Title: Sinners
Author: Ladya C. Maxine
Rating: R
Summary: see chapter one
Warnings: see chapter one
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or any of its characters. All original characters belong solely to me. I am not making any money off of this. I write only to entertain.
A/N: HOWDIE! So, how has your year been?
Guess what? Another rewrite! Now, before you run off screaming, don't worry: you won't have to reread all the previous chapters. Whenever I return to a fic after a long period of time I'm inclined to read through the whole thing on order to both refresh my memories (hey, even I forget the details every now and then) and to get rid of some of the pesky typos, as well as streamline the story here and there if needed. The plot, however, has not changed. Hell, it isn't even really a rewrite, just a couple of minor changes I made in an attempt to be a wee bit more accurate. This time round I restructured the characters rankings/positions in the police force.
I've changed Bryan's position from Lieutenant to Captain (he gets to keep the capital letter). I always knew that captains were the higher rank, and I can't honestly recall why I said he was a lieutenant when he's the one running the show, so I fixed that.
Originally, Michael, Eddie, Steve and Emily were part of the forensic team, but I realized that, for all intents and purposes, they're detectives; they spend more time investigating than they spend in a lab somewhere. Then I thought, 'Damn, why didn't I just make them detectives in the first place?' So that's what I did.
Lastly, Tala's no longer a rookie at some academy: he's now a Criminology student at a university. I don't have a reason for changing this, since it had no relevance to or impact on the plot. I just thought it'd be better suited for him to still be in uni.
Just thought I'd warn you about this. Saves you from many "WTF? Did they all just get promoted?" moments.
Saturday, January 29, 2004
Time: 10.01
The phone was ringing in the bedroom, but Tala remained where he was, staring up at his ceiling. A few more rings before the answering machine took over.
"Red, you there ... ? You gotta be. Come on, pick up."
It was Michael. There was a lot of noise in the background; lively music and shouting children and a voice that could be Eddie's, laughing at some joke being told by a third party that made Michael chuckle before turning his attention back to the call.
" ... Ah, I guess you're probably sleeping. So, just calling to ask how you're doing. Again. It's been a couple of days since any of us heard from you, pal. Is your back still giving you trouble? I know you've been given the days off to rest up, but ... yeeeeah, was just worried, I guess. Monday's coming up so everyone's tense back at the department, and the media's playing guess-the-next-sin-victim, which isn't helping. McGregor's been in a freakishly good mood, so either he's made a breakthrough and is keeping it a secret, or he finally lost his virginity. Me and some of the guys are at the winter fair downtown. Needed to get out for lunch and unwind a bit, though Steve got sick on the Tilt-A-Whirl. We're definitely coming back here once you're feeling better. We'll even invite McGregor, and ditch him, blindfolded, gagged and handcuffed, in the maze. It'd be awesome! Anyway, give me a ring a.s.a.p. to let me know you're alive, Tala. If you need anything, just ask. Ciao. Hey, Eddie, did he ever tell you the one about the priest and the duck—"
*beeeeeeeep*
Tala rubbed his wrinkled fingertips together. The water had long lost its warmth. With a voiceless sigh, he pulled himself upright and stepped out of the tub. Without drying himself off, he pulled on his housecoat and exited the bright bathroom, still dripping wet. Just as he reached his bed, however, he spotted movement through the narrow partition of the curtains. Holding his breath, he went to investigate, only to discover a harmless crow hopping back and forth on the window ledge outside, searching for shelter against the falling snow.
False alarm.
Tala closed the curtains entirely. Abandoning his plans to crawl back into bed, he returned to the living room, not caring for the wet footprints he was leaving behind on the floor and carpet.
The living room was even darker than the bedroom. Leaning against the hallway's door frame, arms folded insecurely, balancing as he stood with one bare foot on the other in an attempt to keep at least one of them warm on the cold floor, he blinked through his wet, uncombed bangs at the dreary, lifeless room. Flashbacks of Gary Gao's apartment flickered in his mind. He remembered wondering at the time how someone could live in darkness; how someone could breathe in such a suffocating atmosphere; how someone could choose such isolation over the bright outdoors.
Maybe Gao had had it figured out after all. Maybe, if Gao had remained within the safe confines of his home, he would have never caught the attention of a predator.
The phone rang once more. Tala stepped back into the hallway, holding his breath. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. The answering machine took over again.
"Why aren't you answering, Tala? I know you're home."
Tala breathed out. It was Bryan, sounding tired.
" ... Michael just called, asking whether I've heard from you lately. He's worried, and now I am too. You haven't called me since Thursday, not even to check in on the investigation. I'm up to my neck in work here, and I know you'd hate to be the one responsible for keeping me from doing my job, so contact me a.s.a.p. or I'm coming down there to see you in person. And I have the spare key to your place, so I can and will let myself in if you don't answer the door. If it really is your back then seek help. I can give you more days off to recover, so don't think you'll be inconveniencing anyone by asking ... I love you."
*beeeeeeeep*
Drawn in by the silence, Tala sank down onto the couch, peering over the back of it at the phone.
Who did he fear the most? Who was he hiding from? Michael and the others, because it would be too humiliating if they were to discover what had happened to him? Bryan, because he knew his lover would never forgive himself for what had happened? McGregor, because ...
Tala barely made it to the kitchen sink, though there was nothing left in his stomach to expel. He had already thrown up whatever he'd eaten up until that Thursday, and he hadn't eaten anything since. After several dry and painful heaves, he filled a glass of water and emptied it in three big gulps, trying to wash away the taste of bile.
"If only I were as heartless as you, McGregor," he said venomously, dropping the glass into the sink. He checked the locks on the windows, then went back to the living room to check the locks on the balcony doors. "I would do it, I really would ... "
But he wasn't, and he couldn't. He could not bear the responsibility for McGregor's fate if ever Hiwatari were to find out what had happened. Tala himself would happily take a crowbar to the highlander's skull if given the chance, but allowing McGregor to suffer his punishment at the hands of Hiwatari ... Tala could only dream of being that cruel a person. Delivering McGregor to Hiwatari would be an unforgivable act. Whether Johnny deserved it or not was not the question: whether Tala wanted the Scotsman's blood on his hands and conscience was a straightforward no. He had yet to get over the guilt of being indirectly responsible for Dunga's death.
So it was not just shame that had forced him into this isolation. Every minute that past was another minute having evaded Hiwatari. But for how long? It had been two days since McGregor had smashed the phone. In that time, had Hiwatari attempted to call him? If not, it was just a matter of time until Hiwatari would come to investigate. Until then, Tala could only pray for more time as he attempted to wash away any incriminating evidence of what had happened in that locker room. Hiwatari's sense of smell was more bloodhound-like than human. Tala didn't know how many baths it would take to completely erase Johnny's scent, but no matter how many times he scrubbed himself clean, he could not remove the itching memory of those unwanted touches.
The coffee table was buried beneath disorganized notes and files. The black screen of his borrowed laptop rose through the papers like a tombstone. The mess gave the impression of someone who had been hard at work, but in reality he had done nothing.
Gingerly leaning back against a cushion, Tala drew up a leg and rested his head on his knee, staring morosely at the littered table before him.
He had reprimanded himself; called himself pathetic and a coward and a quitter. He still had enough self-awareness left to know that he had it in him to be stronger than this, but to gather the will to rely on that strength seemed too exhausting right now. For now, all he wanted was silence; nothingness. If only he could clear his mind of all thoughts and enjoy oblivion for a few hours. Sleeping hadn't helped at all. Nightmares of all sorts tortured his dreams, forcing him to escape his own thoughts by waking up. He had tried distracting himself by working on the Dox case, but thinking of Dox made him think of Hiwatari, and thinking of Hiwatari reminded him why he was avoiding the convict even more than usual. Thinking of McGregor was enough to sap what little strength he had left.
' ... Didn't expect it would actually feel that good ... cause I'm not a fag ... '
Physically, he had recovered from the rape. Psychologically, it felt as though it had happened just minutes ago, and that it could and would happen any moment now. He did not only know his assailant, but he would have to face him again at work. Dealing with McGregor had never been a pleasant experience; facing him after what he'd done ... The scales had tipped dramatically. Nothing he could ever say or do would ever outdo what McGregor had done to him. Any argument, any discourse between them, and Johnny would need only to mention how he'd taken him in the showers, and Tala would not be able to retort.
' ... working with you just might turn out to be a satisfying experience after all ... '
The assault had stripped him of both his dignity and credibility. McGregor most likely considered their rivalry finished, himself the definite victor. He had won. McGregor had won.
The phone rang directly behind him. Tala rose, ready to return to bed. Just as he reached the bedroom door, someone spoke into the answering machine.
" ... Hello? Tala? ... S-s-so cold ... Is someone there?"
Tala hesitated, caught off guard. He knew that soft voice from somewhere ... The speaker sounded out of breath as he whispered anxiously into the phone.
"Please, please answer. Please, before he finds me! Help me!"
Leaping over the couch, forgetting his own woes, Tala grabbed the phone.
"Brooklyn?"
"What's going on?! What does he want from me?!"
Definitely Brooklyn. There was a lot of noise in the background.
"Brooklyn! Can you hear me?"
Brooklyn sobbed, relieved.
"T-Tala ... ? Tala! Is it really you? Oh god ... " Whatever he said next was too soft to hear.
"Brooklyn, I need you to speak up," Tala said anxiously.
"I can't. He'll hear me. He'll find me. He's after me, Tala."
"Who is? Why?"
"He's following me ... Father ... he is ... I'm too tired to run ... too tired ... "
"Has your father hurt you? ... Brooklyn!"
The background noise faded as Brooklyn found a quiet place to hide. Tala could hear from his voice that he was shivering.
" ... Don't talk to me ... please, go away ... Go away, please!"
"Brooklyn, I'm here. You don't want to talk to me?"
"No, you stay, please! Please, Tala, please, please ... please ... help me ... please, come ... "
"Brooklyn, you live hours away from me," Tala said even as he got to his feet and rushed to his bedroom, shedding his housecoat as he ran. Clenching the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled on the first pair of pants he laid hands on. "I'll never make it in time. You have to call your local police. They'll be at your home much faster than I—"
"No, not at home ... I'm in Tokyo ... in the city—Stop talking to me!" he said shrilly to someone, but didn't give Tala the chance to ask who. "Tala, I came with father and Kiba, but ... so much blood ... he's in the shadows ... I didn't know who else to call ... You're the only person I know here ... Save me! He won't hurt you ... you haven't angered him ... You've done nothing wrong; nothing at all ... Save me from my sins too! ... I can't hide for much longer ... He's ... "
"Brooklyn?" Tala asked when the other suddenly stopped talking. "Brooklyn!"
"He's coming! I know he is!" Brooklyn said, voice so soft now Tala had to be guessing what he was hearing. "Oh please, oh please, help me! He's going to kill me! What did I ever do to deserve this, Tala? Why is this happening to me?!"
"Where are you, Brooklyn? Tell me where you are right now."
"I ... I don't know ... a park with lights ... so many lights ... and shadows ... There are lots of people ... and moving things with people on them ... a ... a fair, I think ... it looks like one I saw in a storybook ... I don't know if this is a fair ... too many lights ... it does look like one ... "
Tala released a long breath.
"Brooklyn, it's going to be alright," he said, searching the chaotic coffee table for his mobile. "You remember Detective Parker, the other officer who was with me the day we met at your house?"
"Y-Yes ... I think so ... Tala, please ... "
"Listen to me. Detective Parker is at that very same fair right now. I'm going to call him and he'll come get you. He'll stay with you until I arrive, alright? You'll be safe with him."
"But—"
"Stay calm. I need to contact him before he leaves. Tell me, where are you exactly? What do you see around you? What type of rides?"
Brooklyn fell silent, but when he spoke again he sounded calmer.
"Safe ... Yes, I'll be safe ... er ... I don't know what it's called. I've never been to a fair before. It's ... It turns, and it has horses on it that go up and down ... horses and other animals ... I see ... I see ... "
"That's the carousel," Tala said. "Brooklyn, you're going to stay there, understood? Your father won't dare to try something with so many witnesses present. Everything will be alright, I promise."
No answer.
"Brooklyn? Brooklyn!"
A loud gasp, followed by a horrified moan. Then ...
"He's here!"
"Brooklyn?" Tala asked, gripping the phone. "Brooklyn, say something!"
Nothing from the other end. The call had been terminated.
Saturday, January 29, 2004
Time: 11.16
"He's not here."
Forgetting how painful it was just climbing out of his car, Tala stared at Michael for a moment before slamming the door shut and pushing his way past Michael and Eddie, eyes on nothing else but the great carrousel beyond the colourful fencing.
"Tala!" Michael caught up with him, flashing his badge to the ticket controller demanding to see their proofs of admission. "We've searched the entire area. We're still asking around but so far no one remembered seeing anything out of the ordinary."
"It's here. He is here," Tala said, weaving in and other of the crowd. "There's only one fair in the city that's open today and he described seeing that very carrousel. He must have gone into hiding. He is here, Michael. We have to find him. I promised him it'd be alright."
"Tala—Tala! Slow down!" Michael said, grabbing him by a shoulder. "You're limping and ... Why do you smell like a perfume counter?"
"Not relevant."
"Either way, I don't think you should be out here in your state."
"And Brooklyn shouldn't be out here in his!" he said, using his pain to fuel his irritation. "You didn't hear him, Michael. He was terrified. He was crying and begging me to help him! Someone was after him and I promised him they wouldn't get him. We have to find him!"
Tala watched the carrousel as it went round and round, its white-and-gold animals rhythmically rising and falling to the generic melody of carnival jingle. Its riders laughed, their cheeks red from the cold and excitement. Proud parents stood at the fence, waving every time one of their kids came into view; worried parents never let their kids get out of sight, walking in circles around the ride as they followed their fearless offspring, as though they'd be able to catch them should they fall. People with cameras, snapping shots of friends and families making peace signs; fathers sharing sweets with their daughters while mothers tried to wipe spilled drinks and foods from their sons' jackets; strangers having random snow fights, or joining in the making of uninspired snowmen.
It wasn't an entirely carefree environment, though. For all the smiling faces and wasted money carelessly lost on impossible arcade games, there was a tenseness in the air. Children who were not on rides found themselves unable to get less than three feet away from their parents. No one went anywhere on their own. Everyone was ready to run should a psychopath suddenly charge them from behind the dango stand.
Such vigilance, yet no one had noticed a distraught man in their midst.
"He might still be in here, hiding at another ride," Michael said supportively when a search of the area around the carrousel conclusively failed to produce Brooklyn. "He thought he saw ... whoever it was, and went off to find a better hiding place—"
"Parker!" An officer whose voice Tala recognized the voice as the one he'd heard over the phone during Michael's call came over, accompanied by a dowdy woman with a toddler on her hip and an older girl walking at her side. "Witnesses. Tell the detectives what you saw, ma'am."
"There was a young man here about half an hour ago," said the woman to Michael and Tala. She pointed to the back of the row of portable restrooms hidden from immediate view. She placed a hand on her older daughter's shoulder. "Haruhi had to use the toilet—"
"Mom!" the girl said, blushing.
"I let her go on her own, but she soon returned because there was someone hiding back there."
"I thought he was hurt," said the girl, eyes wet with sympathetic tears. "He had blood on his hands and t-shirt. I thought he'd hurt himself."
"I tried talking to him too, but he kept asking us to leave," continued the woman, jiggling the content toddler in her arms.
"He was talking to me on the phone," Tala said, confirming this. "He did address someone a couple of times."
"Yes, he did have a phone with him. The poor thing was in an awful state," said the woman. "He was bloodied, and gripping what looked like an iron rod in one hand. He wasn't wearing any shoes or jacket. I told Haruhi to keep an eye on him while I went to find someone from security, but he was gone by the time I got back."
"Where did he go?" Tala asked the girl.
"He went with the man," she said.
Michael looked worried now. The presence of an unanticipated stranger was hardly ever a good thing.
"He went with him willingly?" Tala asked.
The girl nodded, but then shook her head.
"Kinda. The man took him by that arm and he tried to pull away, but he wasn't strong enough. The man said something and he finally got up and went with him."
"What did this man look like?"
"I don't know," she said, biting her lip. "Kinda old, but not really. His hair was white but he didn't look like he could be anyone grandpa. He was tall, like, basketball player tall, and had really wide shoulders, and was wearing a long grey coat and a big hat."
"Did you see where they went?" Michael asked.
"That way," she said, pointing confidently at the exit. "I watched them walk across the street and into that parking garage. I think they took the stairs too."
Michael signalled two uniformed officer who had just arrived on the scene. Briefing them in short, he sent them and the fourth plain-clothed officer (the one who had been with him, Steven and Eddie from the start) on ahead.
"I don't think he was injured, detectives," said the mother told Michael, drawing the attention back on herself. "I couldn't see any cuts on him. The blood was only on his hands, as if he had touched something bloody. At first I thought it was fake blood; that maybe he worked at the haunted house, but the look in his eyes was genuine fear. I've never seen such a look before. He was also very pale and thin, and his lips were dry and cracked. He ... " She covered her mouth, hushing the infant when it whimper, sensing her distress. "I should never have left him alone. He looked so scared ... Please, you have to help him."
"If you or your daughter remember anything, give us a call," Michael said, handing her a card with his number on it. "You've been a big help. Thank you."
"It's the police's fault," Tala said as they hurried across the street, towards the crowded parking garage. "Why didn't anyone ever step in, before it got to this stage? If someone had done something, had gotten Brooklyn away from that hellhole and demon of a father, he wouldn't be in this mess."
Michael sighed and readjusted his cap.
"Not this again. We can't doanything unless the victim files a complaint, which Brooklyn never did. And why are you so sure it's his dad?"
"Brooklyn said it was his father."
"You said that Brooklyn mentioned his father: he did not openly accused him."
"He was hardly in the right state of mind to voice his fears eloquently, Michael. He said that he saw 'him' before hanging up on me. I've read the files. Brooklyn's father fits the description of the man in the coat: tall, well-built, white hair."
Reaching the top of the stairs that led to second parking level, Tala grabbed hold of a nearby railing, masking his exhaustion by pretending to be bending down to examine the ground for blood. Steven and Eddie, who had caught up with them on in the stairwell, kept climbing to the next level. Michael stayed with him.
"Something happened earlier that sent—what's Brooklyn's father's name again ... ?"
"Carlyle. Weird name. Born to foreign parents here in Japan."
"Carlyle doesn't often allow Brooklyn to leave the manor, but he brought him along with him this time," Tala said as they patrolled aisles upon aisles of cars, looking for anything suspect. "Something happens, I don't know what, but it sets off Carlyle's short temper. Brooklyn's present, making him an easy target. Things get so bad he panics, takes advantage of the less-fortified environment of their hotel and escapes. His father follows, finds him and either feeds him some insincere apology or outright commands him to go back with him. That butler, Kiba, could be waiting in the car, somewhere in here."
"Why bother parking all the way up here when you've got a driver who could wait on the side of the road, closer to the fair, ready to speed off the moment they climb in? For that matter, why take the car in the first place? Without a coat, Brooklyn couldn't have been outside for long. They must be staying someplace nearby for him to have reached the fair on foot, without his toes freezing off due to lack of footwear."
"Hey!" Steve called as he clambered back down the stairs to meet them at the exit. "Call just came in. They're located the hotel where the Kingstons are staying at. You know, to see whether the father might know what's happened to his son."
"I'm sure he knows," Tala said, scoffing.
"And?" Michael asked, more open-minded at this moment.
"Carlyle Kingston's in his hotel room, which he hasn't left since last night."
"Told you," Michael said to Tala. "For once, it wasn't him."
Steven shrugged.
"Yeah, he does have an alibi."
"The butler?"
"He has one two. After all, being dead is a pretty strong alibi, isn't it?"
Neither Tala nor Michael could refute that.
Saturday, January 29, 2004
Time: 13.09
Carlyle Kingston, a tall and athletic man in his late fifties, lay sprawled in the middle of his grand bed, still in his nightshirt and only his nightshirt. The thick curtains surrounding his four poster bed lay ripped on one side, pulled down by hands that had left red handprints on the heavy velvet. The medical examiner on the scene concluded that Carlyle had died from manual strangulation: the long dark bruise across his throat had been made by a long object that had been applied with enough force to crush his trachea and fracture his cervical spine. It could not yet be determined whether he was still alive when the multiple stab wounds had been inflicted, nor when his genitals had been sliced off. An apparent blockage in the toilet was a good clue as to where they might have gone.
Lying with his head in a pool of blood on the bathroom tiles and the rest of his naked body twisted on the carpeted bedroom floor, Kiba Ozawa had been struck with such force his skull had split wide open. The blow had caught him between the eyes, causing him to fall backwards, meaning he'd been hit while exiting the bathroom. He was wearing only his socks. His fingers were missing, probably clogging up the toilet along with his late master's privates.
A quick reconstruction of what had happened strongly supported the theory that Kiba had been present, running his master's bath in the bathroom, unaware that Carlyle was being murdered in the room next door. The killer had then waited just outside the bathroom door, which apparently had been closed, and had struck out when Kiba had stepped out, unknowingly putting himself directly in a lethal path. A bloody smear of a handprint showed where the killer had pressed himself against the wall in waiting.
"Guess the butler didn't do it."
"Could have been a hooker."
"A surprise attack killed the butler," said the medical examiner, "but she would have to be a weightlifting world champion in order to physically subdue someone like him long enough to choke him."
"Then how do you explain the straps?" a rookie officer who had welcomed himself to their discussion group asked, staring at the black leather hanging in twists and loops from the bed's high frame like giant spider webs. "And the sex toys? And the camera? Looks like a kinky, paid-by-the-hour bondage session gone wrong. Kingston hires a couple of hookers, has his way with them, while the butler tapes, then things sour when it's time to pay. The first time I got called to a crime scene it was almost exactly like this one, except the hooker was caught still humping the body of the husband after she'd put a bullet through both his and his wife's heads."
"Here, kid, go get me a drink and use the change to buy yourself a cookie," Steven said, pressing some money into the officer's hand. He waited until the muttering rookie had shuffled off before turning back to Tala, Michael and Eddie. "I think it's pretty clear what happened here."
Michael and Eddie nodded.
"No."
"Tala, take a good look arou—"
"Brooklyn did not do this," Tala said stubbornly, talking through Eddie's reasoning.
"Everyone's got their boiling point," Michael said, coming to Steven's defence. "Bad enough his own dad used him as a prag, but it was all the more humiliating that that goddamn butler would just sit there and film the whole thing. It's all here, Tala. These two old farts weren't fucking each other, and the front desk confirmed that Brooklyn had checked in with them and that he had called for some room service this morning, asking for breakfast, which puts him at the scene of the crime."
"Enough whips and plugs to service a brothel," Eddie then pointed out, though they jointly refused to look at the chest of grotesque sex toys that had been left open at the foot of the bed.
"There's a fire poker missing from the living room," said the medical examiner, re-entering. "Didn't one of you mention that a witness reported seeing Brooklyn with what looked like a metal rod in the fair?"
"There's our murder weapon."
"He did not do it!"
"Maybe he didn't plan it—Tala!" Michael called after him when he stormed out the room, forcing him to follow. "Are you even listening to me?"
"No, because you are not listening to me," Tala said, allowing himself to be caught and forced to a standstill. He would not be persuaded, however. "Mentally and physically, Brooklyn could never stand up to his father. He thought that this was the way the world works and that this was how a father's meant to love a son, no matter how painful it was. Nothing that man could ever do would break his spell over Brooklyn."
"Explain then the fire poker."
Tala hesitated. Sitting down on a plush armchair, he sighed as he stared at his shoes. He had pulled on two different pairs in his rush to leave his apartment. No one had brought this up.
"If the killer was quiet enough to subdue and murder Carlyle while Kiba was in the bathroom then he could have killed them both without Brooklyn, who could have been in another room, hearing a thing. Killer escapes, leaving the stoker he used lying on the floor. Brooklyn comes in and finds his father and butler dead. He thinks the killer could still be around so he grabs the stoker for protection and runs out."
"When you find a dead body in your hotel room common sense tells you to get security and stay close to as many people as possible. Safety in numbers," Michael challenged, taking a seat opposite him before the dark, one-stoker-less fireplace. "Who in their right mind just runs out into the streets without alerting anyone. All he had to do was scream help and the entire hotel staff would have come to his aid."
"He doesn't know that there are good people out there. His father painted such a gloomy and cruel picture of the world and the people in it that Brooklyn now feels like he has no one left; that, without his father there to 'protect' him, evasion is his best chance of survival."
"He called you. He knows that you would help him. If he's so scared, and only had you to trust, why didn't he stay put?"
"Because someone took him before we could get there."
"Suppose."
"What, you think that girl was lying about the man in the coat?"
"Someone like that would have caught the attention of others, wouldn't he?"
A small team passed them, pushing two gurneys with body bags folded on top of them.
"You didn't hear him on the phone, Michael," Tala said as he stared at the antique chandelier above their heads, counting each individual crystal bead hanging from its frame. "He sounded mad with fear. He was crying, begging me to help him. He could barely form complete sentences. You can't fake that. No one could kill two men in cold blood and then turn around and portray such a traumatized victim. I had a hard time trying to get him to focus. He just kept mumbling strange things about shadows and blood and how he would be safe with me because I'd done nothing wrong and ... "
"Why the pause?"
' ... He won't hurt you ... you haven't angered him ... You've done nothing wrong; nothing at all ... Save me from my sins too!'
Tala bolted out of the chair, leaving a confused Michael to follow him back to the master bedroom.
"What's up?" Eddie asked, looking away from where the butler's body was being bagged.
"Tala's had a revelation, I guess," Michael said.
"Where?" Tala asked himself, ignoring them all as he walked around, searching walls and furniture. He paced from corner to corner, searching avidly. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?" Steven asked.
"Hey!" a few people shouted when Tala began tearing down the rest of the bed curtains.
The curtains fell, pooling around the bed.
"Michael," he said, staring up at the network of straps. "In here."
Michael was as clueless as the rest, but with everyone staring at him he sighed and walked over to join Tala in staring at the tangled mess of black leather suspended above the body.
"It's in here," Tala said, slowly walking around the bed without taking his eyes off the straps. "Look closely."
"What are they doing?" asked the rookie cop, returning with a cup of coffee for Steven and a large cookie for himself. "Did we find anything?"
Despite circling the bed twice, Tala found nothing, but it had to be in there. Those straps weren't just hanging. They were twisted, looped, knotted and tied in no logical pattern, but no matter which angle he studied them from he found nothing.
"Satisfied?" Michael asked, plopping down on the side of the bed, making Carlyle's body bounce. "Hey, here's an idea: how about telling me what got you so worked up? I promise not to laugh."
Not to be distracted, Tala retraced his steps, patrolling the area around the bed diligently. To everyone's surprise, including his own, it was Michael's carelessness that eventually led to the find.
"Tala," Michael sighed, dropping his head back in an exaggerated show of exasperation. "Please don't make me start a petition to have you committed to the loony bin ... What the fuck is that?"
Those standing didn't know what he was talking about, but Tala, realizing his incorrect approach to the puzzle, quickly knelt down on the bed to follow Michael's gaze up into the web of straps above their heads.
" ... Oh, come on!" Michael said when he realized his eyes were not playing tricks on him. "Isn't today Saturday?"
Steven and Eddie joined them, leaning over the body and tilting their heads to one side, just like Carlyle's was, to read the word that had been formed through ingeniously rearranged strips of bound leather.
LUST
Saturday, January 29, 2004
Time: 21.17
The media were having a field day, as though the notion that a serial killer could strike on a day other than Monday was a revolutionary concept. The hotel was besieged by flashing cameras and microphones were being thrust into the faces of anyone entering or leaving through the front doors. Word of a bloodied young man, carrying a stoker, hiding in the fair, had been picked up and spread like wild fire, causing people to flee and the fair to close its gates early today. Someone in the department was guaranteed to lose his or her job for leaking the information about the strapped word. Every news station was on the story now, interviewing anyone who had ever been to a fair, by the looks of it. One individual in particular was drawing a lot of attention.
"I had my suspicions it was Dox," said the dowdy woman, who had done up her hair and donned some makeup for her big TV interview. She hugged her infant on her hip while keeping an overtly motherly hold around her teenaged daughter's shoulders. "I knew right then and there that he was bad. Covered in blood, he was. Looked very shifty and didn't want to talk to me. I made sure to get my girls to safety first before I tried to call the police, but he slipped away."
The teenager looked up at her mother, who gave her a subtle nudge to keep her mouth shut and not draw attention away from her. The girl looked down, embarrassed by the spectacle her parent was making of them both.
"We heard that he left with someone. Isn't that what your daughter said?" asked the reporter.
"Why, er, yes. That's what I meant: he slipped away with someone. That person brought him a coat, probably to help hide the blood and murder weapon. I was but a couple of feet away from him when I tried talking to him, you know. He was a good actor, but I saw right through him."
"If you so strongly believed that he was Dox from the start, why did you leave your two young children alone with him?" asked the reporter, posing good questions but hungrily believing anything that came out of the woman's mouth.
"I ... er ... I knew he wouldn't hurt them."
"But this is a man connected to six brutal killings."
"He must have had enough blood loss for one day," said the dowdy woman authoritatively.
The television screen went black.
"Two-faced bitch," Michael sneered, tossing the remote down and getting to his feet. "You would have thought Brooklyn was her son, the way she was carrying on and sobbing when she spoke to us, and now she's convinced he's the devil reincarnate."
"Television today's nothing but rubbish," Emily said, scribbling away on the already-chaotic white board, putting down anything that came to mind. "We have to stick with the facts. Main questions—" she encircled it on the board "—is why did Dox murder two days earlier than expected?"
Balancing his chair on its back legs, Eddie effortlessly spun a basketball on one finger. It came natural to him, and at times he seemed to forget he was even doing it, but this constant use of his hands left his mind free of distractions.
"There's no concrete evidence that he would only kill on Mondays," he said, rocking back and forth in his, causing the diamond studs in his ears to flash every time they caught the light.
Michael, stretched out on the couch with his cap covering his face, interrupted his recreational card shuffling to toss a playing card in Eddie's direction.
"Except for the fact that he'd only killed on Monday until now," he said, tilting his head to one side and peering out from under his cap.
Eddie picked up and tossed back the card. The basketball never stopped spinning.
"That's not concrete, Michael."
Michael executed a perfect riffle shuffle, then held the cards out to Tala.
"What, you want his killing schedule carved into a slab, Eddie?"
"It's a break in the pattern we've seen so far," Emily said, impatiently tapping the board. It sounded like she was agreeing with Michael, but then she said, "Dox is too meticulous a planner for this to have been a mistake. He must have had a reason to change the date."
Tala choose a card from the fanned deck, looked at it, returned it, and shook his head when Michael magically predicted the wrong card.
"Stupid trick," Michael grumbled, forced to settle on just shuffling them.
"It's not Dox."
By now Tala was getting used to being looked at as though he was from Mars. He had been on the receiving end of many such looks today. Since Michael's legs were stretched out behind him on the couch, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, toying with an elastic band Michael had shot at him earlier. Despite being the voice of a very unpopular opinion, he still shook his head at them, refusing to give in to the mass misconception.
The statement was so shocking even the basketball stood still, still perfectly poised on Eddie's finger.
"What do you mean 'It's not Dox'? He left his calling card, which you knew to look for."
Tala snapped the band and it flew across the small office they had taken over for themselves in secret. Its rightful owner was away on some tax fraud investigation and Michael was much more skilled in producing keys he shouldn't be in possession of that card tricks. Not even Emily, who should have been spoken out against the idea of using a colleague's office without his permission or knowledge, could turn down the offer of a quiet haven, away from the busy work floor. Tala's office would have served just as well, but he would not go anywhere near it. Luckily, neither would Michael, which spared Tala from having to lie his way through an explanation. Michael had reminded them that, although he would like nothing better than using any excuse to finish his fistfight with Johnny, he did not want to push his luck with Bryan. Being currently bombarded by demands and inquiries, the Captain was in no forgiving mood right now. Anyone who pissed him off would regret it for years to come.
For his part, Tala had kept a very low profile since returning to the station with the others. With all the excitement generated by the murders, no one paid him any attention, which was good because wagging tongues would soon reach Johnny's ears and the last thing Tala needed to endure was having to face his assailant/colleague. Even though he hadn't seen hair nor hide of the Scotsman all day, Tala was feeling incredibly nauseous, and tired. He wasn't ready to be back yet. When not thinking of the murders, all he could think of was his bed.
Standing, he picked up another marker and, with Emily's blessing, wiped the board clean. He made two columns. At the top of the left column he wrote PREVIOUS SINS; at the top of the right he wrote LUST.
"Situation?" he asked the others, tapping the left column.
"First four murders were done on a Monday," Michael said.
"Technically, they weren't," Eddie said, sitting up. He began counting them off on his fingers. "We found Kevin Ginko on Monday 3rd, but estimated time of death was Friday 31st or Saturday 1st. We found Gary Gao on Monday 10th, but the tenants had been noticing the smell for days and the autopsy determined he'd died either on the 4th or the 5th. We found Wyatt Ishida on the Monday 17th, but he didn't die until the 18th."
"The only person who actually died on a Monday was Oliver Polanski," Emily said.
"All that security around Polanski must have made it impossible for Dox to get to him any earlier," Michael said, jiggling his legs to get his circulation going again. "He had to have taken a lot of risks to make the Monday deadline."
"And pulled it off nicely," Eddie said.
"So actually killing someone on a Monday was a break from his routine," Michaels said. "Then, by killing today, on a Saturday, does that mean Dox is back on track?"
"Maybe he wasn't counting on Brooklyn being there," Emile said. "It wasn't common practice for Carlyle Kingston to take his son with him on business trips. Had it not been for Brooklyn no one would have noticed Carlyle's absence until he missed his Monday meeting. The front desk sends someone up to check when his business partners call, the maid finds the bodies, we're notified, and another sin victim has been discovered on a Monday."
Tala jotted it all down.
"But," he said, "all of Dox's previous killings, regardless of timing, had been one person per sin. Why two this time?"
"But they were both guilty of lust."
"And thousands of lawyers and politicians and corporation CEOs are guilty of greed; and thousands of actors and models are too proud of themselves; and there are almost as many do-nothing druggies as there are overweight people; and yet Dox only choose one victim at a time. He isn't trying to get rid of them all. He just needs examples."
"Maybe he killed the butler because he caught him off guard," Eddie said, now dribbling the ball. "It certainly looked like an impulse strike. He'd just finished choking Carlyle when he suddenly hears the butler moving around in the bathroom. Hides just beyond the door; butler opens the door; BAM! right in the temple."
"The message wasn't like the others," Tala said, noting down this discrepancy. "Ginko scene: GREED burnt into the carpet. Gao scene: GLUTTONY smeared with grease on the wall. Ishida scene: SLOTH written in the dust on the wall. Polanksi scene: PRIDE written in lipstick on a mirror. Dox wrote these with his own hands. Here, however, the word LUST was spelled out with the straps."
"So he's just stepping up his game," Eddie said, still not convinced.
"Exactly," Tala said, surprising them. "But don't you see? Everything has been taken to the next level. First four murders, timed to be discovered on a Monday; this time, found two days in advanced. First four murders, one victim; this time, two victims. First four murders, sins written by hand; this time, sin elaborately incorporated into the scene. It's almost as if ... this was meant to ... outshine the previous murders."
"What, like show them up?"
"Yes."
" ... So now Dox is showing off to himself?"
"No."
"Where are you going with this then?"
"I think we should go to the one place everyone seems to be avoiding. Caution: I'm now gonna say something that going to make Tala very angry with me," Michael said, giving an apologetic shrug in advance, "but am I the only one who thinks it's interesting that Brooklyn, the sole 'survivor' of this massacre, was carrying the alleged murder weapon with him?"
Michael knew him well: Tala turned on him, enraged.
"Don't even dare, Michael."
"Brooklyn Kingston and Dox, the same person?" Eddie asked.
"Weren't you the one who thought it strange that he knew the order of the sins that had already been committed, despite having no contact with the outside world?" Michael asked Tala, trying to not aggravate the already tense standoff by speaking as professionally as possible. "I'm just saying ... "
"Don't know about the first four, but Brooklyn had more than enough reasons to want to kill his father and butler," Emily said, rubbing her eyes. This spontaneous new direction in thinking seemed to be sapping her of her life-force. Her long hair was loose, for once, framing her small shoulders, which sagged as she sat slumped back in a chair in an unusually lacklustre manner. "In which case I'm surprised it took him this long to fight back."
Eddie sighed. The basketball flew in a graceful arch and landed right in the paper wastebasket in the corner.
"Brooklyn had blood and the murder weapon on him," he said. "Let's just break it down into the three main scenarios. 1) Brooklyn is Dox and just committed his fifth sin murder(s), 2) Brooklyn is not Dox, but he did kill his father and butler in a way very similar to Dox, or 3) Brooklyn did not kill anyone and is just a victim of circumstance. Which sounds the most likely?"
"From your tone of voice I can guess which one sounds most likely to you," Tala said. "Fine. Assume, for the sake of argument, why would Brooklyn/Dox kill Carlyle now? Dox is working up to something big. He is saving the worst sinner for last. Who could possibly be worst, in Brooklyn's case, than his own father, who has abused him his entire life? Why claim his father as the fifth sin victim, instead of the grand finale? No. It's neither Brooklyn nor Dox," he said, getting back to his earlier point. "Someone else killed these men and staged the scene to resemble a Dox murder."
Eddie turned to Michael, as if to implore him to talk some sense in Tala. Emily looked like she was trying her best to believe him, but it was hard to choose between what was admittedly convincing evidence and Tala's countering gut feeling.
"Okay," Michael said slowly when the tension reached unbearable levels. "Okay ... Let's go with Tala's idea for a second here. Why would someone want to replicate a Dox murder?"
Eddie sighed, but pitched in.
"Copycat killing. Saw all the attention Dox was getting and wants to share the glory and the front page."
"But no one knows who the real Dox is, and as far as public opinion goes these murders were committed by the original Dox. What unoriginal famewhore would be satisfied with not being given the credit he worked so hard to steal?"
"It's not a message to us ... It's a message to Dox himself," Tala said, leaning back to get a bigger picture. "This murderer took Dox's formula and enhanced it. He's taken Dox's masterpiece and mockingly copied it. Whoever Dox had planned for Monday's victim, it's now been ruined because this person has gone and beaten him at his own game. And, to further dispel the Brooklyn-did-it nonsense, how do you then explain the man who took him away from the fair? If Brooklyn committed the crime, who was the old man who was after him?"
"Only one person remembers having seen that so-called abduction, and it's the same eyewitness who's currently demonizing Brooklyn on national television?" Emily had to remind them. "Her account's all over the place. We can't trust her now."
"But it wasn't the mother who saw it actually happen; it was the teenage daughter, who knows her mother's distorting the facts."
"Her mother could have told her to make up the story from the very beginning; to juice it up a bit by bringing in the tall, dark bogey man. If you were to put either of those two on the stands the opposition would tear them apart."
The door opened and Steven shuffled in. Knowing what he had just been through, everyone offered sympathetic nods. Eddie even gave up his seat, allowing Steven to drop down heavily in it, gripping his mug.
"They should allow strong alcohol in this place," he grumbled, staring morosely at his black coffee. "I'm hitting the bar later. Someone better come with me because I am going to get smashed."
"Before you drink away the images, did you see anything unusual on the tape?"
Steven laughed, loudly and tortured.
"I've had, what, seven, eight girlfriends in the past?" Michael nodded; Eddie held up ten fingers. "Anyway. Slept with a total of maybe thirty women. Am the proud owner of over two hundred porn DVDs, been to Amsterdam, and investigated a slew of perverse sex crimes. And even then, I'm ... Shit, man. That tape should be burned before its evilness begins attracting demons. I don't care, alright? I honestly don't care who murdered those two bastards because I would have crushed their skulls with my bare hands if they were still alive."
"Careful, Steven," Emily said, pouring him some more coffee. "No matter what they did, they did not deserve to die. That's the law."
"Tape's still in the player. The law's more than welcome to view all six hours of it."
Emily looked away with a shiver.
"Was there anything other than their sexploits caught on tape?" she asked. "Was there someone else present? Or did they mention someone else? Any discussion that they believed they would be targeted? Mentions of death threats or suspicious characters following them?"
"Unless 'Stick it in him deeper and jiggle it, Master Kingston' is code for 'Help! We're being stalked!', then no."
Tala dug his nails into his knees as he forced himself not to think about how bad the acts on that tape had to be in order to turn a hardcase like Steven's stomach.
" ... Did Brooklyn look like he was enjoying it?"
"Dude!"
"Jesus, Michael!"
Michael returned their disbelief with an affronted look of his own.
"Okay, you thinking I'm getting off on this is totally insulting!" he said, pulling off his cap. "What I meant was whether Brooklyn showed any rebellion? Did he just do as told, or did he at any point object or tried to get away? Did he threaten them?"
"I cannot believe you guys," Tala said, scoffing bitterly. "Brooklyn is the victim here! Not only was he raped and humiliated by his father and Kiba, but he also witnessed their murders, fled in fear for his life, and still ended up in the hands of the man who we should be scrutinizing. Instead you're just trying to push all the blame on him because he's the most convenient target."
Having read their scrawled notes on the whiteboard, Steven chose to take the middle road on this one.
"Listen here, I'm not yet convinced that Kingston could be Dox, but I'll be damned if he did not kill those two. Yes, Brooklyn is the victim of rape, and in turn his father and butler are now the victims of murder. I want to kill two already dead men just from watching that video: how do you think the victim himself feels, after all these years? How would you feel if someone did something to you, Tala? Wouldn't you want revenge?"
Tala took a deep breath and looked away. Michael tried to catch his eye, but he further distanced himself from the rest by walking over to the window, his back to them.
' ... How would you feel ... if someone did that to you ... wouldn't you want revenge?'
'Keep it together,' he told himself. 'You cannot break down here in front of everyone.'
' ... Can't believe you actually bled,' Johnny's voice snickered in his ear. ' ... keep this a secret ... we're going to have to hold another little meeting just like this one ... again and again ... '
The sound of the running shower; of wet skin hitting wet skin; of his pitiful gasps and moans; of Johnny's satisfied tone thereafter. The pain, and the feel of those hands on him; and the knowledge that he'd be equally helpless should it happen again.
'If someone did that to you ... wouldn't you want revenge?'
'Yes. Yes, I would. I do,' Tala thought, folding his arms tightly against his body.
The door opened, turning heads. Tala composed himself when he heard the others greet the Captain.
"So this is where you've all been hiding," Bryan said, leaning in the doorframe, looking like he could do with a getaway himself. He smiled across the room at Tala, pleased to see him. "Feeling better?"
"I'll manage," Tala said, hesitantly returning to the small group.
"You'd better been putting this room to good use," Bryan said to them all, wheeling over the large leather seat from behind the desk. "If anyone comes in and asks, I've been in here with you for the past fifteen minutes."
"Where have you been, if I may ask?"
"Avoiding the press and having a smoke up on the roof," Bryan said without pause. He did look a bit more at ease. "With that out of the way, I can now function for the next twelve hours. Starting with notifying you on a little detail which I notice no one seems to be studying. Beginning at the beginning, when were we first warned that today was going to be one of our least favourite days?"
"When I received that call from Brooklyn," Tala said.
"And how was Brooklyn even able to make that call when he was outside?"
"Mobile phone. Modern technology has advanced since our heyday as kids, sir," Steven said.
"We're both too old for this," Bryan shot back, scoffing.
" ... What would Brooklyn Kingston be doing with a cell phone?" Michael asked, finally getting it. "Carlyle didn't even let him watch TV, let alone talk to anyone via phone."
"Moreover, how did he know Tala's number?"
"I did give it to him," Tala said, answering Emily's question. "When Michael and I went to his house I handed him my card. He must have kept it, or memorized the number."
"Brooklyn didn't own a cell phone," Bryan said, getting them back on track. "All three of his father's phones are accounted for. Kiba didn't have a phone of his own."
"Brooklyn could have stolen it from someone at the fair."
"It's astonishing enough he managed to get so far without being noticed. Someone would have noticed a half-clothed guy if he got close enough to swipe a phone."
Cutting to the chase, Bryan flipped open the thin file he held.
"Trackers pinpointed the call Brooklyn made to Tala from the fair at 10.47 this morning. That same phone made a call before that, at 9.58 AM, from within the Kingstons' suit. We were able to trace the subscription given to a Violleta A.S. Ryu."
"Who the fuck?"
Tala had never heard the name either. Writing it down, he tried to recall whether he'd ever seen it in a document somewhere, but it was such an unusual name it surely would have stuck to him if he'd seen in before.
"So the killer could have been a woman after all," Eddie said.
"Wouldn't someone have noticed a female bodybuilder trudging around in that hotel? It's not something you see every day."
"Whoever she is, she subscribed just a few days ago," Bryan said. "No records of an address."
"It has to be a pseudonym," Emily said. "Whoever it is knew the risk of us tracing his number back to him, so he got another one under a false name."
Tala twirled the whiteboard marker round and round as he stared at the name on the paper. Violleta A.S. Ryu ... Such a ridiculously elaborate name for a pseudonym.
"And was he expecting an important call that couldn't wait until after he'd finished bashing a man's head in?" Michael asked.
"More like expecting to make a call while on the job."
"An accomplice?"
"That would kinda support Tala's claim that it isn't Dox: he works alone."
Or did it prove just the opposite? The photos of the Polanski murder—one of the photos had revealed a third person in the room, their identity hidden in the shadows.
' ... he's in the shadows ... '
Brooklyn had used those exact words during the call. He had seen someone in the shadows in his father's bedroom. He had seen the killer, and the killer had seen him; had chased him; had caught him.
It was not Brooklyn, because he had been abducted by the killer.
It was not Dox, because he was being mocked by the killer.
Then who could it be?
"Yeah?" Steven said gruffly, answering his phone that had just gone off. He sat up, raising everyone's curiosity. "You sure? You're absolutely sure? ... Fuck."
"What happened?"
"I left a couple of guys at the parking garage, just in case," Steven said, already on his feet. "While passing a car on the fifth floor they noticed something leaking from the back. The trunk wasn't fully closed so they opened it. Guess who they found stuffed in there, wearing a long grey duster and a wide hat, with a fire poker rammed straight through his head? And it's not Brooklyn."
"Found our bogey man," Michael said.
"Does the bogey man have a proper name?" Bryan asked.
"According to his driver's licence he used to be Makoto Murakami, dead at age sixty-nine," Steven said, sharing looks with Eddie.
"Old Man Mako? Seriously?" Eddie asked.
"You know him?"
"He's before you kids' time," Steven said to Michael and Emily. "Eddie and I were investigating a string of assaults against minors, which led us straight to Murakami. He had a history of snapping pictures of children and young teens at community pools, two counts of sexual misdemeanour charges and one false charge of statutory rape back in 1977."
"How so 'false charge'?" Emily asked.
"He willingly had sex with the two defendants because he thought at the time that they were underage, but then it turned out they were in their mid-twenties and one of them had given him gonorrhoea so he brought them to court."
"I remember that one," Bryan said. "Would have been a solid case had someone from the defence not stolen some of Muramaki's confiscated kiddie porn for herself. In the end the case was dismissed."
"He tried to sue them for criminal transmission of the clap?"
"He tried to sue them for misrepresentation because they'd lied about their age."
"It's a miracle he lived to be sixty-nine."
"Would have turned seventy this Tuesday."
"So he thought he'd pick himself up a little birthday present and bring it home for wrapping."
"Scenario numero four," Eddie said, swiping Tala's marker and adding his thoughts to the board. "Mr Murakami's hanging around the fair, looking for a kid to steal, but with all the killings going around no parent it letting their kid out of their sight. Having honed the skills of spotting the vulnerable, Murakami notices Brooklyn and takes him instead."
"Cinq," Michael piped up with a poor French accent, stealing the marker from Eddie. He spoke as he wrote, "Le Murakami's been hanging around for a couple of days, notices that Carlyle Kingston, who is staying in a nearby swanky hotel, has got himself a pretty son, breaks into the room, kills those in his way, Brooklyn temporarily escapes but he tracks him down at the fair and grabs him."
"And why would a bona fide paedo who has never killed before murder two men in order to abduct someone who is almost ten years older than his preferred victims?"
"Ah, come on, Tala!" Michael said, tossing the cap of the marker at him. "You wanted the murderer to be someone other than Dox or Brooklyn, and here he is. "
"More importantly," Bryan intercut, "he's dead, and we know who was with him."
"We don't know—"
"Enough, Tala," Eddie said, finally losing his cool. He looked annoyed at Tala's persistence. "It sucks, but that's life. All evidence points in his direction. Brooklyn Kingston is a rape victim, and it's turned him into a murderer. You can blame the father for warping this guy's mind, but he's dead, along with two others."
"Self-defence," Tala said, forced to resort to his weakest argument.
"There's self-defence, and then there's skewering a guy through the skull and attempting to hide the body. We have to put out a warning, Captain," Eddie said, turning to Bryan. "Our guys are out there, thinking they're looking for a harmless person who'll happily cooperate. We can't risk someone approaching this guy and getting his skull cracked as well. Whether he's Dox or not, Brooklyn Kingston has killed."
"Bryan, don't," Tala said. "You have to trust me on this. It's not Kingston. If you put out that call any cop who finds him will be more likely to shoot him if he even attempts to resist arrest."
"If he's innocent then why would he resist arrest?" Steven asked, having lost some sympathy for Brooklyn after the latest gruesome discovery.
"Because he's frightened!" Tala exploded. "He's never been on his own before. He saw his father murdered! He thinks the murderer's still after him! He'll be scared witless by anyone who tries to apprehend him now!"
"Tala, listen to yourself," Emily said. "Brooklyn's frightened. He isn't thinking straight. What if a citizen tries to help him and he thinks they're trying to harm him? What if he kills them too? Will that be justified? We have to protect the public."
"And who's protecting Brooklyn then? Isn't that our job?"
" ... Your call, Captain," Steven said.
"Bryan, please, listen to me—" Tala said, but Bryan held up his hand.
"Eddie, Michael, get down to the parking garage; see what's happening and what's been discovered. Steven, get on the techs' case: we might be able to track Brooklyn if he still has that phone. Emily, relay the message to all search parties: Kingston may be armed and dangerous. Tala, you—"
"Forget it. I'm going home," Tala said, roughly pushing past Bryan. "If Brooklyn gets gunned down than it's his blood on your hands, not mine. You're no better than the rest of them, Bryan!"
He didn't need the stunned silence he left behind in the room to tell him that he'd crossed the line. Nor did he need to look back as he strode down the corridor to know that Bryan was catching up to him. He expected the hand before it grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall. He could even brace himself in advance, making sure the pain than lanced through his sore back did catch him unaware.
"I'm sorry," he said, arching his back away from the unforgiving wall, but it only made the pain worse.
"Anyone else, anyone else, and I would have kicked them off this case and banished them to desk duties for the next five years," Bryan said, not about to let him off so easily. "Even though you are not an officer, in these walls I am your superior and Captain and I will not be spoken to in that voice in my own department by one of my own underlings. You will not disrespect me in front of others like that again, understood?"
"Sorry," Tala repeated, worming in his grip.
The hands pulled him away from the wall. He sighed, relieved, as he was allowed to rest his head on the other's chest while Bryan gently rubbed the tender area, trying to soothe the burn.
"Me too," Bryan whispered. "I forgot about your back."
"I didn't forget my place. I know I was out of order. But I also know I'm not wrong about this, Bryan. It couldn't have been Brooklyn. He's no killer, and he's certainly not Dox. Murakami was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he's not the Carlyle and Kiba's killer. Neither is the original Dox. I know they are the three strongest suspects right now, but it's not right."
"Nonetheless, a suspect is a suspect. And it will be for Brooklyn's own best interest to be off the streets. We're not shooting to kill here, Tala. It's just a warning to my men to approach Brooklyn with caution. Unlike Muramaki, once we get Brooklyn we'll restrain him so that he cannot hurt anyone, including himself. Whoever he is, guilty or innocent, we won't get any answers from him if he's dead, so killing him is the last thing we want to do right now."
It was some reassurance, but Bryan was refusing to pick sides.
"Why can't you trust me on this?" Tala wondered. "I'd hope that you, my partner, would at least back me up. Do you also think I'm wrong?"
"The problem with being Captain, Tala, is that I am ultimately responsible. I don't know everything, but I will not give an order unless I have come to the decision that it's the right thing to do. And right now, bringing in Brooklyn is the right thing to do." He saw that Tala was not satisfied with this answer. "Give me something to work with, Tala. You are free to speculate, but I cannot do anything with that alone. I need evidence before I can back your theories. Here, this might be a good starting point for you."
He pressed the note Tala had scribbled on earlier into his hand.
"I have done nothing but trust and respect your work and opinion so far," he whispered. "As a lover, I want nothing more than to believe you. As an official, I cannot let personal feelings get in the way of protocol. Bring me something, anything, proving your claims and I will do everything in my power to see that Brooklyn's name is cleared."
It wasn't much, but it was something. Tala nodded. At last, someone who believed in him. There was someone there for him. Their lips brushed, the sweet kiss was almost sealed, when ...
"Oy, Kuznetsov!"
Running showers. White tiles. Red blood.
Pulling away guiltily just as Johnny McGregor turned the corner, Tala dropped his eyes, afraid Bryan, confused, would be able to read the whole story in them. His hands itched to brush at his own body, as if that could clean away the resurging memories of the hands that had touched him and held him down against his will. His shoulders and spine tingled, making him flinch involuntarily as the fine hairs on them stood up, reacting to the imaginary breath breathing down on them.
Gripping hands. Clumsy thrusts.
He had not dared to attempt to formulate a plan on how to handle an inevitable run-in with Johnny in the long run (he was still working on trying to repress and forget as much of what had happened as possible); the consequence of his procrastination was that he now found himself completely unprepared for this confrontation.
Panting. Groaning. Heaving.
For his part, Johnny did not show any suspicious behaviour; not even when he spotted Tala.
"There you are," he said, addressing Bryan. "Those squatters back there told me you're around here somewhere. Big news, today's murders, but have you forgotten the meeting to discuss the reports of Hiwatari having been spotted in Thailand? The Thai officers are here, waiting in the conference room to begin discussions."
"I am perfectly capable of reading the time, McGregor," Bryan said. He kept a hand on Tala's hip, not caring that Johnny was right there. He knew that Johnny knew about them, and was daring the highlander to make even the slightest of slights in his presence. "The meeting's not for another fifteen minutes. Is that all? We're in the middle of something here."
Bryan thought Johnny's smirk was a forged response of indifference. Tala knew Johnny was trying to stop himself from openly grinning at Bryan's oblivion. He was loving it, inwardly laughing his head off at the Captain's expense, thinking how humiliated Bryan would be if he were to tell him then and there that his orders had failed to save Tala that day; how humiliated he'd be to know that, while he now stood here with a protective hand on Tala's clothed waist, Johnny's hands had run themselves over Tala's naked body.
Seeing Tala in person for the first time since the shower assault, Johnny seemed unable to keep his eyes off of him, even when Tala backed away, keeping Bryan between them.
"Actually, sir," he said, "I was just leaving. Thank you for your time."
"Are you sure?" Bryan asked Tala, hoping to finish what they'd started.
"I just need to lie down for a while. I'll be in again tomorrow."
Tearing his eyes away from Tala's lower half, Johnny winked at him. Bryan did not see it.
"Keep up the good work, Ivanov," he said. "Hope your back's getting better!"
Not caring that he was giving the Scotsman's suddenly flaming eyes a full few of his posterior, Tala turned and hurried away, daring so much as a single tear to fall from his shimmering eyes.
Saturday, January 29, 2004
Time: 22.32
Waiting along with a small group of fellow tenants for an elevator, Tala felt no better off than when he'd left the station. Heavy snow had slowed traffic to a creep, giving him an extra thirty minutes to agonize over his predicament. Maintenance work on his apartment complex's elevators had bought him an additional five minutes so far. A few impatient, healthy tenants had given up waiting and taken the stairs. Those remaining were either exhausted from a long day's work, burdened with too many shopping bags to haul up flights of stairs, or just too lazy to make the climb to their floors.
Sitting on the edge of the giant plant pot next to the elevators, Tala did not join his fellow tenants in their disgruntled discussion on how unacceptable it was to being paying as much rent as they did and still not have the world waiting at their feet all the time. It was a tempting thought to offer any one of them a handsome percentage of his inheritance in exchange for swapping their so-called problems with his.
'It's bad enough you run from them,' he scolded himself, 'but now you want to dump them on someone else? Is it any wonder Johnny's able to walk over you like that?'
He'd run. Like a frightened dog he'd turned tail and run.
'Bryan was there. Johnny wouldn't try anything with Bryan there, so why didn't I feel safe?'
Was this it? Had Johnny actually succeeded in driving a wedge between them? He was certainly thinking of the Scotsman a lot more than his much gentler, kinder lover. He had tried imagining him in bed with Bryan, sharing every pleasurable touch, kiss, stroke and suckle together, but those passionate images were continuously being supplanted by forceful grasps, tugs and thrusts. Bryan's sensual small talk kept getting drowned out by Johnny's grating voice, panting and grunting like an animal.
"Are you cold?" a woman asked Tala, noticing him rubbing his arms. She turned to her husband, who had become the unelected moderator of the debate. "What did I tell you? The heating in this place also needs seeing to. God, this place is going to the dogs!"
DING
Both elevators arrived, running smoothly, and everyone forgot about their half-hearted revolution and piled in, complimenting the repair men who stepped out on a job well-done. The last to get in, Tala just managed to squeeze himself in. With so many people on board the elevator stopped at every floor. Once enough people had gotten off to allow more elbow room Tala was able to dig out his keys. Hooked in the keychain was the untidily folded piece of paper with the frustratingly outlandish name.
Another person got off, vacating his place against the elevator wall for Tala to fill.
'You're just one more problem on my list, Violleta A.S. Ryu,' he thought, staring at the name without much interest. "Drawing attention to yourself with such an eye-catching title. But you're also sloppy, allowing one of your victims to escape long enough to make a call on your phone, ruining your plans. Who do you think you are?"
Clever, that's what. Why did this name seem to be laughing at him? What private joke was it coyly playing on him? It was just a name. No, not even that. It was just a pseudonym.
The elevator stopped. The chairman couple of the Downstairs Committee of Temporary Outrage stepped out, loudly commenting on how it was nice to live in the better part of town with such excellent services. The doors slid close again.
'No.' Tala held up the paper to the light. 'Not even a pseudonym.'
Violleta A.S. Ryu
Taking a pen out of his bag, he held the paper against the wall and began scratching out likely words. The remaining passengers glanced over to see what the excitement was; unable to see what he was writing, they went back to staring at the blinking numbers over the doors.
By the time they'd reached the ninth floor he found what he thought was one word.
Violleta A.S. Ryu
V-O-L-E-S = L-O-V-E-S
The doors opened, letting out two more people on the tenth floor.
Violleta A.S. Ryu
L-T-A-A = T-A-L-A
A man with suitcase stepped out on the eleventh stop.
Violleta A.S. Ryu
I-R-Y-U = ...
The doors slid open before him, but Tala could only stare at the solved mystery in the palm of his hands.
VIOLETTA A.S. RYU
YURI LOVES TALA
Red eyes. Tattooed face. Patronizing smirk.
Startled exclamations as he leapt out. Not stopping to apologize to those he'd bumped, he ran all the way to his door. Had he left his mobile at the station? Stupid. He'd have to make the call from his house phone.
'It's him! Not Brooklyn! Not Dox! It's him!' he thought over and over again as he jammed the keys in the lock and ran inside, leaving the keys in the door. 'Hiwatari, you bastard! You've done it again!'
Throwing down his bag in the hallway, he ran into the living room.
"Where's the phone? Have to inform the ... others ... "
"Don't you know how to knock, Officer Ivanov?"
Looking up from where he'd been solving the newspaper's daily crossword puzzle, Kai Hiwatari put down his glass of wine and calmly laced his fingers together, welcoming Tala with a courteous smile.
Snuggled up against Hiwatari, peeking over his scabbed knees with wide teal eyes (one of which had an ugly dark bruise beneath it), was Brooklyn Kingston, who grabbed Hiwatari's arm, frightened by Tala's sudden appearance.
"Father," he asked, startled and woozy, scooting even closer to Hiwatari, not quite able to focus thanks to the wine in his own glass. "Father, who is that?"
"It's all right," Hiwatari said, patting the tangled orange hair. "It's just Mother."
Tbc ...
A/N: So, this is, what, the third time I end a chapter with Kai having invited himself into Tala's apartment? XD
What ho! What's this I see on the next page? Could it be ... Chapter 22 already??
Read & Review, please.