Shudder (28 page)

The Chief of Police, Mrs. Zapatas, was an impressive woman of fifty. Although five feet one, seated behind her desk she was the archetypal boss. Her body was covered by just the correct layer of fat to make her into a seductive plump MILF.

The layer of fat in turn was covered by just the correct layer of tweed, which in combination with her silvery spectacles, made her into a plump but stern MILF that can dish out discipline and affection with equal success.

Her loose fleshy neck hinted at endless Pelicannic possibilities, which most likely drove mad some of her more impressionable subordinates.

She thought of herself as of a reasonable woman. When she was angry, she shouted. When she was on the edge of being angry, she just broke up every sentence by meaningful pauses. Like she did now.

“So, Mister Martorino, Mister Cohran...you are telling me...you think...Joshua Eysenck...was a clone?”

Anton and Dave nodded with straight faces. She showed them a stern thin smile, “There are no clones of adults...gentlemen...impossible to do. I wish I could clone myself...to deal with suggestions such as yours...and manage to get something useful done.”

“Now, Chief, Mrs. Zapatas,” Anton coughed in a refined manner and continued, “Adult clones
can
be made.
Have
been made. It's just that their brains don't work, and they can't walk. They are useless. But. This is more than enough to make a suicide scene. We think this is why Joshua, or his clone rather, didn't have the shotgun put into his mouth but his face was blown off from close range.”

“Why?”

“Whoever did that had to make sure absolutely nothing remained of the mouth so dental records wouldn't be consulted and only a DNA test would be made.”

For the first time the Chief looked as if she understood what was being said.

We're getting through to her,
Dave thought and held his breath. Then he decided to add his own two cents. “These days, there are gene-vat grown breasts and...bottoms in the sex shops. It's the new thing.”

Zapatas shot him a skeptical glance. Dave hurried to make his point, “If the sex industry has the technology to clone bits of porn actresses, then certainly an important politician, who is the head of a successful business, can clone his son's body.”

The police chief placed her hands on her desk palms down and tapped thoughtfully with her manicured fingers for a few seconds. She looked at Anton, then at Dave, then at Anton again.

“So, you are saying, gentlemen, that senator Eysenck did a cover up, and the real Joshua Eysenck is safe and sound under his wing. This is very farfetched.”

She looked at them above her spectacles. Obviously, it was a type of stern look she had practiced for years—a look which turned six-foot beefy officers into cowering puppies.

Anton and Dave looked back at her with uneasy expressions.

She sighed and her features softened. “I can't ignore this possibility, can I?”

Her right hand caressed her left hand for a second, before retreating below her desk, “We have already given the body to the Eysencks. I'll make a request to examine it again.”

“If they haven't cremated it yet,” Anton said.

“Well, let's hope they haven't, because your theory hinges on what we will or will not find, when we examine the body again. Good day gentlemen.”

Anton and Dave stood up, nodded politely and left the chief's office. They went outside, into the late autumn afternoon. Some clouds had appeared, elongated enormous hunks of what looked like rugged dark matter, slowly moving between the rooftops and the sky.

Anton defied the law once again. He lit a cigarette, inhaled and blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. He met Dave's eye.

Dave realized that it was up to him to put into words the big question, “So, Anton, you think she'll do it?”

“I don't know. Might jump either way. She'll lose Eysenck's funding if she does really do it.”

Dave flinched as something wet hit his scalp. He looked up and another one hit his forehead.

Raindrops.

It was decided that Dave spend another night on Anton's couch. Things still were too vague for comfort and Anton didn't mind the company.

The evening rain was short lived, but even after it was gone a fresh damp quality stayed with the city air. Dave left the window in the living room ajar as was his habit, before slowly and quietly falling asleep.

The detective woke up suddenly, but very alertly, even before his brain kicked in.

Something made him lie completely still in an attempt to hide from the world that he had woken up.

He opened his eyes a fraction.

He saw part of a human figure.

It was too dark to make out details but the lights in the corridor were on and it was obvious in a split second that the figure was not Anton. This was no albino.

This was an Afro.

There was a sweet smell in the room. Dave knew this smell. Chloroform.

The second for reconnaissance had passed. The Afro was quietly shuffling closer.

Dave fell out of the sofa and onto the carpet with a muffled thud. Using his hand and elbow for leverage, he kicked at where he calculated the intruder's legs to be.

His feet connected with a satisfying crunch. At least one of the man's knees gave away and he buckled with a surprised cry.

Dave was already on his feet and after delivering a swift silencing punch to the larynx, he leapt towards his clothes. He whipped out his Walther, spun around and saw another black man outlined at the doorway, shotgun in hand.

Dave sank to one knee in a disciplined fluid motion of astonishing speed and shot the properly astonished man in the chest. Twice.

The echo of the two accurate shots was still reverberating when Dave collided with the shot man, and dragging him in front of himself like a shield, he strode over to Anton's bedroom.

He entered, gun in right hand, limp corpse held by the scruff in left hand.

A third black man was inside. He was standing with a saw in his hand, right above Anton, “I be killing him, mon. Donchu move. Donchu shoot. I kill him good.”

Dave appraised the situation, let go of the corpse, and quickly shot the third man in the forehead.

As the intruder's brains flew out from the back of his skull. As he lurched backwards, the saw fell on Anton. Without the additional force of a thrust, it would give him a bruise on his rib cage at the most.

Dave rushed to the sleeping albino, pushing the dead Afro away to the floor.

“Wake up, Tony. Wake up,” he shouted and slapped Anton's face twice. It was no use; he was drugged with chloroform. However, they couldn't remain in his house, it was obviously compromised.

Dave fumbled through Anton's clothes for one whole minute, before seeing the car keys fall out of the jeans. He grabbed them and pulled Anton out of bed, and onto the floor. The albino stirred but didn't even mumble.

Dave pulled the nearest pants on Anton's legs, then a pullover on his torso and stuffed some socks into the pockets of the pants. Then he dressed himself.

Four and a half minutes had passed since he killed the last intruder. Dave pocketed his precious memory stick, the city maps, Anton's phone, and whatever money he found scattered in Anton's bedroom.

He walked out of Anton's apartment, balancing his friend in a fireman's lift, and kicked the door shut behind him. It was almost five in the morning. The staircase corridor was quiet.

Everyone was minding their own business. Perhaps someone had called the police but there was still no sign of them.

In another two minutes, Dave had gone down the four floors between Anton's apartment and his car. He breathed in short disciplined bursts and kept scanning his environment with the gun in his left hand.

No one came at them.

Could the car have been tampered with?

He weighed the odds. If Anton was assigned to tribal medicine, it would be likely that his car was left alone. Perhaps even promised as part of the reward to the dead scavengers.

The detective walked briskly over to Anton's Opel and propped the albino on the trunk. He unlocked the car and it didn't blow up. He bundled Anton into the back seat, sat behind the wheel and turned the ignition.

The car again didn't blow up. Instead, it hummed to life.

One bit of luck, Anton's car was an Oldsmobile without a voice recognition program. Dave looked around one last time. All was quiet.

The car roared off into the creeping morning.

When Anton came to, the blurred sun was already high up. His mouth opened and closed with a smacking sound once, twice, and he rolled over to his back. “The bears...silly...” he said and opened his eyes.

It took him some time to orient himself in his surroundings. They were in the western city park. On its very edge in fact, ten yards away cars were whizzing by. His own car sat parked on the pavement in a manner bordering on the illegal.

Dave was sitting cross-legged on the damp grass and Anton was lying on it. Dave was with a stern—no—with a tense expression.

There was only one more group of picnic extremists nearby, a family with a boy and a girl about fifty yards away. The remaining park population consisted of clusters of seniors on a third of the benches, and about half a dozen people walking their dogs.

A fine mist of light drizzle quivered in the air.

The albino looked at Dave with puffy eyes, “Why are we here, and what did we drink last night?”

“You were drugged with chloroform, man.”

“What?” Anton blinked and rubbed his face. “Of course, chloroform. That would explain it. I had the most vivid dreams. But who?”

Dave shrugged, “I don't know. A bunch of Afros came into your house. I had to kill them. They drugged you. One of them was with a hand saw.”

“What? What?” Anton got up shakily. “Why am I barefoot in my shoes?”

“I had to dress you fast, man. The socks are in your pants.”

Anton sat down again and felt in his pockets, still with an expression of slight incredulity on his pale face. He fished his socks out and started putting them on. “Must have been damn tribalists, trying to make some damn tribal medicine out of me.” He looked at Dave, “Thanks, man, I mean really—you saved me from a horrible fate.”

“My pleasure. The least that I could do. I suppose Eysenck or that evil cluster you were talking about sicced them on us.”

“Yeah. Got a cigarette?”

“No, I'll see in the car.”

Dave got up, went to the open door of the car and looked in the glove compartment. There was a crumpled pack there with some cigarettes inside.

“Here.” He threw the pack to Anton. Anton caught it gratefully, but then realized that he still had to walk over to the car to use the lighter.

He made that effort.

As he inhaled the smoke, his mental faculties snapped back to attention. The remains of drowsiness evaporated from his face. “So,” he said, looking at his friend, “the plot thickens. The Eysenck curse almost caught up with us.”

“Yeah, we can't go back to your place now. We can't use your credit cards or phone or anything. That'll give us away.”

Anton thought for a few more drags, “Have we got my phone?”

“Here,” Dave fished it out of his coat and offered it to Anton, “but it's switched off. Maybe they can trace us by it. I suggest you write down the numbers you think you'll need right now, and we'll throw it away.”

Anton scribbled three numbers on a piece of paper Dave had sacrificed from his notebook, and pocketed it. Then he crushed his phone with his heel. “We have to go to Natalie. They may have set their sights on her as well.”

Dave exploded with sudden worry, “Of course, Natalie. Do you know where we can find her?”

“Yes, she should be at work in the National Patriot's HQ in the center. I'll drive.” Anton gave one last lusty suck to the cigarette and mashed it underfoot.

A minute later, the Oldsmobile entered the early morning traffic. Anton navigated silently, his hands and feet working with precise short movements, as the anonymous city, no longer simply uncaring but threatening, swam by behind the car windows.

Dave saw that Anton was now awake, alert and surprisingly calm. He himself, on the other hand, felt completely on edge, and now that the prospect of something happening to Natalie was introduced to his mind, he was almost over the edge.

The very second Anton parked the car in front of the National Patriot office, Dave shot out of it bristling with impatience.

The spotty young man at the entrance nodded at Anton. Perhaps he had seen him pick up Natalie a few days before.

“Hi,” Anton said, trying to not shout. “Is Natalie here? Natalie Martorino. This is detective Cohran, we have to see her immediately.”

“Of course,” said the youth, glancing briefly at the ID Dave brandished and disappeared down the corridor.

Two monstrously long minutes later Natalie appeared.

Dave looked at her in some surprise. Even in this situation he noticed that she looked like a different woman in some subtle way. She strode with a confident and balanced gait, and her eyes looked somehow more open, as in ‘not maintaining a defensive wall'.

“You look fantastic,” he uttered without thinking. Anton glanced at him with a frown and then grinned.

Natalie looked them over with a controlled smile, “Hi, Dave, Dad, what's the matter?”

Anton looked around, “Do you have a place where we can talk?”

“Okay, we'll find a place.” She led them through the left corridor. A mahogany door opened and a plump political-looking man appeared. “Ah, Natalie,” he said and looked with quizzical politeness at Anton and Dave.

“Mister Eberstark, this is Anton, my… stepfather, and detective Cohran. Dave, Anton, this is Mister Eberstark, chairman of the National Patriot party.”

The three men nodded at each other and exchanged brisk handshakes. Eberstark winked at Anton, “An honor to work with your daughter Mister, er...”

“Martorino.”

“Martorino, of course, of course. Erm... Natalie is a brilliant campaign strategist.”

Anton nodded to acknowledge the compliment.

Eberstark continued being cordial, “Can I be of assistance in any way?”

“Thank you, no, Mister Eberstark,” Natalie said quickly, “we're just looking for a place to discuss something. Privately.”

“Ah, I completely understand,” beamed understandingly Eberstark, “why don't you use my office, go ahead, I'll be out for an hour at least.”

“We couldn't possibly,” began Natalie, but Eberstark was already ushering them in.

“I'll tell Pete to bring you some coffees,” he said and disappeared.

“You boss is too kind.” Dave smirked.

“He's all right,” Natalie said. A young man, wearing a light blue suit and an expression of solemn sophistication, brought in a tray with three tiny cups of strongly smelling coffee and three glasses of water.

After he closed the door softly behind him, Natalie looked at the two men, “Well? What's going on? Why do you two look like you've spent the night in a dumpster?”

Anton took his cue, “Natalie, we believe that you may be in danger.”

“What kind of danger?”

“Dave is working on the case of the serial killer who also killed Jane.”

Natalie flinched and nodded.

“He also works on another case, concerning girls who are killed each season. You haven't heard of this, it's all under the carpet, but a girl has been killed every season in this city at least since the nineteen seventies.”

“What?” Natalie turned her disbelieving gaze to Dave, “and this is still continuing?”

“I'm afraid so,” Dave picked up the thread, “and the thing is, whoever has ever tried to work on this case met with a nasty accident. Heart attacks, burglaries going fatally wrong, traffic accidents.”

“Yes, I see,” Natalie said quietly.

Anton felt proudly that while his daughter had just tensed and gone deadly serious, her breathing pattern had remained almost uninterrupted. A healthy young deer.

Dave continued, “Apparently the same thing happens to people who deal with the killer who killed Jane and the other women.”

“What, are they the same killers?”

“No, we don't know who kills the Season Girls, but we know who killed these three women, it's Joshua Eysenck, son of Roderik Eysenck.”

“The senator?” Natalie touched her neck nervously.

“Yeah. To cut a long story short—while I was working on the case, my apartment caught on fire, my credit card was blocked, and my friend Andy Fortham, who was working with me—a healthy fellow I assure you—was found dead in the precinct toilet, apparently from a heart attack. I went to Anton who took me in and hid me from whoever was out to get me.

“Then, through a third case concerning a pedophile network, things suddenly clicked. A house in which child porn was being made was purchased by a subsidiary of Eysenck senior, and was ran by Eysenck junior.

“Apparently killing was just his hobby but his work was making child porn. He was probably renting the kids out. When the house was stormed, he was found already dead, blown his head off with a shotgun. Kids dead too, I'm afraid.”

Natalie suddenly fumbled in her pockets. Anton read the gesture correctly and offered her a cigarette and a light. Then he lit up as well, opened Eberstark's window, and placed the small china plate from under his coffee in the center of the table, to serve as an ashtray.

Natalie took a long draw from her cigarette and as she parted her lips to let out the white smoke, she nodded to Dave to continue.

Dave continued, “So, we thought, case closed: killer is dead, his Dad begging for no publicity, ready to placate the police with serious cash influx, all that, and then we figured out, that this was all too easy.

“That just like sex toy factories grow gene-vat tits and asses, Eysenck senior had just grown a copy of his son, and had its head blown off so that no one looks at dental records, but only the DNA is matched. We go to the chief of police to tell her that...”

“Zapatas?”

“Yeah, so we tell her that and the very same night a bunch of tribalists invade Anton's home. Where I was still sleeping too by the way. They tried to put us to sleep with chloroform and cut Anton up for tribal medicine. I shot them.”

“Thank you, Dave,” Natalie said.

“Don't mention it. Anyway, to sum it all up,” Dave tried to speak as soberly as possible, “Andy's dead, my house was torched, there was an attack on Anton, and perhaps they will soon come after you.”

Natalie sucked at her cigarette again and thought things over.

Dave drank his glass of water in one go and finished off his coffee.

Anton sipped his own coffee in little doses without visible emotion.

“What do you think we should do?” asked Natalie presently. Dave and Anton looked at each other. There weren't really many options.

“There aren't really many options,” Dave said. “We have to leave this town and lie low somewhere.”

“For instance in the ‘Ortega',” Anton said.

“Yeah, whatever, and make a plan. The three of us have to be in a safe place. Otherwise they'll pick us off one by one.”

“Yes,” Anton said. “Sorry dearest daughter. We have mixed you up in something dangerous and not entirely figured out. Now you have to drop everything and run with us.”

Natalie quietly stubbed her cigarette out on the makeshift ashtray.

Then the door of the office opened. Eberstark strode in.

“Hi,” he said, and sat down. “Let me get right to the point. As you can imagine, my office is bugged. By me. One has to be careful in this line of work.”

Everyone looked at him with mute surprise. Eberstark flicked a speck from his trousers and gave his tie a brief fondle. “I heard everything you said. Naturally, a detective meeting my head of propaganda team, I had to know what was cooking.”

He leaned forward, looking at them with an expression of earnest confidence, which he had learned in the last days with much coaching from Natalie, “In this line of business one has to be very careful, but one also must know when to take chances. I think I will take a chance with you. If you can bring down Roderik, his whole party will be rocked by the scandal.

“We are almost a month away from elections and I could use a boost like that. As Natalie has told me, a significant percent of undecided right wing voters are now trying to decide between my party and Roderik's party. If you succeed, I get these voters and maybe many more.”

A few silent seconds passed in the clouded office. Anton found his voice first. “Thank you, Mister Eberstark. We will do our best, as you say, to ‘bring down' senator Eysenck and anyone else connected to the whole thing.”

Eberstark stood up. “All right then. I'll tell Denis to drive you two to the safe house.”

“Safe house?” asked Dave.

“Well, of course.” Eberstark winked. “I maintain it just in case. Politics can be a cut throat game. You never know when you might need a place to hole up.”

“Indeed. A wise precaution,” agreed Anton.

“At the end of the working day, Natalie will also join you there.”