The City Beneath (4 page)

“He's over six feet tall with styled black hair, longer at the top and faded at the sides,” I said, hoping to jog her memory. “His pale blue eyes were even paler than mine, almost white except for the deep blue ring around his irises. He had pale skin with a scar across his lower lip. And he had, well,” I hesitated to admit, “he had fangs.”

Meredith raised her eyebrows. “He had
fangs?
”

“I don't know for sure if they were real or filed,” I said hastily, “but my gut is telling me things about him that can't possibly be true.”

“Your gut is never wrong, Cassidy.”

“I know, which means that I'm either going crazy or the world is.”

Meredith scoffed. “If it's you against the world, you win every time.”

I remembered the man flying through the air to my fifth-story apartment window as I lay helpless and immobile in his arms from drowning in his gaze. I shook my head reluctantly. “I wouldn't place your bets just yet.”

 

Leaving Meredith's apartment with more questions than answers, I decided to take said questions and yesterday's paper to the root of the retraction, Detective Greta Wahl. As unbelievable as it seemed for Meredith to write the retraction, it seemed even less likely that Greta would request one. I stepped into the precinct and was struck by the usual pungency of coffee and sweat. The overhead fans were spinning off their screws, but until the air-conditioning kicked in, their efforts were just moving hot air.

I recognized most of the officers from taking statements about cases, and a few of them had responded to my call last night. Two of them nodded their heads at me, and I mustered a smile in return, feeling an awkward combination of gratitude and embarrassment. I requested a short meeting with Detective Wahl, and one of the officers I recognized from last night encouraged me to take a seat.

A man was waiting in the lobby, as well. His legs looked unnaturally long as they bent to accommodate his large, lean frame in the short-legged wooden chairs. He wore a tightly fitted black T-shirt over faded jeans tucked into cowboy boots. The boots were faded from wear. Water and mud had stained the edges a darker brown than the rest of the boots, but the detailing along the shaft was impressive. The man's curly blond hair was springy, like doll hair, and bobbed slightly on his head as he glanced up from his magazine at my approach. His velvet brown eyes were kind and discerning. He smiled, and a dimple charmed his left cheek.

I raised my eyebrows to acknowledge his smile, sat in the row across from him, and crossed my arms. The stitches in my shoulder throbbed from the movement. I uncrossed them to relieve the pressure and slipped yesterday's newspaper from my leather shoulder bag to keep my hands busy.

The man set his magazine back on the table. “It really turned out to be a beautiful day outside. Finally, after all this rain, we could use a bit of sunshine.”

I ignored him and his charming drawl, hoping someone else in the waiting room would respond. I shifted in my seat, and my hip fired a sharp burst of pain down my leg.

The man leaned forward. “You all right, ma'am?”

Even without attention, he wasn't giving up. Reluctantly, I met the man's concerned gaze. “Fine, thanks.” I shook open the newspaper and pretended to read Carter's article on price-gouging gas stations.

“You read the front page article?” the man asked.

I peeked over my paper and nodded.

“What did you make of it?”

I shrugged. “Not much, considering the press can't decide whether the attack was animal or human. Today's retraction seems strange, though, after yesterday's photo of the bites,” I said offhand, waiting for him to respond like Carter and Meredith had responded, and say
what photo?

The man whistled. “That photo was somethin'. Animal attacks are rare in these parts. I was lookin' forward to gettin' a closer look at those bites, but if there's any credit to this mornin's retraction, it seems as though I made this trip into the city for nothin'.”

I let the paper drop to my lap. “You saw the front page photograph in yesterday's newspaper?”

The man nodded.

“And you remember the animal bite?”

“Of course. That's a very vivid photo. How could anyone forget?” the man asked, but his gaze sharpened on me, as if the question wasn't rhetorical.

“How indeed?” I refolded the paper and tucked it back into my shoulder bag. “And what did you say your name was?”

The man smiled broadly, and his dimple deepened. “Ian Walker, environmental science expert, at your service, ma'am. Call me Walker. Everybody does. And you?”

I took his proffered hand, and his fingers enveloped my entire palm in a gentle but firm shake. His hand was callused, dry, and gigantic, but everyone's hands were gigantic compared to mine. Not everyone shook mine like they weren't. “Cassidy DiRocco, reporter for the
Sun Accord
: Shining light on Brooklyn's darkest secrets.” I winked.

“That's not your slogan,” Walker said, laughing.

“No, and it shouldn't be, not after that retraction,” I said, pointing to his paper.

Walker's smile froze, and then he pointed at me in recognition. “You wrote that very article.”

“Guilty as charged,” I admitted.

“But not the retraction.”

“Not the retraction,” I said flatly.

Walker leaned toward me, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think there's still hope they'll need my expertise? Detective Wahl called me in as an expert witness last night, but this mornin', she called me off the case.”

I forgot my stitches and shrugged. Holding back a wince of pain was impossible. “You'll determine what or who ate from the bodies by examining the bites?”

“If there are bites on the bodies, I sure will, and if it's an animal, I'll find the critter and relocate it. Are you sure you're all ri—”

“There are bites on the bodies,” I said dryly. “Without a doubt.”

“Accordin' to the paper's retraction and Greta's phone call, there's doubt.”

“Then why did you come?”

“There's certainly somethin' interesting about bodies havin' animal bites one day and not havin' them the next. The way I figure it, the good detective can fire me face-to-face. She'll have a bit of explainin' to do about how the images she sent me for review are no longer the wounds on the victims.” Walker rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “You saw the bites yourself?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why did someone write the retraction?”

“There's been a”—I bit my lip, attempting to find a delicate phrasing—“a miscommunication between departments. That retraction was a mistake and should never have been printed.”

“A miscommunication that you intend to correct?” Walker asked, his lips twitching in a smirk.

I grinned. “You know me so well, so soon. And you came all the way here from . . .”

“The southern tier. Erin, New York, to be specific, ma'am.”

“Welcome to New York City. And you can quit the
ma'am
s. If I'm calling you Walker, you're calling me DiRocco. Everybody does,” I said, smiling.

Walker nodded. “DiRocco it is.”

I leaned forward. “I'll tell you what: You let me speak to Detective Wahl first, and I can guarantee that you'll be examining the bites on those bodies by this time tomorrow.”

Walker flashed a little dimple. “What makes you so certain that you can change Detective Wahl's mind? Either there's bite marks on the bodies or there ain't, and the last I heard from Detective Wahl, there ain't.”

“Detective Wahl has been misinformed. If you'll be able to identify the bites—”

“I certainly will.”

“—then we certainly need you. Let me take care of Detective Wahl.”

Walker sat back with an amused expression on his face. “By all means.”

When the desk clerk told Walker that Detective Greta Wahl would see him, Walker let me go in his stead. Greta was a curvy woman, but she looked bulky from the secondhand blazers she wore. Her wavy brown hair was slicked back in a tight bun at the back of her head, her usual updo while on duty. I'd felt ashamed the first time I saw her off duty and realized how pretty she really was, all soft curves and curls. I'd mentioned it once, and she had responded that gender neutrality was the point. If she wanted to be a hard-ass cop, she had to look the part; hard-ass cops didn't have curves and curls.

When Greta saw me and not Walker coming toward her, she grinned. “It's not like you to charm anyone, but it
is
just like you to get your way. I don't know why I'm surprised.”

“Me, not a charmer?” I smiled back. “I'm offended.”

She passed me a steaming cup o' joe and let me take her seat while she sat on the corner of her desk. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

I sipped the coffee. “Not great.”

“Are you seeing a specialist about that hip again?”

“What do you know about my hip?”

“I know that you're limping on it,” Greta pointed out.

I sighed. “I've had a rough night. Look, G, I need to tell you something that you're not going to like, that you won't even believe until you see all the evidence. Hear me out before you kick me out of the precinct, will you?”

Greta raised her eyebrows. “When you put it like that, how could I refuse? What do you have for me?”

I slapped yesterday's newspaper on the desk in front of her and pointed at the picture. I'd only just opened my mouth when she started shaking her head.

“Now, Cassidy—”

“Detective Wahl, you just promised to hear me out.”

“
Detective Wahl?
” she asked, grinning.

“You had that tone. Your ‘please escort her out of the building' tone,” I said.

Greta gave a megawatt smile. “Cassidy DiRocco will never get kicked out of this building, I promise you that, no matter what kind of paper she slaps on my desk. We have your picture by the watercooler, so the rookies know who to give statements to.”

I shook my head. “Infamy will only carry me so far. This story may be that breaking point.”

Greta glared at me. “There is no breaking point when you save a uniform. You had our back, and we'll always have yours.”

“I'll remind you of that in a minute,” I warned.

“Quit the foreplay, and make a move already.”

I nodded. “Look at the picture.”

“Uh-huh,” Greta said, looking.

“What do you see?”

Greta sighed. “I don't know where you got this picture, but there were no—”

“This picture, along with dozens of shots, were taken by Meredith at Paerdegat Park Monday night,” I stated.

“There was not an animal attack at Paerdegat Park. The slices were clean, like knife wounds.”

“The pictures—”

Greta shook her head, looking regretful but determined. “I don't need to see the pictures, DiRocco. We have our own photographer on staff. I was there myself, and there were no bite marks on the victims.”

“What if I told you that you told me yourself, in person on Monday night, that there were bite marks on the victims?” I asked, tapping the newspaper with my nail.

“I would ask you to show me proof,” Greta said.

“Exhibit A, my recorder,” I answered, whipping out the recorder from my shoulder bag.

Greta blinked, and for a fraction of a second, she looked worried. “Then I would say that we were all going crazy, because I know beyond a doubt that I never confirmed bite marks on those bodies. I saw the bodies myself, and they were slashed by knives. I never would have called for a retraction if I knew otherwise.”

I hit Play on the recorder. The husky rasp of my voice catalogued the date, time, and location before I asked a few of my standard questions about the case. Greta's warm, honeyed tone flowed from the speaker, answering each one in turn.

Eventually, I asked, “Have you ever seen a case like this, Detective? Should people expect more of these crimes in the future, or do you suspect this slaughter is a onetime occurrence?”

Greta's rich, alto voice unmistakably answered, “That's hard to predict, DiRocco. We haven't experienced a case like this since I've been on the force. I'd suspect an animal attack if we weren't smack in the center of Brooklyn. We'll have to confirm with the local zoos before we can determine anything further, but without an animal to blame, we may be looking at human bites. An environmental science expert will be consulted to confirm the bite origin, and at that time, we'll be able to take precautionary measures either way. Locals should be aware of their surroundings, especially at night. Keep to well-lit areas, and stay in groups.”

My voice came on again, asking further questions, but I stopped the recorder.

“I never said any of that,” Greta denied, looking pale. “I wouldn't have spoken about animal bites, and I certainly never intended to confirm ‘bite origin'.”

“I believe the environmental science expert in your waiting room would say otherwise.”

“DiRocco, what the hell is going on?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out.” I sighed, knowing that she would never believe the truth about the man from last night and his strange ability to control people's minds. Hell, I couldn't quite believe it myself, but maybe if we dug just a little deeper, we could find the source of the animal attacks and prevent another massacre.