Dagger to the Heart Read online

  DAGGER TO THE HEART

  A Daggers & Steele Prequel Novella

  ALEX P. BERG

  Copyright © 2017 by Alex P. Berg

  All rights reserved. Published by Batdog Press.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer or with written permission from the author. For permission requests, please visit: www.alexpberg.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Art by: Alex P. Berg

  Book Layout: www.bookdesigntemplates.com

  If you’d like to be notified when more Daggers & Steele content is released, please sign up for the author’s mailing list at: www.alexpberg.com/mailing-list/.

  Table Of Contents:

  Chapters:

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

  About the Author

  1

  A black cloud boiled out of a gaping hole in the side of 412 South Mason Avenue, sending a column of smoke and blistering steam shooting into the heavens, blocking out the narrow strip of sky separating the building from its too-close neighbor. A valiant firefighter perched atop a singed ladder at the base of the fourth story hole, his legs wrapped around the rungs as he wrestled with the hose in his arms. Spouts of water gushed out in spurts, disappearing into the ragged hole to feed the turbulent cloud that refused to subside.

  A weathered, raspy voice muttered next to me. “What a gods damned disaster…”

  I pulled my gaze away from the gaping black maw’s charred wooden teeth. My partner Griggs had sidled up beside me with a silent, catlike grace only a practiced geriatric could achieve—either that or a man whose movements were concealed by a steady barrage of yells, creaking beams, and hissing steam. He stood there, his shoulders hunched and his mouth contorted in a perpetual scowl, lending him a cheerful warmth.

  “Disaster?” I said. “What the hell are you talking about? Looks like the bucket brigade stopped this one before it got more than a third of the way through the complex. I’d call that a win.”

  One of the aforementioned water sloppers called out in a booming voice. “Change!” A fireman in a heavy coat twisted and unhooked the base of the hose from its tanker truck and hauled it to another beside it. The pair of ogres who’d been working the pressurization cranks shook out their arms before moving to the new cart. Another axe-wielder ushered us to the side so they could roll the empty tanker back out the mouth of the alley.

  Griggs ignored all of it. “You can be a real dumbass sometimes, you know that, Jake?”

  “Aww. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, you old goat.”

  Griggs grunted. “You think this is a victory because the whole building didn’t come down? Try telling that to them.” He nodded toward the mouth of the alley.

  The evacuated families huddled together in bunches across the street, safely out of harm’s way. Heavy blankets provided by the firefighters draped over the shoulders of husbands and wives, grandmothers and grandfathers, not to mention herds of small children, many of them with soot smeared around their mouths and underneath their noses. Some of them shivered, having fled before they could grab winter coats to protect them from the cold. They all stared, their eyes transfixed upon the ruinous cancer that had eaten the core of their apartment building. Their homes.

  “I’m no civil engineer, but I’m willing to bet my ass and yours both that this building’s going to get condemned,” said Griggs. “So fat lot of good it’ll do those families that their apartment complex stayed upright when the sun goes down tonight and the temperature dips below freezing. The lucky ones will be allowed to go in to snag a few personal items, those whose flats didn’t burn to a crisp alongside the one near the source. So maybe next time try engaging your brain before spouting ignorant shit.”

  I gazed at the families and swallowed, hard. I’d meant it as a joke, a stupid one at that. Maybe I owed Griggs an apology, if not to him than to the miserable, fate-cursed wretches across the street.

  My pride kept me from muttering a single word.

  I gazed back at the gaping hole in the building. Water continued to spurt out of the ladder-bound firefighter’s hose as the ogres worked the tanker cart, but the smoke had slowed substantially, reduced to an angry, gray mist. Thick sludge poured out of the jagged hole with each of the hose’s bursts, the fresh water displacing the ash-filled slop that now soaked the building.

  “Hey. You guys the cops?”

  A firefighter with soot smeared over his hands and face and with a heavy axe in hand approached us from behind.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  He pointed to the mouth of the alley. “Fire marshal wants a word with you.”

  We headed out, approaching the building’s front. A pair of firemen exited the structure, empty canvas sacks slung over their shoulders and wet sand clinging to their boots. Next to the door, a guy in plainclothes rested against the façade’s bricks, a shiny golden badge with a pair of crossed axes and an eagle prominently displayed over his right breast.

  He gave us a nod and pushed off the wall. “You’re the homicide detectives?”

  He stood tall and proud, about my height with clean-shaven cheeks, rakishly tousled brown hair, and obvious muscles in his chest and arms. He was like me only better in every way. I immediately disliked him.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Daggers and Griggs. You are?”

  “Fire Marshal Transom. Thanks for getting here so promptly.”

  He extended a hand, which convention forced me to shake. The strength of his grip bit into my fingers, and my dislike deepened.

  Griggs, on the other hand, was so old that he regularly thumbed his nose at convention, except without actually thumbing his nose. That would require too much effort. Instead of shaking hands, he grunted. “So? Anyone dead?”

  “One,” said the marshal. “Or at least we’ve only found one so far. The smoke’s finally clearing, so we’re only now getting to inspect the apartments fully. The good thing is all the women and children seem to be accounted for.”

  Transom nodded to those huddled together across the street. Once again I felt a twinge in my heart, but what was I supposed to do? I was only a homicide detective. My job was to solve the crimes, not take care of the aftermath. That’s what lawyers and judges and counselors were for.

  “And this one dead individual,” I said. “You suspect foul play?”

  “The fire was intentionally set, no doubt about it,” said Transom. “As far as whether it was set with an intent to kill? That’s why you’re here. But given yesterday’s fire…”

  Griggs grunted again, nodding. “It safe to check out the crime scene?”

  “Depends what you mean by safe,” said Transom. “Structurally, I think the building’s fine, at least for now. I’ve had my guys tramping up and down the stairs for the last half hour, and if all the sand and water we’ve dumped on that fire hasn’t triggered a collapse yet, it’s probably not going to. No promises, though. I’ve had guys go through soft spots in floors that looked pristine. You can never tell. Now, if you’re asking about the danger from the fire, that’s a wrap. Still pretty smoky, though. If you want to head up while everything’s fresh, I’d recommend donning a mask.” He lifted something from his back pocket, basically a thick handkerchief with straps attached. I think it had been white once upon a time. “Make sure it’s soaked through. Helps keep the particulates out.”

  “You got any extras on hand?” I asked.

  “The truck’ll have some. I’ll snag you a couple. Mine could use a res
oak, anyway.”

  The marshal disappeared around the corner and returned with another pair of the crude masks, both of them dripping wet. The damp cloth felt frigid against my skin as I slipped the straps over my ears, but I had a feeling I’d appreciate the illusion of coolness as soon as I reached the fourth floor.

  Transom slipped his mask on as fluidly as if he were putting on a pair of glasses. The wet rag muffled his voice. “You ready?”

  Griggs and I nodded. Transom turned and headed into the building, and we followed.

  The mask’s cool touch didn’t last nearly as long as I’d thought. The wave of heat hit me as soon as I crossed through the entrance, staggering me with its potency. Sweat immediately beaded from my brow and armpits and in my nether regions—not that it would do any good. Moisture from the firefighter’s efforts saturated the air. It hung in a hot cloud, turning the apartment complex into a sauna. A small rivulet even poured down the stairs, pooling at the base.

  Transom ventured onwards, as if the heat and humidity didn’t even register. He took to the stairs, heading up them slowly and deliberately, making sure he placed his steps in areas that could support his weight—or as a concession to me and Griggs. Thanks to the extra pounds I’d packed on over the years, I was breathing hard by the time we reached the second floor landing, but it was Griggs I was more concerned about. The noises he emitted had a more heart-attacky vibe to them.

  Still, the apartment complex surprised me with its condition. Other than the water damage, it appeared to be in fine shape—until I arrived at the third floor. There, black tendrils reached down the staircase, leaving wisps of uncharred lath and plaster bared like tree roots between them, the wallpaper either turned to ash or soaked through and hanging lifelessly to the floor.

  The heat intensified. I blinked, feeling like I couldn’t quite wet my eyes despite the humidity. I’m sure the lingering smoke had something to do with that, too.

  Griggs swooned and caught himself against a wall.

  “Hey,” I said. “You doing alright, old man? I thought your kind loved the heat.”

  He wasn’t in the mood for banter. He shook his head. “I might have to wait downstairs. At least for a while. Till the air cools a bit.”

  “Need a hand?”

  He didn’t respond, just waved me off and started back down the stairs.

  “Is he going to be okay?” asked Transom.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said through the wet cloth. “He might look mortal, but I’m pretty sure he’s indestructible. He’s just dust and bones underneath that thin exterior layer of skin.”

  The mask made it so I couldn’t tell if Transom frowned or merely gave me a look of confusion, but whatever sympathy he might’ve afforded my ancient partner didn’t extend to me. He waved me on, and I followed him into the steaming hellhole.

  2

  “So this is where it started?”

  Transom nodded. “I have a long checklist of items to go through. Measurements to make. Walls to pull back and poke and prod. But yes, without a doubt. The fire started here. In the bedroom, probably.”

  I stepped over a charred beam that had fallen across the space I stood in, maybe a living room or family room. It was hard to tell. The fire had turned the walls to charcoal, leaving only the occasional blackened post standing, and not just in the current apartment, but across most of the story. I spotted a collection of soot covered springs on the floor, twisted and bent from the heat of the fire that had consumed them. Broken pottery jutted from piles of dark, steaming debris, the gaseous effluent of which trailed out of broken windows and the hole the fire had eaten in the side of the building. Something crunched underfoot as I walked, something that made more noise than the clumps of wet sand that seemed to be everywhere now. I hoped it wasn’t a sign of the floor preparing to give way. Despite the minimal damage below, gaping holes ravaged the ceiling overhead, and portions of the fifth and final floor had already collapsed.

  I sucked a deep breath in through my mouth, filling my lungs with thick, hot air. I still couldn’t get over the heat. Despite the enormous nearby hole through which the firefighting teams had doused the blaze, the air remained stifling. Every surface radiated warmth. Underneath my jacket, my shirt clung to my chest with suction cup like force, and my feet swam in my shoes.

  “You said there was a body?”

  “Also in the bedroom,” said Transom.

  “And that would be…?”

  “Follow me.”

  Transom skirted a charred pile that featured some blackened hinges—perhaps a former cabinet or even a doorway?—and stopped at the edge of the vacant space near the hole in the building exterior. The air felt somewhat cooler and drier, tempting me to travel all the way to the breach and fan myself, but Transom slowed me with a hand.

  “Careful,” he said. “More of the support beams burned out in this section. I think everything’s still stable thanks to the bracing in the walls, but tread lightly.”

  I nodded. With everything before me painted in black and gray, I thought I might need Transoms’ help identifying the body, but my nose still worked just fine. Even the overpowering smell of pine smoke in the air couldn’t hide it. Charred flesh was its own brand of hell.

  I stepped toward the victim carefully, thankful the mask covered both my mouth and nose. However the individual had died, they now lay on their back, their clothes and body melded by the fire into a human-shaped briquette. An arm bent at the elbow toward the ceiling, almost as if the victim had been reaching to the heavens in prayer, but I suspected the pose had more to with a fire-induced rigor mortis than anything else. A few cracks in the exterior provided a view to a reddish-pink core, but I tried not to focus on those, or upon the mangled face, devoid of gums or a nose and with half a skull poking through the charred flesh.

  I shifted my gaze to Transom, who looked about how I felt. “You, ah…deal with a lot of fire deaths?”

  “Enough,” he said. “But it’s always different when the deceased might be a homicide victim.”

  “I get that. You mentioned yesterday’s fire. I don’t know much about it.”

  Transom nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to. My investigation’s far from complete, and I wouldn’t send anything to your desk if I wasn’t sure about it myself.”

  “But you have your suspicions.”

  “Of course I do. Two fires in less than twenty-four hours, each of them resulting in one and only one death? If I had to guess, we’re probably dealing with a serial killer more than a serial arsonist, albeit one that uses fire to cover his or her tracks.”

  “Tell me about yesterday’s blaze,” I said.

  “We got the call late, about eight PM,” said Transom. “A single family dwelling on Cordova Lane in south New Welwic. The first responders described the house as being fully engulfed by flames, and though the surrounding dwellings were on the crispy side, luckily the fire hadn’t spread. One of the benefits of the Mason District. A little more space between homes, and more bricks than wood. Anyway, our crews beat back the flames, managed to keep the fire contained, but the home was a total loss. The brick exterior survived, but the interior supports burnt through. The place collapsed in the center partway through. We had to wait until the excavation crews arrived this morning to get in.”

  “And that’s when you found the vic?”

  Transom nodded again. “According to the neighbors, his name was Rufus Guzmann. A retired army vet. Suffered a leg injury and was honorably discharged, but it left him with a serious limp and limited mobility. Apparently that led to a massive weight gain on his part which turned him into a shut-in. Had to get assistance with everything from buying groceries to making his bed. Not that any of that was apparent when I found him. There was nothing of his body left but bones and ash.”

  “Maybe that’s why the fire burned so hot,” I said. “All the extra fuel he brought to the fire.”

  Transom’s face contorted around his
mask with what I assumed what a frown. “What that supposed to be a joke?”

  “It was supposed to be, yes.”

  “Well, keep it to yourself. Maybe that stuff flies in homicide, but in the fire department, we respect the dead, especially vets. That said, you’re not far off from the truth. Fat burns extremely well. His physical condition undoubtedly played a role in the state of his remains when we found him.”

  “Fair enough. So you said you didn’t find anything at the scene to indicate Guzmann’s death might’ve been a homicide?”

  Transom snorted. “You know much about fire investigation?”

  “Not a damned thing.”

  “I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, when you have a catastrophic loss like we encountered last night, everything about the investigation becomes borderline impossible. I’m not even sure at this point if the fire was deliberately set. I may never know. As far as whether or not Guzmann was murdered—assuming it was Guzmann who we found—I have no idea. That’s for you boys to decide.”

  “So at this point, the only thing you have tying yesterday’s fire and this one is their proximity in time and the fact that someone died in each one?”

  “More or less.”

  I lifted a brow. “That sounds like there might be something you’re not telling me.”

  “I guess it depends,” said Transom. “In your department, do you work solely based on facts, or do you follow the occasional hunch or two?”

  “I think my captain would rather I stick to the former, but I’ve been known to go on the occasional wild goose chase. Why?”

  Transom took a few careful steps into the middle of the burned area, looking around. “I’ve seen more than a handful of fires over the years. I have an idea of how they spread, how hot they get, how much damage they cause, and how all those factors interact with each other. Yesterday’s fire got hot, hotter than I would’ve expected without some sort of accelerant having been added, which makes me believe it was arson. This one didn’t get quite as hot. Didn’t do as much damage. But it still didn’t spread as much as I would’ve expected, even after accounting for how quickly our guys got here. The fire yesterday didn’t either.”