Man of Steele Page 4

  I stretched my eyebrows. I didn’t think I’d ever heard the Captain curse. She must’ve been furious.

  “I don’t have any doubt we will,” I said. “You going to pull me off the case?”

  “Not unless you give me a reason to. You and Steele are the best we’ve got. No offense, Detective Rodgers.”

  “None taken,” he said. “I came to that conclusion independently a long time ago.”

  I gave him a nod. He nodded back.

  The Captain took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to loosen her jaw muscles. She probably didn’t like the fact that she’d let her emotions get the best of her, but she wasn’t a golem. Even the most hardened among us crack under pressure.

  “Walk me through it,” she said. “I want every detail. Everything you can remember.”

  “I could show you,” I said.

  Captain shook her head. “Later. Let Quinto and Cairny do their thing. Give me the story first.”

  The big guy and his now fiancée had arrived a few minutes ago. After checking to make sure I wasn’t going to die on them mid-exam, they’d headed to my quarters alongside Phillips, who until then had been doing a bang up job keeping the assorted bluecoats who’d arrived on scene in line.

  I licked my lips, wishing my coffee hadn’t been so needlessly wasted, before diving into my story. I started it at the jewelry shop when I first sensed someone watching. I related the route I took back to my apartment, street by street. How many times I checked over my shoulder for tails. How long I spent talking to Mitch as I bought my java. How I dug in my pocket for my keys outside my door. And then I got to the good stuff.

  I tried my best to relive every punch, every blow to my ribs, every lunging tackle, but I’m sure I missed a few here or there. Nonetheless, I was able to give a detailed account of the attack, down to the age of the whiskey I’d bashed into Topples’ skull and the time at which I’d broken the face of my grandfather clock. I was a detective, after all. Observational prowess might be Shay’s specialty, but I wasn’t exactly a slouch.

  The Captain didn’t stop me until the end. “Hold on, Detective. I’m confused. Walk me through the last few moments again. You pulled that man—” She pointed at the crime scene surrounded by cops and yellow tape. “—from underneath your clock, right after you’d subdued him with a tactical maneuver.”

  I’d told her how I’d broken his arm. She didn’t seem upset about it. “That’s right.”

  “Then you approached the window. He attacked you again. The window cracked. He attacked you a second time, and you fell through the window together. But you felt something else. A concussive force?”

  I shrugged. The muscles between my shoulders protested. “It might’ve been Topples pushing me, but that’s what it felt like. Phillips already told me my apartment didn’t get firebombed, so I guess that’s out. What can I say? It was toward the end of the fight. I was rattled. I probably still hadn’t caught my breath from being strangled.”

  “You know as well as I do that details matter,” said Knox. “I want to make sure I’ve heard it right. The windows were all closed, correct?”

  I nodded. Throughout the exchange, Rodgers stood there with his arms crossed, a look that was part anger and part sympathy stretched across his face. I think he hadn’t wanted to interrupt, either.

  “And you didn’t notice either of your attackers in the hallway when you arrived at your apartment?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I must’ve let my guard down once I walked through the ground level door. I hadn’t spotted anything to confirm my suspicions that I was being followed. I wasn’t as vigilant as I could’ve been.”

  Rodgers nodded, accepting my explanation. The breeze picked up again, fluttering the edges of the Captain’s dress.

  “You know how this works, Daggers,” said Knox. “Our city may be full of knuckleheads and thugs, but they don’t attack people at random. It’s obvious this wasn’t a mugging. Who were they? Do you have any idea?”

  I shook my head again. The more I moved it, the less it hurt the next time. “None. Neither of the guys’ faces looked at all familiar. And if you’re thinking they might’ve let something slip, they didn’t. Neither of them uttered more than two words our whole fight. I’ll tell you what, though. They were pros. Maybe not the cream of the crop, but professionals nonetheless. If not for Topples’ mistake with the knife, I’d be dead.”

  The Captain accepted that with a grim face. “So…who’d want you dead?”

  “Conceivably, any number of people. I’ve put hundreds of individuals behind bars over the past dozen years, but most of them are still there. That’s one of the perks of being a homicide detective.” I shrugged. “Maybe a friend or family member of someone I helped incarcerate, but that would imply it’s someone from a recent case. Those folks tend to have short memories after their loved ones disappear behind cinderblocks.”

  “We’ll look into it,” said the Captain. “Every case over the past year, at least, and we’ll keep going back further if need be. What about personally? You have any grudges or debts? A mortal enemy?”

  “Mortal enemy? Yeah, right. I do battle with him in his secret lair every other weekend.”

  “Don’t screw with me, Daggers. This is serious. If there’s anyone you know of who hates you, now’s the time to let us know.”

  I took a deep breath. “Sorry. No, there’s not. You know about Nicole, but we’re good now. Our relationship’s on the most solid ground it’s been since our divorce. I don’t owe anyone money. In fact, my financials are inordinately solid at the moment. This has to be work related.”

  Knox took her time responding. “Alright. We’ll have to solve this the same way we always do. You okay to walk?”

  I stood. “Should be, as long as you’re not planning anything cross-country.”

  “Nothing that lengthy. As of now, you’re officially on the case. Rodgers? You, too. Join me.”

  Knox crossed the stretch of sidewalk to the remains of the coffee cart, ducking under the yellow tape as she got close. Rodgers and I did the same. One of the bluecoats standing watch, a thick-necked, overweight bruiser by the name of Poundstone, gave me a nod as I entered the cordoned area. “Glad to see you made it in one piece, Detective.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  Knox came to a stop over Topples’ body. She stared at him, not an ounce of sympathy seeping through. “You check him for personal belongings?”

  “Me?” I said. “I’ve been too busy trying not to die.”

  “I assume no one’s touched him since his unfortunate encounter with the coffee cart’s support beam?”

  “Not that I know of. I missed part of it being unconscious and all, but you can ask Mitch. It’s his cart. He’ll be straight with us.”

  Knox nodded toward the stiff. “Rodgers?”

  “My pleasure.”

  Rodgers knelt and started going though the guy’s pockets. There weren’t many. His shirt, still damp from the combination of whiskey and his own blood, clung to his skin, revealing a whole lot of nothing underneath it. I took an extended look at his face while I had the opportunity. Pale skin, battered and bloodied, probably in his thirties though he had enough scars for a man twice his age. His nose bent to the right, indicating he’d broken it long ago. I still couldn’t place him for the life of me.

  Rodgers emptied his pants pockets without success. “No wallet. No identification. No keys. Whoever this is, I’m guessing he was prepared for the possibility of being captured. Although…”

  Topples lay on his back with his arms to his sides. Rodgers took his left arm in hand and rotated it so that his palm faced up. He pushed his sleeve up a few inches.

  There, on the man’s wrist, was a marking. A straight black line in the direction of his arm, flanked on either side by another pair of black lines, these inclined at fifteen degrees and separated from the first by a fingernail’s width at the base. At the end wher
e the lines diverged was another marking, a collection of four or five three-quarters circles and semicircles.

  If I could whistle, I might’ve. “You saw that right off the bat? Good eye.”

  Rodgers smiled. “I’m no Steele, but I notice things every now and then.”

  Knox gave voice to what was on all our minds. “A tattoo. Anyone recognize it?”

  Rodgers and I shook our heads.

  “Someone will,” said Knox. “I’ll sic Detective Lamont from the gang unit on it first thing in the morning. If anyone’s ever laid eyes on that before, we’ll—”

  An anxious cry cut her off. “Jake! Oh, gods, Jake!”

  7

  A rickshaw clattered up the street and out hopped Shay, having changed out of her yellow gown into a pair of simple black pants and a grey cotton shirt. She raced over, jumping over the police tape with the grace of a gazelle before enveloping me in a bone-crushing hug.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said with her arms wrapped around me and her face tucked into the crook of my shoulder. “The runner, he said… I mean…are you okay?”

  “I’m tender everywhere, so you can ease up on the hugging. But to answer your question, yeah. I’m okay. Somehow.”

  Steele pulled back, eyeing the carnage for the first time. “Gods… The runner wasn’t kidding. You fell out your window?”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly fall,” I said. “I had help. From this guy. Topples. He pushed me out. Or I was blown out, one of the two.”

  Shay gave me one of those one eyebrow raised sorts of glances.

  “Don’t worry,” said Knox. “He couldn’t explain it to us any better.”

  “I’ll give you the details later,” I said. “I’ve already worn myself out telling the Captain everything. The short version is I was jumped. Outside my apartment, by this guy and his friend Biggie, who’s still upstairs but isn’t doing any better. I’m shy a half bottle of my best whiskey, my grandmother’s grandfather clock is ruined, and with Topples’ assistance, I got knocked out of my third story window. Luckily, my man Murdock’s coffee cart broke my fall. Topples wasn’t as lucky.”

  “And you’re still in once piece?” said Shay. “No broken bones?”

  “I’ve always told you the gods favored me.”

  “And yet they’ve cursed me with your presence.” Shay smiled.

  I did, too. “And you think life would be dull if I lost my sense of humor. Sorry to drag you out of bed. Your mom’s going to be upset with me tomorrow when you don’t show up.”

  “As if any of that matters right now, Daggers.”

  “Alright, that’s enough,” said Knox, undoubtedly sensing the sappy quality to the air surrounding us. “If it weren’t obvious, you’re on the case, Detective Steele. I’ll put the entire department on this one, if need be. Time to do what you do best. What can you tell us about the body?”

  Shay took a long look at me before turning to the corpse, as if she were trying to make sure I hadn’t mind-controlled everyone into thinking I was okay when I wasn’t. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Captain, but even I’m not that good. You’re more likely to learn the identity of Daggers’ attackers through his recollection of the events than anything I might find on this man that you haven’t already. Still…”

  She knelt, flicking her eyes here and there over the stiff. “You noticed the tattoo?”

  “We did,” said the Captain.

  “Face is pockmarked. Might’ve had a pox as a child. Also heavily scarred. I’d guess he’d been in his line of work for a while.”

  Knox nodded. “Noticed that, too.”

  “Guys!”

  We turned in the direction of Quinto’s booming voice. He and Cairny headed our way from the front door to my building, both of them still dressed in their matching cocktail attire. Phillips followed them closely.

  We met them at the tape.

  “Shay. It’s good to see you.” Cairny gave my partner a quick hug.

  “You, too,” she said. “Though I don’t think I’m the one deserving of your sympathy tonight.”

  “I know,” said Cairny. “I already gave Daggers a hug when I arrived, much to his vexation.”

  Shay shot me the eyebrow thing again.

  “You can’t blame me,” I said. “The most contact Cairny and I ever have is shaking hands. I thought it would be weird.”

  “For the record, it wasn’t,” said Cairny. “Turns out almost dying has a way of bringing people closer together.”

  “We’re just glad you’re okay,” said Quinto.

  “As am I,” I said. “Though I hate that this happened tonight of all nights. This evening was supposed to be about you and Cairny, not me.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Rodgers snorted. “You go a decade never saying you’re sorry, and here you’ve apologized three times in the last fifteen minutes. It’s not like you planned on getting attacked tonight…right?”

  Knox cleared her throat. “Detective Quinto. Cairny. You came down with information to share?”

  Quinto’s cheeks darkened, almost imperceptibly in the dim light. “We did. Better you come and see it for yourselves, you included Daggers. Assuming you’re up for it.”

  “I don’t think I’ll suffer any post-traumatic stress from returning to the scene of the crime, if that’s what you mean.” I nodded toward the building entrance. “Lead the way.”

  Phillips stayed behind with the beat cops, while the rest of us went inside and took to the stairs.

  In a series of events that would surprise no one, I turned out to be wrong. The moment I stepped through the splintered frame leading to my apartment, I suffered a strange sense of disquiet. It wasn’t fear or even surprise, though seeing the devastation lit by a half-dozen lanterns did induce in me a modicum of that, too. But it did feel as if I were viewing a snippet of my life through a portal into the past.

  “Holy harvest, Daggers,” said Shay. “Are you—”

  “I’m okay,” I reassured her. “It’s weird, but I’m okay. I promise.”

  The living room was a mess. Books littered the floor alongside shattered glass from the clock, the latter of which had raked a ragged gouge through the back of my sofa as it fell. The bookshelf I’d been rammed into had indeed fallen down, destroying not only the end table next to my couch but my coffee table as well. A wet stain slicked the floor near the kitchen, and more shattered glass glittered within.

  The amount of blood surprised me, especially given I hadn’t suffered any major cuts. It splattered the floor from the kitchen to the clock and further to the living room window, which itself provided another source of broken glass. The majority of the blood wasn’t in aerosolized specks, though, but rather contained in a singular trail that led from the base of the kitchen to the wall where my bookshelf had fallen. Biggie sat at the end of it, a hand over his stomach, his mouth hanging ajar and his eyes wide open. A bloody, metallic gleam protruded from his side.

  I followed Cairny and Quinto to him. One look told me all I needed to know. “He’s dead.”

  “Indeed,” said Cairny, kneeling beside him.

  “I’ll admit, I’m surprised by that,” I said. “I know I got him in the gut, but I thought he’d at least make a run for it. Guess the blade bit deeper than I thought.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Quinto. “How did he get stabbed?”

  I was getting tired of repeating myself, but I knew how the process worked. I’d interrogated hundreds of johns myself over the years. “Biggie here put me in a headlock. Topples, who’s on the street outside, came at me with the knife. Kind of a moronic thing to do, seeing as I’d have been unconscious in another thirty seconds anyway. I squirmed and made Topples miss. He nicked Biggie. That gave me the opportunity to break free and drive the knife further into Biggie’s side.”

  “This was a knife that, ah…Topples brought with him?” asked Cairny.

  “That’s right.”

&n
bsp; Cairny hummed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Cairny looked up. “Your understanding of thanatology is improving.”

  “Thana-what?”

  “Thanatology,” said Cairny. “The study of death. You were right to suspect that a gut wound such as the one this individual suffered wouldn’t have killed him so quickly. In my experience, given the width and estimated length of the blade, I’d guess this man probably would’ve lived at least a few hours before succumbing to this wound, maybe a day or more. Less of course if the blow lacerated a kidney or his pancreas, but from the angle of entry, I’m going to presume the blade is lodged entirely in his colon. And yet he’s dead. Phillips reported him that way when he first came to your room following your encounter on the street.”

  I blinked. “What are you saying? The blade was poisoned?”

  “There’s always more than one possible explanation for any given set of facts,” said Cairny. “But it would appear that way, yes.”

  I glanced at my torn suit jacket. The knife missed me by a hair’s breadth. “Damn…”

  “It gets weirder,” said Cairny.

  Shay, Rodgers, and Captain Knox had joined us after taking a brief tour of the carnage. “Weirder how?” asked Shay.

  “Try to unclench his hand from the knife,” said Cairny.

  I glanced at the handle and Biggie’s fingers wrapped around it, both of them slicked with blood as well as other gastrointestinal juices. “I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”

  “Fine. Not that one. His free hand, then.”

  I stared at the guy, his visage much more evident in the light than it had been during our fight. Ratty, close-cropped black hair sprung from his skull, the hairline having retreated at least a few inches from where it had once started. His wide nose and sunken eyes were sure fire signs of orc heritage. He was ugly as a plucked hen, and he’d tried to murder me. Still, I hadn’t meant to kill him in return. Him or Topples.

  “I’m, uh…still good. Thanks.”

  Shay squatted next to Cairny and put her fingers on the guy’s hand. She looked up, surprised. “Daggers. Really. You should feel this.”