6 SAM
When Connor came through the door, I was waiting for him. I’d been frozen in the same spot since Ahmed hung up—anxious, dreading having to break the news. I had no idea how he’d react, but watching him walk in, I was certain it would be badly.
“Where have you been?” The question came out before I could stop it.
“Investigating.” He looked at me, then at the folder in my hands. His folder. “What were you doing with that?”
“Who did you call from my phone?”
“A friend.” He walked over and set his gun on the counter.
Damn it. This just keeps getting worse.
“Does that make you nervous?” he asked, watching me stare at the gun.
“I’ve… seen guns before,” I replied, shifting my gaze to the paper. “Your friend… were you close?”
If there was a good way to say this, I sure as hell didn’t have it.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked. I didn’t respond, my tension visible—though nothing compared to what churned inside me. “Samantha?”
I took a deep breath. He sighed impatiently.
“Why are you asking me about Bob?” he pressed. When I still didn’t answer, he slammed his hand on the counter, making me flinch. “Shit, why do you want to know about Bob?”
“I was here when my phone rang. They said my number was listed in the contacts of someone who…” I shrank back. “I’m so sorry…”
Connor froze, then took a few steps back. His jaw was tight, his fists even tighter.
“Did they say where?”
“It looks like he’s the body from the news…”
“Is that why this folder is in your hand?”
“I was trying to figure out… I wanted to know what to say…” I didn’t want to sound so confused. “I don’t know what I was looking for.”
Connor didn’t respond. He just walked toward the door.
“Wait… I—”
Someone knocked on the door and Connor’s hand shot toward the gun.
“Hey, relax. Okay?” I touched his hand. “You should put that away.”
Connor covered the gun with his shirt, and I took a deep breath before opening the door.
“Detective Ahmed,” I greeted him.
“Miss Riad… it’s been a while.” He smiled, extending his hand.
“I’m sorry about your friend, Mr. O’Brien,” Ahmed said, turning to Connor. I could practically hear Connor growling with rage. He was ready to tear apart anything in his path. “I tried to contact you but couldn’t get through.”
“A small incident with my phone,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Seems it was a night full of incidents,” Ahmed said in a tone that made Connor’s jaw clench even harder.
“Where is Bob?”
“With the medical examiner. We’re handling the investigation.”
“I want to see him.”
“I can’t release him yet, unfortunately. But I’ll let you know as soon as you can see him.” Ahmed turned to me. “You said you might have information about the case.”
I looked at Connor, silently willing him to say something about Ammit, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked away and moved toward the bed.
“I… I…” What do I do now? “I thought maybe Connor knew something.”
I stared at him again, but he gave me nothing.
“But we talked, and he didn’t see Bob yesterday,” I lied. “I didn’t have time to let you know.”
Ahmed’s eyes went to the folder on the counter, and I tried to play it off as best I could.
“Still working on your parents’ case?” Ahmed asked.
“You know how it is. Hard to give up,” was all I said.
“I understand. Well, I’ll be going.” Ahmed turned to Connor. “If you remember anything you want to share…”
“I’ll know where to find you,” Connor replied.
Ahmed said goodbye and left us alone.
“What’s your problem? I thought you wanted to catch this Ammit,” I muttered as I closed the door.
“It’s what I want most… more than ever,” he replied, undoing a few buttons on his shirt.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I have no intention of involving the local police. If I did, I would have done it the moment I arrived.”
“You don’t want to arrest Ammit…” I concluded. It was so obvious.
“I do,” he admitted, “but I’m not willing to risk it.”
“So your grand plan is to go out there hunting a ghost with no backup or support?” I stared at him in disbelief. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He dropped the subject without even answering and buried himself in his paperwork while I tried to ignore the questions forming in my head.
Every now and then he’d grumble and rub his temples. Whatever drug they’d given him must have been wearing off.
“Here.” I handed him a cup of herbal tea that would help with the symptoms.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“Do you think Ammit killed your friend?” I sat across from him, holding my own cup.
“It’s possible... though it doesn’t make sense.” He looked at me. “Like everything in this case.”
“What does that mean?”
Connor was clearly weighing how much he could—or wanted to—tell me.
“Oh, come on. I saved your life. You could’ve woken up with a cat licking your face.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” he huffed before continuing. “I didn’t know anything about mythology when I took on the investigation. Ammit proclaimed himself a deity to some local paper. But up until then, he was just a sick bastard in a costume,” Connor said with disdain.
“No judgment here. It’s hard to understand the appeal of something with a lion’s mane and a crocodile’s head.”
“One day after another shift, I was watching TV and heard some Dr. Spears talking about the legend—how Ammit was like a sword of justice.”
“Kind of a cheesy way to put it, but it makes sense. Ammit is the personification of divine retribution for all evils committed in life... That sword of justice Spears was talking about.” I took a sip of my tea.
“I remember spending three days straight trying to make sense of his twisted justice, and then I realized what wasn’t so obvious.
” He stared at the paper in front of him.
“We always thought his killings were random, but when I dug deeper, I found a pattern in his victims. More specifically, in their histories.”
“They had something in common?”
“Yes. They were all connected to someone who wasn’t exactly a model citizen.” He pulled a file from the stack of papers he’d been reading moments before. “This is Gun Loyal. A well-known abuser in New York—a real bastard.”
“I don’t remember seeing him on the victim lists.”
“Because he’s not on them. But we have another Loyal.” He pointed to a name on the file. “Dove Loyal Jeners.”
“Dove Jenners, the woman found in front of a church?”
“Exactly.” He seemed impressed that I remembered. “After her name came up, I spent months reviewing all the cases, and in every single one, I found some father, husband, daughter, or ex-girlfriend of someone with a shady past.”
“And how did he know? You said it took you months to discover this connection. How could he do it?”
“That was the hardest part—figuring out how he did it. For a while, I suspected he was a cop with access to that kind of information, but that lead went nowhere.” He took a long sip of tea. “Turns out the most obvious answer was the hardest one to see.”
The emotions this story stirred in Connor seemed to pulse from his very pores.
“He just had to read the newspaper,” he said, almost disgusted.
“I don’t understand.”
“All the primary targets—people connected to the victims—were in the newspapers weeks before Ammit started his annual killing spree. After that, he used the justice system itself to track down the victims and punish them for crimes they didn’t commit.”
“Wow... that’s bizarre.”
“That’s how I was able to predict the attack on the governor’s daughter,” he explained. “I kept an eye on the news and studied the odds. It was a shot in the dark—literally—but I saved the girl.”
“And almost died,” I said, feeling a chill.
“Comes with the territory.” He shrugged and went back to his tea.
I went to the sink and poured myself some more tea.
“Why did you cover for me? With Ahmed.”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” I approached him again, avoiding the subject and all the memories it would bring. “Is it true you shot Ammit?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw him?”
“Yes. I looked him in the eyes right before he drove his sword into my gut, slicing my organs in two.”
My whole body reacted to the mental image. His scarred abdomen told its own story. It was a miracle he’d survived.
Connor put the cup aside and stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Bob,” he said, walking unsteadily toward the door.
“Hey, you can’t go out like this.” I followed him to the door. “If Ammit killed your friend... you could, I don’t know, be next.”
“I’m not afraid of Ammit, Samantha.” He checked his gun. “Besides, I need to see Bob before they send his body back to the States.”
“Then I’ll take you.”
“Forget it.” He headed for the door, but I stepped in front of him.
“I’m not letting you go out there like a madman. You can barely last two seconds without rubbing your temples. You’re stumbling around, and the last time you went out, you came back all beaten up.”
He sighed, and his shoulders dropped. I’d won.
“I’ll take you there.” I grabbed my scarf hanging by the door. “I know someone who can get you inside.”
“You have a contact at the morgue? What kind of friends have you made around here?”
“The useful kind, Detective,” I replied, heading out first, followed by Connor.