4. Chapter 4
Waking up now is not nearly as unpleasant as the first time. Needler was right on that, after all.
At first, as daylight pulls me to wakefulness, memory abides, and I merely think I've had a rare, long and restful sleep. But that belief doesn't last long.
I stiffen, lifting onto my elbows. Somehow, I'm in my room, my bed. Wearing the same thing I had been when…
I gasp, lunging for my radio pager on the bedside table. Multiple missed calls from Dirk. In the seconds that I'm staring at the digital screen, it rings again.
I answer immediately. "Dirk…" I need to clear my throat, my voice croaking.
“What, now you’ve decided to be someone who sleeps in?” he sounds exasperated.
Rubbing my forehead as though that can clear my brain fog faster, I sit up. “I’m sorry…”
“Get in here quick. We need you.”
“Did Needler…”
“He did. Twice.”
That has me instantly more awake. “What?”
***
Carver, out on compassionate leave, that’s victim one. Victim two was an unknown, though it doesn't take long to figure out why the Needler might have been interested in him.
"Great, he's getting political now," Dirk says after Chloe brings up the reports, the conspiracies, and the evidence. His death scene had been littered with the pictures. Foreign places, dirty rooms, children. Chloe changes slides, even her usually impenetrably bright demeanour blackened a little by that.
"Cadden. People said he was going to run for mayor soon, despite the rumours. He and his party, of course, have denied any association with those things, calling them unfounded lies, but…"
"Not now," I conclude.
"Not now," she agrees. “They’re throwing Cadden under the bus now that he’s gone. Cutting all ties.”
I rest my head briefly on my hand. "But this guy wasn't a serial killer."
"Well," Dirk says, tapping his pen. "I don't see the public having a problem with the deviation so far."
He’s certainly right on that. The reporters are in a frenzy over the new direction Needler is taking. Two in one dreary night, and everyone everywhere is conjecturing which of Tregam’s political or controversial figures could be next. Tawill tries to calm them, standing out the front of the station with their mics pushed towards her. “Needler’s choice of victim was character-based, not politically directed. He has no affiliations in government.”
Much good it will do.
***
It’s stupid, I know that. As soon as darkness falls, and with it a drizzling, spitting rain, each drop like a freezing little needle, I go back to the mill, to that platform at the top of the crane.
“Back for more?”
I jump, swallowing a scream, and face him. The line of his mask glints in the dark. “I don’t have anything so interesting to show you tonight.”
“You took two,” I say, ignoring his barb.
“Well, you saved two.”
Talisof and the Butcher. I shake my head slowly. “They’re not saved.”
He comes closer, looking down at me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I’m hyper-aware of how close he’s come, how close he was just last night, and of my treacherous reaction then.
“Why are you here?” he asks, voice low. The spotlight is off tonight, and his mask is a black oval in the shadow of his hood. “I hope you don’t think you’re going to bring me in single-handedly.”
My lips tighten. “Why are you here again? Did you know I’d be back?”
“Maybe I just like the view.”
“We’re going to catch you,” I promise him. “You’re impetuous.”
“Ah, I see. You’re upset I didn’t stick to the pattern.” He laughs, the sound shrill through the voice changer. “Or maybe it’s something else…” He leans down fast, snatching a kiss and catching my mouth. This time, I react faster. With a yell, I scratch his neck and break away, pushing back against the link wall.
“Good job. You managed to not kiss me back this time. You know, I was only trying to drug you last time…”
“Was that…” I touch my lip. That aniseed taste, but nothing else. Am I imagining the dizziness, the blackness?
“Not this time.”
My hand drops, though my heart rate doesn’t, fluttering in my chest. “How are you finding them? How’d you find Strangler? How could you be sure about Cadden?”
An idle shrug. “Going places you won’t, or can’t. Connections. Talking to the right people.”
“Tregam underground,” I ascertain, trying not to think of the people Dirk was speaking to so casually, likely in the same network.
“The answers are there… if you’re friends with the right people.”
“Why show me anything, why talk to me?” Why did you kiss me? I want to ask, but won’t.
“Maybe I’m getting bored waiting for you to stumble in the right direction yourself.” A smile in his voice now. “Maybe I like your spirit.”
My mouth twists. “You murdered my husband.”
Light falls on the corner of his mouth, those blackened lips curving into a smile. “My Little Shadow, this is Tregam. If you haven’t murdered someone, you’ve sure as hell thought about it.”
While that’s not exactly a confession, it’s not a denial either. “You’ve been following me.”
Another non-denial. “You’ve piqued my interest.”
“Who are you?” More and more, I fear he could be someone known to me, even trusted.
Needler laughs. “How easy do you expect this to be, Little Shadow?” Lips curving into a smile caught by the faint light, he adds “That would cost much more than a kiss.”
The fluttering in my chest consumes my stomach too now. That traitorous dream intrudes into my thoughts. Would I? If it meant knowing the truth? The fact that I can’t answer that with a simple no , tightens my jaw. I take a step back, and his head tilts towards the stairs. “Go. If you want, you can leave your way tonight.”
Cautiously, I move for the exit, eyes on him still, but he only lets me go. I turn away then, trying not to feel his eyes on my back as I run.
***
"Can you do me a favour?" I ask, "Just between us."
Seb squints at me, slightly suspicious. I can't blame him.
I hold the little tube with three different cotton swabs. I'd regretted it, that first morning, the moment I'd washed my face and brushed my teeth, in my bleariness wiping away any DNA that might have still been on me from the kiss. Had going back last night been partly for this purpose? Yes, as foolhardy as that was. Especially since even if it did turn up something, I'd have trouble explaining where I got the samples… Two from my lips, one from under my nails, where his skin would surely be. The scratch on his neck was a bonus, one I wasn’t counting on. But it has to show up something, doesn’t it? "Run those for me."
He looks surprised but takes the vial in his white-gloved hand. Between the high collar of his lab coat and his glasses, it’s hard to read his expression. "Y-you don't want me to t-tell anyone about this?"
I give a tight smile. I waited until Rosie went home. She might be alternative, but I know she'd never do anything in her lab that wasn't strictly by the books. "Only a quick DNA test, just in case."
"Okay… sure."
I let out a tense breath. "Thank you, Seb."
***
Dirk is driving. We've left the city proper for the Southern edge of Tregam, where the buildings give way to green rolling hills and estates with more security than most banks.
"Can't wait to hear how hard these people's lives are," Dirk mutters, a pseudo-castle rolling by out his window.
I give him a look. "This guy’s partner was just brutally murdered and outed as all kinds of things. Let’s not judge too fast."
Dirk snorts. "As if he didn't know. How can you run for office with a guy and not get some hint…"
"We've all heard of wives who didn't know their husbands had girls tied up in the basement, or who didn't know their children were the ones skinning the neighbourhood cats. It’s possible."
"Possible, not probable."
"As always, you're a ray of sunshine, partner," I muse.
Dirk huffs a laugh, finally smiling at me. "That’s me. Did you see Talisof went in today?"
"And he'll never come out," I mutter. When he turns his attention back to the black river of a road, I frown at his profile. "Why are you wearing a scarf?"
It’s olive green, sitting loose around his neck.
"Because it’s cold?"
"You don't usually wear scarves."
Dirk raises an eyebrow. "You don't usually comment on my wardrobe."
"Well, I just…" I trail off, tearing my gaze away. I resist looking again. What do I think? That if I look past that scarf, I'll find…
"You're wearing one," he points out, still eyeing me.
"Right.” I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s cute."
He pulls a face, and I try to laugh along, but the unease sits with me, a suspicion I haven’t allowed myself to have. And I’m not about to let such a ridiculous suspicion worm in now. I’d know. I’d have to.
But then, what was I was just saying… about people missing the truth in their own children? Why not a partner?
"Are you, you know, alright?" His voice takes me by surprise, invading treacherous thoughts.
"I'm fine," I answer, too quickly. "Why?"
"You've just been acting strange."
"There's been a lot going on."
"Always is."
I take a deep breath, rubbing my eyes. "I'm just going dry, that’s all. It’s… hard." Not entirely a lie. I haven't had a drink recently, and it is affecting my mental state, or maybe my mood. More than likely, all the above.
Dirk nods slowly. "That's really good. If you need anything…"
I straighten, suddenly awkward. He's being so earnest, and here I am, in a web of lies. "Anyway, how about you?" I let a cheeky smile curve my lips. "How's Yolena?”
Now it’s his turn to shift awkwardly. “Well… yeah. I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, what’s wrong with her?” Just like the last ones, there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s pretty, smart, and patient enough to put up with his job commitment and his flakiness all rolled into one admittedly good-looking package.
“Nothing,” Dirk is saying, “She’s perfectly nice. She’s just so… carefree. When I look at her, sometimes all I see is bait.”
“That’s sweet. You should say that at your wedding.”
He laughs. “Something tells me we won’t be making it that far.”
“Oh?” I ask, as though surprised.
“I don’t know,” he says again. “She’s just not…” he trails off, apparently focused on the road, though nothing has changed outside.
“Not...?” I press.
He glances shortly towards me and gives a short laugh, running a hand through his hair before gripping the steering wheel again. “Right. I suppose.”
“Uh-huh,” I muse, though nothing about that was convincing. Something tells me not to press into his private life any further, lest he returns the favour. Thank goodness he never has.
The road winds over another set of hills, which would be picturesque if only the drizzle would stay away. As it is, they’re dark and washed out, the day appearing later than it is.
I watch Dirk out of the corner of my eye. Like I’m missing something… like he’s hiding something. The pressure, Needler, it all must be getting to me. But I don’t look away, and I end up focussing on his hand on the steering wheel. There’s a scar above his wrist, a burn mark. As I’m distracted by that, he leans forward, toward the steering wheel, looking out as though to get a better angle on the estate we’re coming up on. “I think this is it.”
“Mm.”
Unconsciously, he pushes the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow. It bunches there. I can see the shape of his bicep through the wool. Suddenly feeling the uncomfortable urge to shift in my seat, I look away, my face a little hotter than it was a moment ago. Another aspect of this going dry is my long-dormant sex drive rearing its inconvenient head. The last thing I need to be doing is thinking about fucking Dirk. Or thinking anything about Dirk, for that matter.
We’re driving down a long road bordered by chestnuts, a manor waiting at the end. Old money around here. Funny that this side of our belated would-be mayor was probably never shown to the masses.
The car door closing echoes on the empty gravel at the front. The police have already been through, taking computers and any other evidence. The murder happened as most do, in Crennick Row, far from here. There’s no one in sight. The house is shuttered and closed. But the family should be back in as of late last week, since the funeral, and we were told to expect an interview with his campaign partner.
Dirk shares a look with me over the top of the car. “Are you getting a funny f—"
Something pings off the car bonnet. It takes me half a second to realise it was a gunshot. Dirk is already yelling, “Down!” as I dive for the back of the car. I meet him there, both of us with guns in hand, backs towards the tailgate as more pings shoot off metal. Something smashes.
I flinch at a close, loud one. “Fucking shit,” I say, the nerves and adrenaline not lending to anything more poetic.
As much as this says about Tregam, this is hardly the first time Dirk and I have needed to take cover behind a car.
“We need to get round the back of the house. He’s got this side covered.”
“You think it’s the partner?”
“Much as I hate to say it, it pretty often is.”
“Backup?”
More breaking glass.
“You want to get into the driver’s seat for the radio right now?”
Off towards the corner of the house, I eye a shed. Galvanised metal. “Do you think I can make it there?” From there, I could find cover to the back of the house.
“No,” Dirk tells me, crouching down on his feet. “I will.”
“Don’t you dare…”
But he’s already at the corner of the tailgate, about to go whether I like it or not. “Send a couple rounds at the front door, will you?”
I let off another few choice curses and do as he asks. He makes it, our attacker gone quiet while I shoot in his direction. Watching Dirk sneak around the side, I wait. Another beat, the gunshots are following him. Taking my chance, I race for the front door, not slowing down as I launch up the steps and right into it. It splinters, and I’m abruptly in a dark hallway. The lights are off, the shuttered windows doing little to help. Edging right, I aim the gun at the shadows with one hand and reach out with the other to give the drapes a sharp tug. Light floods in. The once regal place is trashed, the white plush carpet stained, glass shattered off the edges of the tables.
I turn further into the house, gun out front. The trick now is not to shoot Dirk if he appears first.
The sound of my name takes me by surprise. A casual call, not one of panic, but still my heart hammers louder, and I quicken my steps in his direction. I see him standing in a doorway. “Shh! Take cover!” I hiss.
But Dirk only stays where he is. “It’s over.”
Lowering my gun, I creep up beside him. When I look into the room, I see what he means. “Shit,” I say.
“Yeah.” Dirk runs a hand down his face. “Was he scared of us? Or of Needler?”
That, I don’t know. What I know is we need to call this in. The partner is dead, gone mad, scared, or both. “I’ll go out to the car radio to call it in,” I say.
“Look,” Dirk crouches, forestalling me. There are keys by the body. Not car keys. He picks them up, plucking them off the carpet. “Office keys? The party wouldn’t give a warrant for the headquarters in the city, remember?”
Plucking them out of his hand, I remind him, “And they still haven’t.”
Dirk stands. “It’s not like we’re looking for evidence on the case against these creeps. They’re both dead now, anyway. We’re looking for what the Needler might have seen, how he found his information on them.”
“Don’t split hairs. It’s illegal.”
“We’ll toss the keys and say it was unlocked.”
“Dirk!”
“Will you unclench El? If they get in there for this case, they’ll toss anything that could have been useful for our case. It’s just…”
Right when I’m about to properly tell him off, I notice his sleeve. “You’re bleeding!”
He tilts his head, dark hair falling across his eye as he tugs at the small, frayed hole by his bicep. “Huh.”
***