying to jump out of the way.”
“Far out,” Sam pulls out his phone with his free hand and dials a number. “Hello? Pingelly, yes sir another body’s shown up. I can’t release details yet…no, but our lead suspect is him. Yes, the same one. Okay, I’ll keep you posted.”
“What was that all about?” I open my eyes to frown at Sam.
“The man that you described, well he’s wanted on a suspected homicide in Louisiana two years ago. His name’s Henry Nikita and is one strange man. He sent apology letters to my superior when nothing could stick to him, he added photos of my superior walking his daughter to college with their eyes crossed out,” Sam swallows slightly. “My superior’s daughter was killed in a suspected drug overdose at a party last year, Tox came back positive for excessive amounts ecstasy―Henry Nikita conveniently runs drugs to some powerful people and once they learned of the girl’s death he had to get out of Washington pretty quick.”
“And where is this Nikita dude now?” Joseph yawns.
“He’s in the wind, but if he was in Manhattan last year to take the photo of DC Stevens and his daughter that means he’s either moved on or is stupid enough to stick around,” Sam finally lets go of my hand and types something on his phone. “If that’s the case, then we have to be on our guard.”
“Well I think for the meantime that it’s best for you both to get some sleep,” Snag says with a mouthful of guacamole. He takes off his sombrero and sets it down on the steel table, “Joseph and I will shut-up shop. Do you want to take some guacamole home for your father, Akira? I mistakenly made too much for me and Joseph to handle.”
“No it’s okay,” I roll up the map and quickly write down the information from the two bits of cardboard found in Dianne’s throat. “I’ll see you soon Snag, and it was nice to meet you Joseph.”
“You too,” Joseph gives a sleepy wave as I swipe my card to get into the elevator.
It’s only when the doors shut and I’m left alone with Sam talking to his superior on the phone, that I realise how cold my hands are without him holding them.