The Blood Dahlia (The Dark Angel Mysteries Book 1) Page 9

  “It’s all true.”

  “You mean you can see ghosts?”

  “Ghosts and many other things. Think about it like this. The world is made up of many layers, like a cake. I can go in between those layers to see the world as it really is, not how you see it through your learned perceptions and stuff. There, I can move among the layers with no one knowing I am even there. I can even go backward to see what was there before.”

  “So that is what you did tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Shit. It feels like shit. Each time I do it I get a massive blinding headache. The more I do while there, the worse it is. I do wonder if it takes a little of me each time. I tried to reach out to Paul to ask him about that, but he died during his next tour.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I guess you weren’t there to protect him.”

  “Wouldn’t have helped much. Massive heart attack. The guy ate fried foods like a fish drinks water.”

  “So, what does the world you see look like?”

  “Hard to explain. Kind of like seeing a person without their skin.”

  “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  “It isn’t. The smell is the worst. Let’s just say, I use that comparison for a reason. You see the outside of a person and the world. I can see what makes it up.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s best that you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t sleep much at night.”

  There wasn’t another question from Gina. Sleep was no problem for her. Something Lynch was rather jealous of. He didn’t know for sure, he hadn’t asked, but he was pretty sure the screams didn’t come to her. Not that she didn’t have her own nightmares. He was sure she did. The life she chose was a life of battling your conscience. Very few could push the feeling they were doing wrong so deep inside them it never came back up. Some of it stayed right at the surface and tortured them. Others, it was a less frequent torture. Where she was in that spectrum, he didn’t know, hadn’t asked.

  They pulled up back at home. The rest of the drive happened in silence, which was just fine for Lynch. He used the time to think of what he’d seen, what he’d felt. Nothing made sense. He carried Gina inside, with every intention of putting her back on the couch she fell asleep on earlier. Something inside tugged at him and he carried her up the stairs and laid her on his bed, and pulled the curtains tightly closed. The first light of day was peeking over the horizon.

  Downstairs, he fixed a scotch and scotch to aid him in a few hours of sleep and then stretched out on the sofa. His hand fished around on the floor for the remote and turned on the television, then let it drop. It didn’t matter what was on, just that something was as he closed his eyes, hoping the screams of Cheryl Hines left him alone tonight.

  17

  “Sir.”

  Lynch swatted a hand in the air at whatever was trying to wake him at this ungodly hour. Being stirred up stopped the scream and the gurgling it made as the blood ran from Cheryl Hines, a sound that had played over and over in his head since he’d closed his eyes. The scotch hadn’t helped.

  “Sir, you have a visitor.”

  “I know, T. I put her there. Take care of her and leave me the hell alone.” He turned further over, making sure the whole of his back was to Totter and his face was buried in the back of the couch to block out any light and sounds.

  “Not her, sir. When she wakes up, I will take care of her. That is not a problem. It is Lucas, sir.”

  Hearing that phrase forced one eye open. As much as he wanted to ignore that metallic heap that didn’t understand the importance of sleep to humans, he knew he couldn’t ignore the man at the door. Not with all they had gone through in the past, and especially after last night. He turned slightly and opened his other eye. Streaks of sunlight came in through the gaps in the drapes that hung over the windows.

  “T, what time is it?”

  “10:28, sir.”

  There was a groan and several pops from his aging joints when he rolled over and sat up. There was a little scotch left in the glass he’d fixed before he laid down, but it was short-lived and down his throat in a single swallow. A rub of his eyes and across the stubble on his face reminded him he hadn’t showered or shaved since the day before. Nor had he changed his clothes, which Lucas reminded him of as soon as he opened the door.

  “You look like hell,” Lucas said, then hit Lynch in the chest with an envelope as he walked past him through the door.

  “Thanks. What’s this?”

  “Depending on how you look at it, it could be your advance from Mr. Hines to find who did this to his daughter, or the bribe he offered me to stop looking at it when he stopped by this morning.”

  An odor emanated from the envelope. Lynch pulled it up to his nose and opened it. A single finger went across the edges of the contents, to fan them out. “I didn’t think anyone still had paper money.”

  “Me, either. I am sure you know a few places you can exchange that for credits.”

  “Well, that’s a first.”

  “You’re telling me. It’s not the first time I have been offered a bribe. You know about a few of them,” he nodded to Lynch and continued into his den, eyeing all the screens he had opened. “But this is the first time someone has offered me one to stop looking for the person who murdered their daughter.”

  “That was it? He just flat asked you to stop looking?”

  “Not in so many words. Let me see if I can remember what he said,” Lucas paused and looked past Lynch to the stairs. “Morning, Gina.”

  “Hi, Lucas,” she said as she descended, adorned only in one of Lynch’s button-up shirts. Her long legs strode down the stairs to the first floor. Her bare feet patted the wood floor gracefully as she rounded the corner to the kitchen. Lynch knew exactly what she was after, coffee. She needed coffee in the first few minutes after she woke up. That was her daily habit. One that might be stronger than any other habit she had.

  Lucas flashed a quick, but devious smile at Lynch, who shook it off.

  “It’s not like that. She fell asleep in the car last night.”

  “I’m not judging. You two were good for each other.”

  Lynch waved his hands in front of him and demanded, “Mr. Hines?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Hines. Well, he stopped by first thing this morning. Thanked us for coming by last night. Apologized for his daughter causing us to be out at that ungodly hour, and then put the envelope on my desk. He said it was for our troubles and hoped she wouldn’t cause us any more problems. I told him the usual stitch, that it is our job. Then I added that it’s quite a mystery, and I asked him if he remembered anything that might help us. That was when he leaned forward and pushed the envelope further toward me,” he chuckled, “and I remember this next part clearly. He looked me right in the eye and told me there was nothing left to investigate. That his daughter was a troubled girl, and it caught up with her, that was it.”

  “I assume you immediately pulled him into an interview room and questioned him.”

  “You’ll love this part. I tried. He told me there was nothing to talk about. To check the computer, no crime was committed. The coroner ruled her death a suicide just after seven this morning.”

  To say these events more than piqued Lynch’s interest didn’t do it justice. This was juicy, like something on one of those old crime dramas. Bribes were nothing new. They happened every day. He wouldn’t doubt if half the force had accepted them. Of course, he was a cynic about that. He knew Lucas was one of the good guys. Straight as a ruler, always following the rules. He wouldn’t be swayed or influenced. Lynch also knew that his access and reach was now limited in this case. A suicide wasn’t criminal, but this was no suicide.

  “Think that is enough to cover your cost?”

  He weighed the envelope in his hand for show, but in his mind he had already decided. It could have been empty, and he would still take the case. “What do you have on him?”


  “Now you’re talking,” replied Lucas. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his Scroll. A simple gesture sent a new screen up in the room. The progress bar reported the progress of transferring the information to Lynch.

  “Not too much. Pretty much squeaky clean. No arrests or anything, but he has tons of enemies, as you know, I do wonder if he owes anyone any favors.”

  “For what?” Lynch asked. His eyes were studying the information on the screen.

  “Take a gander at his employment history.”

  Lynch did just that. His eyes scrolled from bottom to top, then back to the bottom again. A quick rub of the stubble on his chin reminded him he hadn’t shaved in well over twenty-four hours. Openly, he remarked, “Maybe he is just really, really good at what he does.” It drew a quick scoff from his old partner.

  Inside, his mind pondered how someone could go from basically nowhere, to a media mogul that owns his own news network, with no experience in the field? He wasn’t an on-air personality for more than a year, and then boom, in charge of programming, then owner. Lynch considered that he’d possibly picked the wrong career path. Not that it wasn’t possible to move up the ladder faster than most would consider reasonable. It was entirely possible in the case of extreme and rare talent, but there was also just dumb luck. Each of those could easily land him in the program director's seat. Owner, that was something else. Based on what he was reading, Mr. Hines barely had two credits to rub together, yet alone the millions it would take to buy those networks. While that was something that occurred years before Cheryl went missing, it was an interesting detail and clicked on one of Lynch’s favorite mantras, “Follow the money”.

  “You know, nothing says I can’t talk to him.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Lucas said with a satisfied smile on his face. “Officially, he is off limits to me. I am sure if I continued any further, it would just give him great fodder for an expose on how the police harass a victim’s family. You know what I am dealing with down there. The sarge would have my ass hanging from every flagpole in town, and I am way too old to climb down.”

  Lynch knew that firsthand, and he completely got the flagpole reference Lucas threw out. Sergeant Wayne Thompson was the head of investigations. To say his motives weren’t driven by the best interest of the victims and the general public would be a truer statement than had appeared in any final report he had signed off on in his twenty-five years. Having been skipped over for the chief position that entire time, through the tenure of three different administrations, created a jaded impression of his role. To Wayne, everything had a political angle to it. Even the simplest case of drug dealer killing drug dealer was some kind of revenge hit, and subjected to his editorial eye that put a spin on it. All in what, Lynch believed, was a feeble attempt to attract and gain favor with someone who could help his career. That meant how he handled everything moved like a flag in the breeze, and followed whoever was in charge.

  “Nah, you stay out of it. I can shake that tree and let you know what falls. Plus, you have enough other missing girls to investigate.”

  Gina came back around the stairs, carrying her cup of coffee. Instead of ascending the stairs back up to the bedroom, she joined Lucas and Lynch in the makeshift office. This was the first time Lynch got a good look at her chosen attire. At least she chose the one shirt he had that didn’t have any stains on it. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it looked better on her than it did on him. Even many sizes too big, it hung just right against her curves, in a way only a man, or really jealous woman, would notice. How it cut up high on her thighs was modestly distracting as well. More than Lynch would want to admit. That gave him an idea.

  “Gina, are you busy today?”

  “Uh, huh. Why?” she said after a sip of her coffee.

  18

  Lynch found it rather surprising that Mr. Hines would be at work, and not at home, the day he found out his daughter was dead. It was something that consumed his thoughts on the drive from the tropical-looking mansion and into downtown to the World News Tower. It didn’t stop there. All the way through the lobby, and to the elevator bay, it was the thought in his mind. Even as he consulted the guide to find the floor, the same thought, and then on the elevator, even with Gina yammering on the entire way.

  She fidgeted off and on with the partially conservative business suit Lynch had bought her on the way. It was conservative because it had a jacket and a skirt. Of course, the skirt didn’t extend any further than mid-thigh, and the shirt under the jacket had several buttons undone. Gina had started with two, but after they left the store and got in the car, Lynch looked her over and unbuttoned another.

  Even Lynch had to admit it, she looked good. It was an unavoidable fact, and what he wanted. All part of his plan. None of that plan involved him remembering how she used to look when she was a nurse, or how she used to dress before her, um, career change. She was a beautiful woman, and quite intelligent when she wasn’t trying to act like the ditzy piece of meat her customers really wanted. She once told him Johns didn’t care what was in a woman’s head, just that she knew how to use said head. Too bad for them. She was pleasant to talk to and be around, when she was herself, which is something he was seeing just a peek of for the first time in a while. Occasionally it shone through, mostly when she was stitching him up or some other task from her old profession, but a few select times he saw her, the Gina that… well, this wasn’t part of the plan. It had to be the suit; it changed how people saw her. It changed her, and an old notebook he had her carry completed the look. Even Gina bought it.

  “So, we are a firm now? What kind of title do I have as an assistant?”

  “You sit there and look pretty?” he said after a prolonged sigh.

  “That normally costs extra.” A sharp and bony elbow caught him in the side. “You know as a nurse we have to be very perceptive. I can help you read him.”

  “Nah, I got this.”

  “Seriously, Lynch. It was our responsibility to gauge if the patient was telling us the truth and, at times, even help pull it out of them. I was surprisingly good at it.”

  Her tone of voice hinted at a level of seriousness they hadn’t shared since, well, in a long time. There was no sarcasm, no joke. Then he remembered something. He and Lucas used to take turns during interrogations. One would ask questions and the other would watch body language, an activity that was hard to do while playing the cat-and-mouse game. This just might work.

  “Okay, you have a point. Here is what we will do. I will ask all the questions. You sit there and watch and, after we leave, you can give me your impressions, but that is it. No speaking after any cordial intros.”

  “All right,” she said. She straightened her suit out one last time and positioned the notebook in both hands, held in front of her. Lynch watched the little light continue to dance back and forth up the list of numbers. This wasn’t an express elevator, in any sense of the word. It had taken its ever loving, smooth riding, time to cover the twenty three floors. Enough to hear almost two full flugelhorn classics from Chuck Mangione. It was soothing background noise. Not really his style though unless you want your entire workforce to be asleep when they arrived at work. The lack of sleep the night before hadn’t helped, and he gave his head a light shake to clear the sleep-daze as he saw the little clear button with a twenty-three on it light up. There was a soft ding that blended in with the music like an ill-timed bell.

  “Let’s go, partner,” Gina said.

  The door parted as Lynch let out a little sigh.

  It opened out onto an ultra-modern looking lobby. Light colored marble floors. Dark fabric-covered walls were lined with chairs. Each wall was at an angle that moved inward, toward a central clear glass desk. The whole design funneled your attention and body in that direction. Behind the desk was the oversized WNN blue and black logo, hanging behind the receptionist with perfect hair and makeup. Her smile was plastered on and perky, too perky. Lynch imagined this was a positio
n that frowning, for even a second, would result in admonishment or being shown the street. As many things move to automated and robotic helpers to do menial tasks, such as a receptionist, some industries hung on to the prestige of the old ways and its window dressing. Her eyes and smiles greeted them from across the room.

  Lynch held his breath for just a second and listened to the footsteps behind him. Would she walk like a lady, or like a “lady”? The short and regular steps hinted at no big swinging of the hips or anything, and he let his breathing return to normal.

  “Welcome to WNN,” the receptionist said. It was a rehearsed statement that she had been coached on exactly how to say, almost like a song where each syllable had a tone to it, with the last two Ns increasing in pitch and tone to produce a happy and pleasant impression. Something Lynch remembered from old-time commercials and jingles he had seen.

  “How can I help you?”

  He had to admit, he was impressed. Some of those words required the mouth to make shapes that were not a smile, but yet she said each and every word while keeping the same perky expression in place.

  “We are here to see Mr. Hines.”

  “And you are?” she asked. Again, keeping a smile on the entire time. Not even her eyes betrayed her and gave him the reaction he was expecting. Lynch knew you had to set the tone at the start, even if the person was not who you were going to question. Sometimes you had to set it for yourself. A more sophisticated opening would have included introducing himself and Gina and then telling her why they were there, and who they needed to speak with. Instead, he took control, and just said why they were there, leaving the rest of it a mystery. The normal response this elicited was either a verbal or non-verbal version of who the hell are you. Her response was much more polite.

  Lynch responded to her, “I am Investigator Lynch, and this is my associate, Gina Lowell. I spoke with Mr. Hines last night about his daughter, I have a few loose ends to clean up.”

  There was the crack. The edges of her perma-smile melted as her hands stumbled around her desk in an attempt to summon her keyboard and display. It was obvious the news of the boss’ daughter made it around the office. Nothing was reported in the news yet. All homicides are off-limits for twenty-four hours to minimize any impact to the investigation. Of course, this was no longer a homicide.