The 9th Hour (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 1) (11 page)

Malin looked up through the windshield at a vast gray sky. Clouds hung low and rain rattled on the roof of the car. Highway 14 was a cracked slip of a road that took them to the Penitentiary of New Mexico.

She listened to Temeke on the phone, listened to the disappointment in his voice. “So they got a trace, sir… northeast heights… can’t be more specific?… No, we’re not at the Pen yet. A curry?… I can’t, sir. If I have another of those I’ll blow.”

Temeke ended the call, drew a large breath and released it before speaking. “The northeast heights are crawling with cops. They still haven’t found her.”

“They will, sir.” Malin saw the pinched lips and the tapping fingers. “They always do.”

“What do you mean they always do? How many murder books do we have in the archives where cases have gone cold? I’ve got several under my desk from the seventies.”

He went quiet for a few moments, then muttered something about a tour to Old Main, the abandoned Cell Block 4. But a depressing tour in a ghost town was not what Malin had in mind, nor did she want to clutter her head with old scenes of prison riots. There was something in the air that bothered her, a sense of menace from Becky’s kidnapping. Temeke had definitely picked up on it. He was milder to her now.

“Hackett said we’re to be here by nine-thirty.” she said, glimpsing at her watch. “It’s already ten-fifteen.”

“Hackett says a lot of foolish things. The kindest thing is to ignore him.”

She caught sight of herself in the wing mirror, hair neatly tied back, no makeup. Her eyes were wide and the steering wheel felt oddly thin. Maybe she was squeezing it too hard. She began to pray.

“Are you nervous?” she asked Temeke. “You know, talking to Eriksen.”

“Oh, I’ve already had the pleasure.” He looked up from the file on his lap and gave her a peevish frown. “He should be scared of
me
.”

“But he’s not is he?”

“No,” Temeke said, staring off into the distance. “He’s not scared of anyone. And you shouldn’t be either.”

And yet she was scared, almost shivering with terror.
Temeke was typical of the detective race, having a fascination for human beings and their behavior.
The only difference was he had retained his Englishness even down to the ill-concealed sneer.

“Remember,” he almost whispered, “most of these men were offered their first hit of dope by a family member and a snort of the hard stuff. They had the choice―”

“No they didn’t. Not the ones that were offered a can of beer at the age of eight and told to nut up and be a man. Not the ones that were sodomized, bullied and lied to. Where’s the nearest safe house for them?”

“Right now?” Temeke said, taking a deep breath. “Inside.”

“It’s already too late then.”

“It’s never too late. Whether you choose to admit it or not, each one of those correctional officers is a better leader to the inmates than whoever they looked up to on the outside.
We
are leaders to someone. The question is, who is that someone? Because that
someone
is counting on you.”

He was right. She couldn’t help feeling a terrible burden of guilt, as if this was all of her own making and just what she deserved.

Something caught her attention in the rearview mirror, a car so close it almost nudged her rear bumper. She sped up a little and Temeke intuitively turned his face to look at the wing mirror.

“Police cruiser,” he said. “It’ll overtake in a few.”

And it did.

“Getting really sporty with their undercover cruisers now,” she said, marveling at the shine on that black paint. “I’ve seen over fifteen of those since last week.”

“Probably saw the same one fifteen times,” Temeke muttered, eyes fixed on the car in that typical way men do. Probably wishing he had something as nice as that at home.

She turned off the east frontage road onto Veterans Memorial and then left onto the Turquoise Trail. When the highway merged into one lane, her stomach began another rumble, guts twisting and turning in their stressed out juices. It was then she wished she had taken an extra dose of vitamins and antioxidants.

You’ll get cancer with all that worrying,
her mother once said.

The desert was barren and so was the road. Lucky she wasn’t doing this on her own. The penitentiary was a cold gray place, colder still than the December winds. It housed well over seven hundred inmates and consisted of three facilities. They rolled past a large wooden sign that read Penitentiary of New Mexico Complex where ranks of chain-link fences came into view, almost blurred out of focus by a curtain of sleet.

She turned off the engine and snatched the keys out of the ignition. They jangled in her hand all the way to the entrance, jarring, condemning.

Temeke carried a wrapped up newspaper under one arm and an evidence bag in the other. He handed both to a corrections officer. “Have these taken back to forensics on the next shuttle. Got a little warm in the car and I don’t want one of them going walkies.”

A second correctional officer showed them to Level VI, Supermax they called it, white corridors and gray doors, and rectangular windows that framed a face or two.

She saw Morgan Eriksen through a sheet of glass, elbows on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He leaned back when they entered, legs straight, chain clinking between his ankles. Malin noticed the two chairs opposite and a mirror behind, and she was glad to note the table was at least five foot wide.

“Oh, I see they’ve dressed you in yellow scrubs,” Temeke said with a snap in his voice. “Pity they’re not green. You’d be leaving then, wouldn’t you?”

“Always the joker,” Morgan said, jabbing a finger at Malin. “Who’s she?”

“She’s my partner. Malin’s the name,” Temeke said, sitting. “And yes, she’s dark but a little taller I think you’ll find than the regular dwarf. Looks like you don’t like the short ones.”

“You know
nothing
, detective.”

“Well, you know what they say. Danger and pleasure go together.”

Morgan’s eyes suddenly snapped to the window, set high up and covered with bars. He had a bruise on his temple and another on his lip.

“How many times have you picked a fight in the yard?” Temeke asked. “Because quite frankly I’ve lost count.”

“I do everything I can to block this out. That’s why I fight. So one day someone’s going to crack my skull open and I’ll end up in hospital. On the outside.”

“Surely there’s better ways to keep busy, son. What about counting how many sheets there are on a toilet roll? While we’re on the subject of fights, I looked up your arrest record. It was Patti who sold you out. She was the one that made the phone call, not Mr. Levinson. You know, the caretaker. We found his body dumped in a ravine. I wonder who could have done such a terrible thing.”

“You said you’d never spoken to Patti.”

“So I lied. It’s like a virus in here.”

Morgan stared out of the window, eyes roaming the sky as if he could see something. “They’ve all flown away.”

“We found a head in a house on Smith Street. Still waiting for the doctor’s report. But it looked like her. Blue eyes, long brown hair. Bloated. Are you alright, Morgan? Look a little green around the gills.” Temeke gave Morgan a hard smile. “There’s nothing wrong with your feelers, son. Normal people can’t hide stuff like that.”

Morgan looked up at the window and squinted. “There’s a storm coming.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you? I heard you had a sleepless night on account of the wall being too close to your bed. Probably got a headache and all.”

“You’re wrong, I don’t feel anything.”

“Anger is an emotion, Morgan, and you have plenty of that.” Temeke flicked through his notes, mirroring the lack of empathy in any way he could. “I’ve seen dead men look more cheerful.”

“Ah, so that’s what you want to talk about. The dead.”

“Since you brought it up―”

“I don’t believe in death. I believe in reincarnation. I believe in the mead of vision, of insight. Kvasir had so much of it, yet the dwarves squeezed every last ounce from his body.”

“Bastards,” whispered Temeke. “All those Norse legends have gone to your head.”

“Only wine and pride goes to a man’s head, detective.”

Malin shifted in her seat. “He’s quite the debater,” she murmured.

“He’s just warming up,” Temeke whispered and then in a louder voice, “He’s taken another girl, Morgan. You wouldn’t know where we could find her?”

“You’re not looking hard enough are you?”

“Couldn’t give us a few hints?”

“Do you like to play golf, detective?”

“I’ve been known to putt a few balls now and then.”

Morgan looked at the mirror behind them, cocking his head to one side as if studying the length of his hair. “You like coming here to see me, don’t you? It’s like a day out. Like going to the zoo.”

“I can think of better things to do.”

“Nah, you’re smarter than that. There’s only one of you. There’s two of me.”

“Psychotically speaking I would agree,” Temeke said. “Physically speaking, either your eyes need testing or math isn’t your strongest subject. There’s two of us and one of you.”

Malin saw the flicker of a smile behind drawn lips and wondered if Temeke saw it too. But there was more. It was like staring at two serpent eyes with slits for pupils. She felt as if she was being sucked inside, groping around in the deep blue. In that far place, she could pretend she was something special, an ambassador’s wife, a famous singer. Only she wasn’t and she felt it more now than ever before. The chill that plagued her wasn’t from the December air or the lack of heating in the interview room. It came from within.

“Can you tell us where Patti is?” Temeke asked. “The rest of her that is. ’Cos we’re dying to know.”

“Where a car can soar over the crest line, spanning wider than a man’s hand. Under the first tower, so I’m told.” Morgan shut his eyes for a few seconds and then stared right at Malin. “They do a twelve-step program for problems like yours.”

“Problems?” she stammered.

“You know what I mean,” he said, leaning forward as far as he could. “
Sunbeam
.”

Malin swallowed back a ball of bile. He might have found her picture on the internet because inmates used computers like everyone else. Lucky they didn’t have access to semi-nude pictures, pictures of her in feathers and the essential lace. She was classier than that. And class meant staying silent.

Temeke hardly flinched. “How often do you use a computer, Morgan?”

“Every Tuesday and Friday.”

“Under supervision?”

“Not always.”

Malin hoped Temeke would have a word with the officers about that. Inmates shouldn’t be looking at porn.
Porn
? No, her stuff wasn’t porn. Just the soft stuff, the stuff that made a man look. The stuff that made rich men pay through the nose.

“Then you know there are undercover officers posing as escorts,” Temeke said, packing a bigger punch. “Keeps the pervs at bay.”

“Are you saying I’m a pervert?”

“You were looking, weren’t you? Isn’t that how you met Patti? Looking.”

Morgan stared past Temeke’s right ear, a bleak stare that wavered now and then. “Her mother drank too much. Couldn’t keep it together, couldn’t pay the rent, couldn’t keep a job. She slapped Patti a lot. Made her cry.”

“Lucky you were there.”

Morgan blew out a series of breaths. “After her mother went to bed one night, Patti begged me to take her away. She had nowhere else to go. She clung to me, tried to kiss me.”

“Must have been hard for a red-blooded male like you to keep your paws in your pockets. She was underage.”

“I didn’t touch her, not then. I went straight to bed. In the sitting room that is.”

“So in that highly charged and unfulfilled state, you wrapped yourself up in a blanket and had a nap on the couch?”

Morgan nodded.

“Blimey, you’ve got some serious self-control there, son.”

Temeke saw Morgan’s chin shoot up, saw the eyes widen. The boy was beginning to cave. “So when Patti and the little kid got shot, how did that make you feel?”

“Sad.”

“I thought you said you never felt anything. You’re in serious trouble and you’re only making it worse with all these lies. Fat lot of good it’s done you. That’s why you’re inside and the real killer’s drinking Remy Martin on his patio,” Temeke pointed out. “He used you, made you look like a fool. Just another victory notched on his cupboard door.”

Morgan’s eyes shot to a clerestory window again as if he was searching for a certain drop of rain. “The ravens know everything.”

“Ravens?” Temeke turned slightly to look at a silvery veil of rain against the window pane. “If you’re referring to the FBI that’s one of the hazards of crime.”

Malin resisted the temptation to keep following their gaze. She studied Morgan’s face, pinched with disapproval, lips drawn in a snarl.