The 9th Hour (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 1) (12 page)

“
Thought
and
Memory
,” he murmured. “They fly around the earth and bring back news. Only I have no news. I haven’t seen
Memory
in weeks.”

“You’ll tell us when you do see him,” Temeke said, restraining what sounded like a stallion’s snort.

Morgan turned his ear to the plummeting wind. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“You know what they say. If a man has ears let him hear.”

“You know as well as I do it wasn’t just anyone who said that.”

“It was Christ,” Malin interrupted.

Morgan flinched and sat back in his chair. There was a tremor in his throat, greater than a swallow. “Endless war,” he whispered, leaning forward again and placing his hands on the table. “With a single stroke the succession could be snatched away. Make no mistake. No one knows how it will end.
No one
.”

“You’re wrong,” Malin said, lifting her chin a little higher. “The devil will drown in the lake of fire. Even he knows. That’s why he fights a little harder. That’s why he’s running out of time.”

“Odin casts the biggest shadows. He knows who lives and who dies. What’s your next deception, Malin? Watch out for mine.”

Malin sensed a gnawing in her mind and a surge of daring in her veins. “Who’s the raven called
Thought
?”

Morgan gave her a cursory glance and then looked down at his hands. They were resting on the table again, picking, cleaning, fingernails torn right down to the quick.

“If you know about them,” he said, “why do you ask?”

“Yes, I know about the ravens,” she said in Norwegian. “But which one are you?”

Morgan pounced. It was so quick, Malin felt Temeke’s body covering hers before she heard the growl and the scraping of a chair. Two officers burst into the room, restraining Morgan against the wall before taking him outside.

“Nice one, Marl,” Temeke said, wiping a glob of spit from his cheek. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”

The clouds were low and weepy when they left the Penitentiary and that was after a plate of chicken and mushroom pie in the warden’s office.

Temeke curled his toes to get some life into them and rubbed his hands. They would need to drive a few more miles before the heater came on.

“Still nervous?” he asked, wondering why her lips were constantly working as if she was reciting another of those infernal prayers.

“Yes,” she said. “What do you say to a family that have just lost their daughter to a psychopath?”

“Not lost. Not yet. Let’s concentrate on Ole, on how his mind works. What’s the betting he reacts to murder the same way he does about a cup of coffee. He feels nothing toward his victim. So what’s his next move?”

“An exchange,” Malin said.

Temeke shot her a look, saw the twitch of a smile. She was touching her hair again, twirling a strand around her finger. If she wasn’t driving she probably would have leaned in for a smooch. “What are you thinking?” he said, trying to interrupt the momentum.

“I’m thinking your wife’s a lucky woman. I’m thinking you’re a nice guy.”

“Nice guys never get the girl.”

She smiled at that.

“You’re not so nice yourself. Excellent job of riling up the deviant. Keep the car on the road, Marl. You’re swerving about like a jack rabbit.”

He thought of Luis, called dispatch and asked them to raise K33 on the radio. No answer. Temeke shrugged it off with a yawn.

“Nothing grows out here,” he said, staring out of the car window. “Mark Twain once described the territory around the sea of Galilee as
a blistering, naked, treeless land.
He should have come here.”

“Wild that,” Malin murmured. “Israel blossoms like a rose in the desert.”

“Must be good irrigation.”

“Must be a great King.”

Temeke wasn’t aware Israel had a king, unless she was referring to the current Prime Minister. It was Eriksen’s words that kept drumming around in his head.

Where a car can soar over the crest line, spanning wider than a man’s hand
…

He glanced toward the west where the sky met the mesa and where rugged piñon trees ornamented the slopes. To the east lay the foothills of the San Pedro mountains and he could imagine the rutted trails that wound through spruce and pine all the way to the top. It would make a good hike if he ever had the time. He was longing to see the dark sprawl of the Sandia Crest, like a sleeping dragon in a bed of sand. Forty more minutes.

Be quicker to fly, he thought.

He couldn’t stop his teeth chattering, nor could he get rid of the icy chill down his back. All he could think of was a man rushing at him with bared teeth, screeching louder than a trucker’s brakes.

“Ravens… he’s sicker than a bloody parrot,” he said.

“
Memory
and
Thought
,” she reminded.

“Yeah, Hocus and Pocus.”

She was quiet for a few miles and then, “Thanks, by the way.”

“Thanks for what?”

“For covering up the escort thing.”

“Eriksen needs to know we’re watching. Needs to know there’s a camera in every room.”

Malin pressed one hand against the vent, fingers flayed against the heat. “When he said there were two ravens, I wondered if he meant two people or one person with a split personality. You’ve known a few
splits
. What makes them do the things they do?”

Temeke’s thinking was never cloudy, but today it was like hacking through a shroud of fog. And Malin squinting at the rearview mirror made matters worse. He declined to look back along that desolate stretch of highway for whatever it was she saw and, in spite of the warm air flowing through the heater vents, he was still cold.

“I interviewed a man thirteen years ago,” he said, “a man so burdened by his other psyche, he wouldn’t eat in order to starve the other out. And when that didn’t work he was found hanging in his cell with a note pinned to the end of his bed.
He won’t go away.
It said.
Not unless I die first.

“A psychopath in my opinion is not as unique as a fingerprint. It could happen to any of us. Something snaps in the brain and then it grows inside like a worm. They see life as a killing-track, a blur of blood and faces that never go away. For a time they’re untouchable, immortal, in a world of twilight and shadows. But they know something will destroy them and in a strange way they long for it. Eriksen’s different though. I should have had the sod in an arm-lock against the wall. I don’t believe a word.”

“He doesn’t expect you to. He’s talking in riddles.”

“He’s talking himself to death row.” Temeke turned briefly to look at Malin, to study her furrowed brow. “He’s a bloody liar is what he is.”

“He’s waiting for something,” she said, eyes following the windshield wipers. “Why do you think he kept looking out of the window? He’s half scared to death.”

“I think I would be if I saw two killer ravens with chainsaws for beaks. Calling all units! We have two suspects on the loose, black hair, feathers, last seen perched on a power line, should be easy to spot.”

Malin was having a fit of giggles, chin almost bouncing off the steering wheel. “You’re determined not to take this seriously.”

“I’m determined not to let him get to me.”

“Hackett’s not going to be happy we didn’t get a name.”

“Hackett’s happiness is not very high on my priority list at the moment. Eriksen was spoiling for a fight and we were told to leave for our own safety.” Temeke turned the heater up.

“Sir, what was he talking about when he said a car clearing the crest line? NASCAR?”

Temeke thought of those mountainous trails, some black as night and silent as a spirit. Only this time he saw them from the air.

“The Peak Tram,” he said. “It has the world’s third longest single span.”

He could sense her looking at him. No, not looking, it was more than that. She was reading him.
Not too close now
, he thought as a faint alarm began to tingle in the back of his brain. “So how did you get into the escort business?”

Malin’s head moved slowly from side to side as if ignoring a bite of irritation. “Who wants to know?”

“
I
want to know. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You say I smoke a little weed now and then. Well, maybe I do. Maybe I do it to take away the filthy images we see now and then. But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

Malin squinted at the rearview mirror before answering. “John Frederick. He was thirty-five. I was barely sixteen.”

Temeke had already scoured her files, the photos, the dirty old pervert of a high school teacher. He never thought much of men with long straggly hair and goatees. And this one looked like a porn star.

“He made me dance for money so he could buy drugs. And then he shot himself when I tried to leave him.”

Temeke felt his mouth go dry. He had seen the pictures, blood spatters on the wall, a crumpled body on the floor. Photographs never lie.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” she said, cuffing away a tear.

“I didn’t.”

The phone rattled on the console and he frowned at the caller ID.
Private
it said. He snarled a greeting and listened to a heavy accented voice.

“I have number nine.”

Ole stared at the security monitor. The street was clear and so was the back yard, no black and white cars patrolling the neighborhood. They were likely parked outside the northeast area command building, only a few yards up the street.

He sat in the kitchen, glancing occasionally at the girl in the living room. She was curled in a ball on the couch, eyes flickering in sleep. It was the noise of the chain he couldn’t stand each time she woke up and tried to yank it from the grate in the fireplace. He wasn’t going to leave her behind and he wasn’t going to kill her either. She was worth her weight, worth watching the detective squirm over.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, seeing her stirring on that couch, hair cascading down her face. “Are you ashamed of me?”

She gave him a one-eyed stare, brow wrinkled for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? You don’t touch me, don’t kiss me. Don’t even want to sit with me.”

She couldn’t sit next to him. The chain wasn’t long enough.

“You disappoint me,” he continued in a whisper.

He waited for those lips to move, those dark eyes to brighten. But they didn’t. He rubbed a silver earring in his hand, brushed it against his lips.

“I’ve got something for you.”

It would make her happy, like it had the others.

He poured two ounces of whisky in his coffee and sat down beside her. Blowing into the cup, he drank it down in three short swallows.

“I’m in no hurry. Are you?”

“Let me go home.” A pause, then a sob. “Please…”

“What good would that do? You’re worth too much.” He took the earring and passed it through a hole in her left ear, watched the dog disk shimmer in the evening sun. “It’ll only be one more day, I promise. So, what shall we do… you and me? Shall we go out?”

She shook her head, scooting away from him and closer to the arm of the couch.

“Did you know I was following you? Well, I was. Every day. I followed you to school, to the mall. I followed you home. Watched you when you woke up, when you got dressed, when you brushed your hair. I must have sat next to you twenty times. You should have known.”

Her lips were no longer glossy like they had been that first night. Come to think of it, she wasn’t as loving as she had been on that first night.

“I’m sure what you think of me is wrong. But big risks come with big rewards. How long will it take you to get ready?”

He was mesmerized by her dark lustrous hair, her olive skin. Nothing was sweeter than flesh tanned by the sun, and hers sparkled behind a silver earring, set with a number 9 charm.

“Don’t you want me?” The silence was almost unbearable under the soft murmur of his voice. It was going to be the longest twelve hours of his life. “Spit it out!”

She shuddered at that, chains rattling with each tremor. It reminded him of his father all those years ago, twitching in the chair by the fire. One hand anchoring the other, eyes darting around the room in the hope that no one was watching. He had Parkinson’s.

“Why are you doing this?” she said.

“They’ve got my brother. I’m sure you understand. All going well, this could be a game-changer for you. We’re so near the finishing line. Here’s some good news. We’re going out to see your
Temeke
today. Won’t he be pleased to see you.”

He took the cellphone from his pocket and dialed the penitentiary pay phone in the men’s block. Ole told a rough voice to find Morgan. He heard back-noise, the clatter of doors, the buzz of an alarm. The raven had returned.

“How did you get this number?” Morgan asked.

“The same way I get every number.”

“They found her head,” Morgan sobbed. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

“If they found her head―”

“It’s just games and words with you,” Morgan shouted.

“I better not step on my tongue.” Ole chuckled. “Be patient. You’ll be outside soon smelling the good fresh air. So you saw the detective?”

“Yesterday. He’s too fond of his own ass to do all the dirty work. Brought someone else with him. Norwegian. Made me look like a fool.”

Ole hadn’t accounted for that. “Partner? What was he like?”

“Malin. Her name’s
Malin
.”

Ole sounded the name in his mind, keeping it locked tight in his memory. He knew a Malin once at school. Pulled her long hair so tightly around his fist in the bathrooms, she screamed bloody murder. That was when he was eleven. “Was she trying to identify with you?”

“No.”

“What does she look like?”

“Small, dark.”

Ole gave a chuckle. “Just how we like them.”

“This one’s different. She’s like a rat with a nasty bite.”

“Rats can be exterminated.”

“She knows the Norse legends, knows a lot of things.”

“Got an accent?”

“No.”

“See, they’re lying. So when’s the Brit and his fancy woman coming back?”

“Today. This afternoon.”

Ole couldn’t believe his luck. Highway 14 was a racetrack of possibilities. “What excellent timing.”

“How did she die?”

Ole thought of Patti, eyes bulging, body twitching. “Rather well.” He tapped the screen and ended the call. He didn’t want to talk any more.

They would trace the cell phone all the way to the arroyo on the west side. To the Williams’ house. That’s where he found his new cell phone. Maisie Williams. Her purse had been right inside the sliding patio doors.

He could almost hear the whisper of a sharpie across a white board at the police station, officers writing lists, spinning out his profile. It would lean more toward an organized offender, good social skills, educated, unusual intelligence, probably into pornography. Attacks planned… a regular night owl. Ole burned everything in the woods. Except Patti. Unlike all the others, he wasn’t able to burn her at all.

The new girl moaned and lifted her head. She looked around, shackles rattling against the chains.

“I scared you, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Do you remember where you are?”

She began to moan. It was the drugs. They always gave a victim a nasty headache on the first day.

“I can make you a cup of tea. All you have to do is ask. You can ask, can’t you?”

She didn’t answer. Just let her head drop on the couch, face turned away from him.

“No point in being scared. You have me.”

He watched her flinch when she touched him, felt the shudder of flesh under his fingers. Wanted to squeeze the breath out of those lungs because it wasn’t him she wanted. She recoiled at the sound of his voice, began sobbing into the cushion.

“What if you have a baby in that belly?” he whispered. “What would you do then?”

She stopped crying and looked at him sideways, watching his hands, his eyes, his mouth. Tears fell from two beautiful eyes and he wanted her then because she was so vulnerable. “What would you do?” he said again.

“I would love it,” she murmured.

Would she? He doubted it. The child would be torn from that belly and discarded. “Get up,” he said. “It’s time for a shower.”

It was also time for some fun, time to find that dope-smoking detective and his Norwegian partner. Becky would enjoy the ride, the chase, the kill. And she would see her
Temeke
crushed under a mound of twisted metal.

Time to get Morgan out of jail.