Eleven
Leah got the call at 11:00 pm.
From Sam, of all people. It was so bizarre, seeing Sam's name blaring on the phone screen, that Leah had to do a double-take to make sure that it was her Sam. formally, Sam. Not the Sam from Property or the Sam from the bar down the street.
Snapping out of her sleep-induced daze and finally deciding that it was indeed her husband on the other line, Leah sat up in her bed and accepted the call after the fourth ring.
Multiple-homicide, according to him. Murder-Two, possibly Murder-One in the formally Union Stock Yards located on the Southside, which was outside of her and Jacob's jurisdiction. They were assigned to the Central Area, not the South Area.
This wasn't her problem; she decided as she hung up the phone, only to pick it up seconds later. It was Jacob, informing her that he would pick her up in twenty minutes.
And now, Sam's problem officially became her problem.
Leah cursed after the call ended and jumped out of her bed, annoyed at the ill-timing of the night and the sudden abdominal pain caused by the ill-timing of the month—but in the end, she couldn't be surprised by the new, inconvenient development. Working on cases outside of an assigned area happened all the time.
"How bad is it?" Leah asked before popping a couple of Advil's into her mouth as she got into her partner's car. Her cramps needed to get their shit together and soon.
"Sam doesn't call people," Jacob said, concerned. "Not like this."
No, he did not.
When the detectives arrived at the scene of the crime—an abandoned, dilapidated building located in the far right corner of what was once the infamous Union Stockyards—they did not see the bustling crowd of EMT's and cops like they had with the Chicago Dahlia's scene. No media were present. No onlookers were around. Only two police cars; three unmarked. An EMT and the coroner's van. A couple of cops were hanging outside of the building, one with a cigarette in his hand, and the other with caution tape.
This wasn't what Leah had expected. She had expected chaos; that was how Sam had made it seem.
"He better not be busting our balls," Jacob grumbled as he exited the car. It was now fifteen past midnight. The area was relatively quiet and cold with an inch of snow on the ground. "It's too late for bullshit."
"Reserve your judgment until we go inside," Leah suggested, heading into the building. The place had been out of commission for decades, but Leah swore she could pick up the smell of meat and animal blood... and it made her nauseous. And a bit relieved that the only meat she ate was fish. "There's a reason why he called us here."
Leah had to use extra caution as she walked up the three steps into the stone building—the only structure still in existence inside the Union Stock Yards, save for the large, stone entrance gate. Leah wondered what was so special about this building; sure, it was more than a hundred years old, but its significance wasn't important enough to be preserved.
"I should have kept my ass at home."
Leah scoffed at her partner's complaining before she entered the building, greeting everyone she passed by. Each step creaked. There were a few holes in the wooden floor; there was debris everywhere: old papers, decaying wooden slabs, tools, and rusted metal rods. She stopped upon realizing she realized she was walking along a thin, long trail of blood.
She raised an eyebrow at Jacob who had noticed the blood as well. Grimacing, he had his nose scrunched up as if he was inhaling something putrid. "Fuck."
"What?"
"The smell."
Leah raised an eyebrow; her nose didn't pick up anything but must and old wood. Instead, she pointed at the blood. "Still fresh. The smell, is it from that?"
"No."
Leah nodded and continued to walk further when it appeared that Jacob wasn't going to explain his discomfort. The place was creepy, without a doubt. An ideal place for a horror movie. If she weren't already surrounded by so much law enforcement, she would have pulled out her Glock, just in case.
"C'mon."
The action was primarily concentrated in a large open space towards the center of the first floor. The entire area was dark save for the few places illuminated by make-shift lamps. EMT's were gathering their things— no survivors— and numerous cops and CSI's were roaming around with their flashlights, searching for any useful evidence.
At the corner of her eye, Leah saw someone she hadn't expected: Embry Call, a cop she could have sworn was assigned to a narcotics unit. He was speaking to an investigator, standing over a pool of blood.
"Surprised the media isn't here," Leah remarked.
"Thank the Lord for that."
As she walked further inside, Leah finally caught sight of Sam, hovering over a bloodied body in the middle of the open space, muttering something to Dr. Eric Yorkie.
She didn't want to talk to him. Not even look at him. She had spent the last couple of days achieving peace with herself, accepting her reality, calming her nerves... she didn't need for all of that progress to dissipate just by being around him.
But what was she going to do? Go to her higher-ups and demand yet another transfer? No, that would only create more problems and add to the belief that she couldn't do her job without making it personal. Personal? Leah had to snort. She didn't make anything personal. Sam had—if he had just stuck to his vows, no one would be in this position.
And Emily wouldn't be pregnant—
For a reason unbeknownst to her, Leah couldn't help but feel more enraged at Emily. Sure, Sam was her husband, and monogamy was fully expected... but Emily— Leah shook her head. She wished she could strangle her cousin, but she was now pregnant. The baby inside of her didn't deserve Leah's wrath.
She shook her head again. No time for this.
When Sam finally looked up, he froze. He froze as if he hadn't expected to see his wife. He froze as if he hadn't been the one requesting Leah and Jacob to come to his crime scene. He froze as if time had stopped.
They had to keep their differences outside of the crime scene. But the moment the estranged couple locked eyes, the moment they stood only an arm-length from each other, everything—every shout, every argument, every tear shed from the past month, and a half had flooded Leah's mind, temporary rendering her unaware of her surroundings and her duties as a public servant.
She had to divert her gaze to regain reason.
Jacob was standing next to her, stiff as he exchanged the usual pleasantries with Sam.
Leah's attention didn't return her husband until he spoke up. He greeted her, carefully and void of any emotion. He wasn't speaking to his wife, his voice told Leah, but just another person. Another cop, someone he didn't know very well and wasn't too interested in knowing.
Jacob picked up on that, too.
Leah greeted her husband back. She tried to mask her anger and bitterness for the man; she tried to be impassive, but judging on the awkward clearing of Jacob's throat, and the flash of frustration, laced with guilt in Sam's eyes, Leah knew she wasn't entirely successful.
She gave Sam a tight, forced smile.
Sam returned it.
"Thank you for coming out here, especially at this time," Sam said before motioning the detectives to follow him into an area away from all of the commotion, next to an old electric panel dated back to 1939, Leah noted for no particular reason.
"I don't do this very often," Sam continued, tapping his right pants pocket. He was searching for a cigarette, Leah figured. He must be stressed out of his mind. "But I felt like I had no choice."
Leah considered offering her husband the one loose cigarette she had in Jacob's car, but the bitter side of her wanted the man in front of her to suffer just like she had. In the end, she decided to keep the offer to herself. It was then when she noticed what should have been the obvious. Sam was alone. His partner, James Porter, a veteran detective who, according to rumors, spent more time counting down until retirement than actual police work, was nowhere to be found.
"Where's Porter?" Leah asked.
Sam gave her a look before pointing behind him. She didn't see her husband's partner, only Embry snooping around with his notepad and flashlight.
"You're kidding."
"He's just an officer," Jacob said, trying to hold back his laughter. Not necessarily about Embry, Leah concluded, because Jacob saw him as a little brother, but because of Sam's luck. First, a seasoned Sergeant as a partner, and now just an officer. "Who the hell did you piss off?"
"No one," Sam snapped, quickly glancing at Leah. "It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with that moron."
"Why are we here?" Leah asked. "Why aren't you taking his case for yourself and… Embry? I have a strong feeling that this one is going to be a major homicide case."
"Because I try not to be selfish," Sam said, pointedly avoiding his wife's sharp gaze. "I want this case, but then I realized after some snooping around that there may be a connection with the Dahlia case."
"Go on," Jacob said, now fully interested. "What you got so far?"
"Three bodies, literally slaughtered in a fucking slaughterhouse."
"How fitting," Leah mumbled.
"I'll show you them soon," Sam promised. "But we also found some ultra-violets, and I called some folks in Paul's unit, and they said that this place right here, Cullen's territory. Wasn't your girl working for them?"
Jacob and Leah shared a look.
"We have reason to believe so," Leah said, eyeing her husband. "So, the victims may be associated with the Cullen's?"
"Maybe," Sam said, and then, "Come on, I'll show you the damage."
Victim Number One was hard to digest.
Leah recoiled at the sight of the body. Or what was left of it. This hadn't been a straightforward killing, a simple stabbing, or a death by gunshot. It was something somehow more disturbing than the Dahlia's. Maybe it was the disorganization of it all. The large gashes on the body seemingly had no pattern, no defined target. Just torn up clothes, ripped skin and so much blood.
Jacob knelt next to her.
Sam did the same.
"White male, about 6-4," Jacob said. "Looked like he worked out. Judging by the lack of wrinkled skin, couldn't be that old."
There wasn't much else the detective could provide. The victim's face was destroyed beyond recognition.
"He's not the only one," Sam said, standing up and motioning the partners to follow him. Moments later, the three were standing around the body of Victim Number Two. This time, a young woman, killed in the same fashion except that her face was visible.
Goodness, she couldn't have been more than sixteen, Leah observed in disgust and sadness. What a way to go.
Eric was kneeling over her, doing an inspection. This was the first time Leah had seen Eric attending a crime scene by himself. But he seemed to be holding his own—Bella, who even Leah could admit was overworked, would appreciate that.
Caucasian female. Long wavy brown hair. Brown eyes. Wearing a pair of jeans and a pink hoodie. In fifteen-degree weather. She must have had her coat somewhere else...
Leah got a better look at the victim, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the young woman's mouth, slightly aghast with a set of fangs inside.
She looked up at Jacob.
He just cleared his throat.
"Got anything new for us?" Sam asked Eric.
Eric made a sound and picked up a small pink wallet from the victim's side. He handed it to the detective. "Got an ID. Presumably."
Sam opened the wallet and pulled out an ID card. An under-21 Driver's permit. "Bree Tanner," he read. "Aged 16 from Schaumberg."
He returned the card and cursed.
Leah soon asked for her husband to hand her the wallet. Sifting through it, she pulled out a worn photo and froze, catching the attention of the other detectives. She then carefully gave the picture her partner, who immediately looked down and cursed.
Bree was in the picture, standing next to the detective's newest informant. Riley.
These couldn't have been the Cullen's people. Riley had claimed numerous times that he, or any members of the James Gang, would off themselves before associating with the Cullen's.
Jacob and Leah shared a look of concern.
Sam didn't notice. Instead, he asked Eric, "Cause of death? And in laymen's terms this time."
"Exsanguination," Embry replied, now examining the victim's face and neck. "Literally bled to death. But can't find any bullet or direct stabbing wounds... all of these marks were slashes."
"From a knife?" Leah suggested.
Eric shrugged. "Can't confirm, but I doubt it. Maybe a machete... These people were shredded. Liked clawed to death. Like someone had run a rake down their bodies..." He looked up. "What do you guys think?"
Sam frowned. "You're the medical examiner."
"Oh, I have a strong feeling about how this all happened," Eric insisted, "But I'm not sure if people want to hear or accept it."
Jacob cursed under his breath and slapped his forehead.
Leah shook her head, resigned.
"Let's hear it," Sam demanded, crossing his arms.
"Werewolves," Eric said. "Maybe the work of the Children of the Moon."
"Of fucking course," Jacob grumbled under his breath.
Leah looked at the men around her, one by one. They all appeared disturbed, but completely knowledgeable about the "Children of the Moon," and once again, she had to ask for a reference. "Who?"
"Werewolves," Jacob explained. "The real ones. The ones all of those horror stories talked about." He peered at the coroner. "How the hell do you know all about this anyway?"
"Good question," Sam added.
"I'm into the supernatural genre," Eric said with a half-shrug. "And I'm not as much of a skeptic as everyone else in my field. Especially not after the St. Patrick's debacle." He let out a deep breath. "So, do you want us to take them to our place and rule them as inconclusive?"
Leah and Jacob looked at Sam.
Sam narrowed his eyes at Eric. "You know about that?"
"Of course, I do. I work with Bella all the time, and despite when she thinks, she can't hold water for anything," Eric said, and then, "So, how about it?"
"No," Jacob answered, shaking his head. "Just find how they died, and we'll work on catching those fuckers."
Sam cut Jacob a look.
"You're going to arrest the Children of the Moon?" Eric asked, surprised.
"No, the people who convinced them to do their dirty look," Jacob said. "They're rabid; it's like bringing a wild animal to jail—it ain't gonna work."
Victim Number Three looked like a cross between Number One and Number Two.
While Eric stayed back with Bree, the detectives checked out the last known victim, a large, white male whose body was found at the back of the room.
Leah knelt, put on some gloves, and opened the wallet that sat next to the victim. She pulled out a Driver's License, and read, "Vincent Marino. DOB: 12/25/74. From Cicero, Illinois. Ring a bell?"
"Arms dealer," Jacob said. "Real piece of work. Was supposed to be convicted on federal charges, but his lawyer was fucking amazing. Only state charges—served five years."
"You sure that's him?" Sam asked.
"Oh, I'll never forget his face. I arrested him." Jacob bent down next to the body. "First case as a detective. Funny how life works..."
"Human?" Sam asked.
"Un-fucking-fortunately." Jacob ran a hand down his face, sighed, and got up. "But there won't be uproar about him. Not like Jessica. He was a thug, a lifelong one; no one cares about a thug."
Leah couldn't entirely agree. Just because Vince might have been on the wrong side of the law didn't mean he hadn't been important to someone. What about his family? What about his friends? She continued to inspect the wallet and pulled out a small, worn photo. A little boy, no older than three, sitting on the shoulders of the recently deceased. Both smiling widely. She turned the picture around. 2017.
She returned the photo and placed the wallet inside an evidence bag.
"This whole place is a damn cesspool," Sam complained.
"Never thought I'd be at a crime scene worse than the Dahlia's, but here I am," Leah remarked. "What the hell is going on? I know this is Chicago; I know we have a high murder rate. But most of them are shootings or stabbings, not this."
"A war," Sam said. "They're starting another goddamn war."
"Like St. Patrick's?" Jacob asked.
"Something tells me it's going to be worse," Sam replied, pointedly not looking at his wife. Leah did have to compliment him in not making this as awkward as it could have been. "We already have several bodies lined up. Known bodies. In such a short amount of time?" He shook his head. "Yeah, it's a war."
"Between whom?" Leah asked though she had a feeling she knew the answer to her question. "And why now?"
Sam shrugged. He aimlessly glanced around the room before resting his eyes back on Vincent. "You heard about Paul's little taskforce?"
"Initiative?"
"Same difference," Sam told Jacob. "So, you've heard," and then, after Leah and her partner nodded. "He asked you?"
"The both of us," Leah said. "And you?"
"Yeah..." Sam trailed off. Leah could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't telling her everything, and wasn't going to anytime soon. "Yeah. Let's look around more, shall we?"
"After you."
Leah ended up following her husband around while Jacob returned to Victim Number Two. They, with some CSI's, were heading to the other side of the building via the main hallway for some evidence collecting. Leah remained silent as the couple walked ahead of the others, were her focus on the walls of the large hallway. Streaks of blood and grim all over. The body of that young girl, Bree, still in her mind…
She was snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of her husband's booming voice.
"Call!"
"Not Detective Call?" Leah asked.
"He's not a detective," Sam reminded Leah. "Yet."
"That's a glowing endorsement coming from you," Leah said, watching Embry rush to them from the opposite direction. "So, what happened to your actual partner?"
"Apparently, he gets high off his supply…" Sam said, being his usual evasive self. "Embry's going to be with me for quite some time."
Leah was honestly shocked. "Wow, that bad?"
"That bad," Sam said before falling into an awkward bout of silence with was wife, only to quietly speak again at the end of the hallway. "Leah, I really am sorry."
Leah didn't know what to say. She didn't know just exactly what he was apologizing for or if he was really sincere about it. It had caught her so far off guard that she almost tripped over a flat, rusted blade on the ground.
"Me, too."
There was nothing else she could say without yelling.
A few minutes later, Leah found herself standing next to her husband before some destroyed, burnt furniture. She didn't know why both she and Sam were so concerned about the debris. Nothing about it showed significance, not until the forensics unit got their hands on it—They were both silent with only the background noise reminding them that they were at a multiple-homicide crime scene; it was here where they both stood near each other for the first time in a week. The first time without the yelling and the glares in over a month and a half.
"Why didn't you call the cops?" Leah quietly asked. She didn't want to bring it up, but that night was still playing fresh in the back of her mind.
Sam loudly cleared his throat. "On who?"
"On me. You had every right to."
Sam didn't say anything. Instead, he bent down to examine the rubble. Nothing but burnt cloth and wood. Newly burnt. He stood back up and sighed. "Gotta see if that was like that before or after the killings—" he cleared his throat again. "It wouldn't have been fair to you," he muttered. "I know I fucked up. I know I fucked up bad."
Leah looked the other way. From her vantage point, she could see Embry following Eric around, scribbling furiously into his notepad. "Understatement." She turned her attention back to the rubble. "I wanted to kill you. Probably would have if I didn't consider the consequences."
Sam made a sound and took a step back, eyes following the burn pattern up the dirty gray wall. "It was burned here," he remarked, reaching out to touch the scorch marks. "I'm glad you didn't."
Leah frowned. "I don't know if I am..."
It was then when she realized that this was most likely the most honest conversation she had with her husband in months.
Sam made another sound, shoved his hands into his pocket, and sighed. "I deserve that."
"Yes, you do," Leah said with finality. At least, Sam wasn't bullshitting with her right now. It wasn't another apology—she wasn't sure if she wanted one because it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be enough except a time machine. "Are you coming to the wedding? It's only a few days away."
Sam rolled his shoulders. "It would be best to stay behind. Anyway, I was only coming as your plus one."
"Good," Leah said.
Good didn't explain how good Sam's decision was.
A major crime scene wasn't the place to discuss marital strife. But on the other hand, maybe it was. Because this was a crime scene, the police were expected to behave in a particular manner. No shouting. No drama. The occasional expletive was unofficially allowed, but everyone was to be professional.
This was what the strained couple needed: a professional environment, located next to a small doorless closet in front of some rubbish, away from most.
Leah dug her hands into her wool coat pockets and sighed. It was now or never. Who knew when the next chance would arise? Who knew when she would see or hear from her husband again in person?
"I want a divorce," she said.
It was short and sweet without any room for ambiguity. Quick enough not to second-guess her discussion. She had laid it out: a divorce. The dissolution of marriage. Seven years of being united under the law, seemingly all of nothing. Divorce, it was like death, some would say. Jacob had said.
Leah patiently waited for a response.
Sam was most likely taken-aback. Leah got it; she hadn't mentioned anything about their relationship since the dropping of the bombshell. It hadn't been intentional; Leah had always believed that she would have made a quick, concrete decision after learning about such a betrayal. But she had been so blind-sided about the whole thing. She hadn't, and still didn't, know how to react in other ways besides expressing her anger (and waving a loaded gun).
It felt like years had passed before Sam vocally reacted to anything. His expression might have remained stone-faced, but Leah knew her husband. His stance was stiff. His breathing was short. "Why?"
Leah blinked, incredulous by the question. Why? Why? He had no reason to ask a question he already knew the answer to. "Why not?"
"Leah—"
"It's for the best," Leah interjected. "I know that, and deep inside, you know that too. This isn't going to last, so why bother? It is what it is."
Sam made a noise, a grunt more than anything, but Leah recognized that sound. It was a reluctant agreement. "We have to wait," he eventually said; his gaze was locked on the rubble.
"What is there to wait for?"
"Until the end of the year," Sam replied, glancing at his confused wife. "Just wait, and I'll give you your divorce."
Leah brought her hand to her chest; stunned. "My divorce?"
Sam wasn't being fair. This wasn't just her divorce; it was theirs. But she didn't put it a fight; it almost wouldn't be worth it. So, she let the comment go. "We have no reason to wait," she pressed on. "Six months, at the earliest so we can get a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences."
"Just wait another three months. It's not a long time."
Leah snorted. So instead of September, Sam wanted the end of December; she couldn't make this shit up. By the time they even get to court, Emily's child might already be born. "Why?"
"Just... please." Sam cleared his throat. "And I won't contest a damn thing."
That was a plea. Sam had wanted to hide it in his voice, but that was a plea.
"What is there to contest?" Leak asked, glancing to her left to make sure that no one was looking for or at them. This conversation had to end soon so that the detectives could return to the job the taxpayers expected them to do. "You've made your decision, and now, I've made mine."
"I didn't make a decision."
"You did three years ago," Leah said, giving her husband one last look before walking away.
Leah bumped into Embry Call a few minutes after. She had met the cop a few times on the job, and a few times off. He was a good guy. A good cop and she could see why Jacob wanted to have the man under his wing. And he wasn't as stiff or bull-headed as some of the other cops she had been around.
"Is your brother still thinking about joining the force?"
Leah sighed at Embry's question. "Yes."
"You don't sound too happy about it," Embry remarked before apologizing to a cop he had bumped into. He and Leah were now heading back to the large open room where the bodies were.
It had always amazed Leah how quickly Seth could make friends. He had more friends on the force than she had. Her brother consistently hung out with Jared, shared some beers with Embry, and occasionally played Madden with Jacob. Paul basically declared that Seth would join his unit the moment he graduated from the academy.
"Well, it's probably because we're standing in the middle of a crime scene," Leah pointed out, and then, "I don't know... he wants to follow in my dad's footsteps—"
"And yours," Embry quickly added.
"And probably mine," Leah corrected, though a bit doubtful about her influence on her little brother. "I guess."
"You don't think he can handle the job?"
"It's not that," Leah insisted. Seth was a strong guy, but his heart was just too damn big. "He's just... Seth. He should be around bakeries or babies or some cute shit like that. Not around us."
"Hey, we're all not that bad..."
"Oh, come on, I don't even think I've ever heard the guy curse. No fuck. Not shit. No asshole..."
A cop that didn't use profanity? Was that possible? In Leah's mind, based on her experience, hell no.
"I'll think he'll be fine," Embry said, quietly laughing. There wasn't much laughter to be had in a place like an abandoned slaughterhouse. He stopped and faced the detective. "He'll be fine."
"For your sake, he better be."
"Wait—why are you threatening me?"
Leah rolled her eyes before walking on. "Since when you're a detective?" she later asked
"Since two hours ago," Embry said. "Sam's partner's in some deep shit, so he's gonna be out of commission for some time." He took one step forward and ran his hands along the wall. "The capt thought I should tag along. You know how it is… we're pretty stretched thin."
Leah's eyes fixated on the other cop's hands. "How do you like it so far?"
"Well, I wish I didn't have to deal with this on my first unofficial day, but I guess it's all good. At least, Sam knows his stuff. I can learn something from..." He trailed off as his hands still. He then sent Leah an apologetic look. "Sorry."
It didn't take long for Leah to realize just what Embry had been referring to. She rolled her eyes in response. "Goodness, Embry, I'm not a goddamn child."
"I know. I just—sorry. I mean—sorry," Embry sputtered. "Isn't it weird working with him?"
Leah frowned. "I'm not working with him. Jacob's my partner."
"Ah, right. Point."
"It's good that you're shadowing Sam," Leah carried on. It was an interesting statement, giving her current relationship with her husband. But this was a job. "He's a terrific detective."
"Yeah..." Embry stopped in the middle of the hallway, turned around, and stared at the walls.
"So, Mr. Detective," Leah said, "Any updates on the missing bodies?"
Embry groaned. "Official or unofficial?"
"The latter."
"Tanya took them."
It seemed that Tanya was a suspect of numerous crimes.
Leah made a note to ask Riley about this in the future.
And about Bree.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, did some snooping around and caught her scent—" Embry stopped, gulped and began to speed up his stride. "Found evidence that she was there."
Leah caught the slip-up but didn't speak on it. "What did Sam say?"
"We can't confirm anything without hard evidence... which we don't have."
"Any ideas why Tanya would do that?" She asked. "Isn't she related to them? She could've just claimed them."
"Maybe she didn't want to be bothered since they are, you know, vampires."
"Bella knows about them."
"Well, the public doesn't," Embry reminded Leah. "And it's probably wise to keep it that way. Autopsies are public documents."
"I know."
"Well, yeah..." Embry trailed off. "That's why she took them. That's probably why Bella's new vamp-friend wants to stop the autopsy."
"Jessica was a human, though."
"Jessica was a human that died from a bite."
"Can't Bella just claim that it was poison?"
"She could," Embry shrugged. "I mean, it is poison, but you know people are gonna ask questions."
"Ah, right."
"Got a suspect on the Dahlia case?"
Leah grimaced. "Prime one's dead."
"Holy shit, that sucks."
"No shit," Leah grumbled, rolling her eyes, and, "But I'm not trying to tell the captain that. This is a high-profile case."
"Yeah, I get it. Just don't be surprised if the feds come knocking. Word on the street is that they're eyeing these strings of murders. Hard."
"Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't mention it." Embry's attention remained to the wall in front of him; he was frowning, studying it. He eventually laid a flat hand on it, raised an eyebrow, balled his hand into a fist and began knocking. Hollow. He knocked again, but in an area about a foot away. Solid.
"What's up with you and this wall?" Leah started, trying to lighten up the mood. The vibe emitting from Embry suddenly was unusual, full of stress, irritation, and forlorn. Embry was usually the light-heartened one.
"There's something behind it," Embry said, and then, "Yo, Martin!"
"What, Call?" Martin, another cop, called from the opposite side of the hallway.
"Let's open up this wall."
She wished Embry hadn't said anything.
She wished he had only seen the wall as just that: a wall. With nothing behind it but stone, wood and outdated, rotten insolation.
The selfish side of her wished he wasn't so damn inquisitive. Who thought about checking the walls anyway? As far as everyone had been concerned, all attention should be directed to the front, open room. Where the bodies of Victims One through Three had been discovered.
Not this.
Leah had to make every effort not to vomit. She didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone. Oh, did you hear about Uley? Yeah, the bitter one. She's a homicide detective but couldn't handle the sight of some more bodies...
But maybe that was just her pride and anxiety rearing their ugly heads again. Because she soon as she balanced her stance, holding out a hand to the wall, and looked around; she realized that everyone was in the same boat as her. Some even decided to run out of the slaughterhouse and into the sub-zero air—Leah couldn't blame them. She would have been following right behind them if she hadn't knocked some "sense" into her mind.
She was a homicide detective. She was supposed to be uncomfortable; her job was inherently uncomfortable. Not full of flowers and peace; she had known this entering into the academy, and she knew this now. She had been trained to face the darkness that city had unfortunately offered—
But this made no damn sense.
It had all started with Embry ordering for the wall to be taken apart for reasons he never explained. Not that he needed to. The sight was the very definition of res ipsa loquitur: two rows of bodies, lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, all wrapped in clear plastic bags with a cord tied around the necks. Some with blood spatter; some without.
All presumably dead.
How did he know?
Ah, there it was.
The nausea was making a comeback.
Sam eventually came over.
His reaction came in a string of curses as he maneuvered through the increasingly growing crowd to get a better look of yet another high-profile, extremely complicated and different homicide case. When he confronted the first couple of bodies, he leaned forward, studied them for a bit and, "Fuck me."
A little voice in the back of Leah's mind quietly replied with, "Yeah, fuck you," but Leah soon shook away the thought. She had spent enough time thinking about her issues with the other detective.
"All dead," Leah told her husband instead, though perhaps unhelpfully. It would have shocked the world if one of the victims were found to be alive. There was so much blood, and with the bag tied around the victims, any initial survivor all would've suffocated anyway.
"Thirteen," Embry announced to his partner, stumbling back inside the hallway. His eyes were wide and wild as he fished out for his phone. He stopped a few feet from his partner. "That's what I counted."
Leah had to give credit when credit was due. Sam was taking in the scene pretty well. Considering, well, everything. He was disturbed, only a psycho wouldn't have been, but was ready to take charge. He ordered Embry to compose himself (Leah really felt for the cop) and got some of the CSI's and other cops to enter the hallway. Once done, he turned his wife, who was still leaning against the wall, concerned.
Leah hadn't seen that look in a while.
"You alright?"
Leah loudly swallowed. She could do this. She was a goddamn seasoned detective for heaven's sake. She nodded against, stood up tall, and straightened up her jacket. "I'm fine."
Sam scanned his wife; he wasn't convinced but, in the end, he took her word for it. "Get your partner in here."
Leah nodded again.
Jacob wasn't too far from the commotion, but he wasn't close enough to see the hallway. The slaughterhouse was huge. She considered just calling the man, but she figured speaking to him face to face would get the point across more— plus, it was a good reason to be away from the hallway even it was for only a few minutes.
With hand over her mouth once again, Leah quickly maneuvered through the growing crowd of law enforcement and CSI's. She caught sight of Embry pacing around at the north side of the hallway with a phone glued to his hands, "This is Officer Embry Call, I'm reporting a 310..."
He was asking for the hazmat team.
When she finally reached her partner, he was still standing next to Eric, studying the body of Victim Number Two: Bree. Eric soon stood up and started taking his necessary photos until he abruptly stopped upon noticing numerous people running towards the direction of the hallway frantically while Leah was coming right from it with a grim look on her face.
Jacob turned around. "Leah—?"
"You both need to come," Leah said. "Now."
"How many?"
"Thirteen."
"All dead?"
"All dead."
"All found behind the walls?"
"Embry somehow suspected it."
Jacob ran a hand down his face and groaned. "There goes my night," he mumbled. "Actually, this explained a lot."
"About what?"
"The smell from earlier."
Leah slightly nodded. Right. The scent that only he could pick up, but not her. "Wouldn't it have been stronger?"
Jacob shook his head before moving aside to let another cop pass through. "The plastic helped."
Eric headed over to the hallway a couple of minutes after Jacob did with a couple of medics in tow. He walked inside, looked around, glanced back at the detectives, wide-eyed, turned back around and groaned, running a hand down his face. "Holy—I need a better job."
"Oh, come on," Jacob called out, trying to lighten the mood before he headed outside to catch a better cell signal. He had plenty of people to call. "Isn't this a coroner's wet dream?"
Leah rolled her eyes.
"Hahaha, screw you, Black," Eric spat, giving the lowly chuckling detective the finger. Once Jacob left to get more reinforcements, he motioned Leah inside. "This shit blows."
"Don't you know it," Leah mumbled. She stopped in her tracks to check the surroundings. She still couldn't believe her eyes. Bodies, just lined up between the wood slabs. One by one.
"Hey, Detective—"
"Leah."
"Leah," Eric corrected, and then, "Ever seen Sicario?"
Leah shifted her attention from one of the bodies—a young man, Asian, short black hair with wide, stilled, blood-shot eyes— to the coroner, raising her eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"The movie: Sicario," Eric repeated, and then, "Terrific movie. I highly recommend it and the sequel as well. Anyway, in the beginning, a bunch of agents found bodies trapped within the walls. Just like them." He motioned the bodies around them. "Exactly like them."
"Who did it?" Leah asked.
"The cartels," Eric said with a shrug. "I dunno, but this, right here, reminded me of that movie. And not in a good way. Don't think I'll ever see that again. Not ever this."
Leah wouldn't blame him. She had personally never seen the movie; those movies were for Sam and Paul. "These cartels... they don't necessarily have to be all human, right?"
Eric slowly turned to the detective and raised a curious, eyebrow. He seemed a bit taken aback by the remark. "No..." he gulped. "I mean, from what I hear, those gangs usually aren't in the drug business. Apparently, it's too messy." He snorted. "Ain't that ironic? I guess I can't blame them. Who wants to deal with the DEA on a consistent basis?"
"Who wants to deal with the FBI or the ATF?" Leah countered as she checked out another body—a black man, face virtually unrecognizable, behind the blood spatter and the body bag.
Eric nodded. "Touché," and then aimlessly looked around before finally resting his eyes on the detective. "Do you think it's happening again?" he quietly asked. "St. Patrick's?"
Leah shrugged. St. Patricks' Day Massacre. Chicago's St. Valentine's Day Massacre of the twenty-first century. Literally the second to worst day for her on the job (the first being the day she got shot in the shoulder by a goddamn intoxicated bouncer). People were still reeling from that day today.
"I sure hope not," Leah whispered. "I sure hope not."
Twenty minutes had passed when Jacob pulled Leah aside to a corner at the left-wing of the warehouse. It was vacant save for a couple of mice scrambling away. "This isn't our kind of case," he whispered. "I mean, sure it's connected to us, but..."
Leah nodded in understanding. "We're not a gang squad."
"No, we're not," Jacob said, and then, "I'm sending this case to Paul. He's gonna try to shove his Glock up my ass, but this is under his jurisdiction."
"This is just a gang hit," Leah reasoned. "Have the other squad deal with it."
"This is a gang hit involving ultra-violets, vampires, literal trolls and children of the moon," Jacob reminded her. "This is Paul's case," and with that, he pulled out his work phone, quickly dialed a number and held it to his ear. "Yo, Paul— Fine. Captain Lahote." He rolled his eyes. "You may want to send some of your guys here. It's a 354a."
354a—Leah dropped her gaze. That was a code she never wanted to hear. That was the code designated for manners that not even the most ambitious of cops could handle. By tomorrow, the feds were going to visit Paul to "offer" their assistance, and the captain wasn't going to be happy.
"Yes, I know you can't stand the feds, but unless you wanna deal with this shit all by yourself..." Jacob stopped and rolled his eyes again as he allowed Paul to speak. "I know. Jesus, Paul. Just send some guys over and then ask them if they want to solve it themselves..." His eyes darted around the room. "Sixteen. Three on the ground—mutilated up by most likely the C.O.M. The rest inside the walls—Yeah, inside the walls. Wrapped in plastic body bags with an ultra-violet lodged in their skulls— Yes, that's why I'm telling you to come down here, and make sure the media doesn't hear about this... Yeah, see you soon."
"ETA?" Leah asked once Jacob pocketed his phone.
"Thirty minutes."
When Paul and his team entered the slaughterhouse forty-five minutes later, he cursed the detectives, including Sam and Embry, to Hell and promised never to speak to them again.
Sam gave the captain a flat look before heading back to work.
Jacob said Paul was only being dramatic.
Embry looked like he was about to cry.
After consoling Embry and promising him that Paul, in fact, did not hate him, Jacob demanded Paul to get his act together so they could all approach this case the right way.
In the end, Paul reluctantly agreed to take the case.
In Leah's humble and professional opinion, the captain didn't have any other choice.