41

  “Sarge? Sarge! Sally?”

  Nairo blinked and looked up. Ridley was standing in front of her, bloody and exhausted, holding out a cup of coffee to her.

  “Thanks,” Nairo croaked, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.

  Ridley sighed and eased himself down in the chair next to her.

  “You alright?” she asked him absentmindedly as she continued to stare at the brown stain on the wall in front of her.

  “Yeah, the on site nurse stitched me up. Said it was a long cut but not so deep. Although my favourite flask was taken down in the line of duty.” Ridley blew on his coffee and winced as the pain in his side flared up.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nairo said, barely paying attention.

  They sat in silence. Nairo's coffee steamed in her hands, untouched.

  “Don’t carry this one, Sarge.” Ridley said eventually. “It ain’t your fault.”

  “Who’s fault is it then?” Nairo voice was a raw rasp.

  “The fucker who killed her.”

  An officer walked past them, casting a curious look at them before continuing on his way.

  “You know… this whole time I still thought we were chasing shadows,” Nairo said. “I thought it was just some paranoid fantasy you had dreamt up. There’s no way someone’s running around the city poisoning people and making it look like overdoses. That’s just some… nonsense that only Ridley could come up with.”

  “It does sound pretty bonkers,” Ridley admitted.

  “And now another person's dead. A girl who’s been abused and chewed up by this city. A girl who was forced into the sex trade, plucked off the street, and murdered in some grotty back alley knockup house.” Nairo’s hand quivered.

  “Yeah,” Ridley said, his shoulders slumping as he fought exhaustion and pain.

  “Why Ridley? What would make someone do this?”

  Ridley shrugged his shoulders and frowned.

  “What’s the point of it all?” Nairo continued. “LaRue. Quinn. Cecilia. Where does it end? What the fuck could be so damn important that someone would kill people like this?”

  “Gold. Revenge. Love.” Ridley said. “It’s always the classics.”

  Nairo blinked and rubbed her face, wincing as the memory of Cecilia’s writhing body, her grasping hands, the choking sounds she was making, all flashed across her mind.

  “Sergeant… umm Ms. Nairo,” a tall detective said.

  “Just Sally is fine, Izla.” Nairo replied, looking up at the worn, lined face of homicide detective Izla.

  “We’ve got your statement and your partner’s,” Izla said. “You’re free to go now, but we might need you for further questions.”

  “Of course. You know where to find us.” Nairo stood up, setting down her untouched coffee and shrugging on her coat.

  Izla nodded and then stood aside. Nairo barely looked around the precinct as she left. She thought coming back here would mean something, but all she felt was an empty ache. It all felt so meaningless. The precinct. The case. The murders.

  They stepped out into the drizzling rain and Nairo took a deep breath.

  “What now?” she asked Ridley.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “You need to get some sleep in your own bed. We’ll pick up in the morning.”

  Nairo felt like she should argue but she just didn't have the energy.

  “I’ll see you at the office first thing,” Nairo said, hailing down a cab.

  “Try and sleep,” Ridley said to her. “You need it.”

  “You too.”

  Ridley nodded and watched her climb into the cab before hailing down his own. He was asleep before the cab had even pulled away.

  *

  Nairo felt marginally better come morning. She had been so tired that even the haunting images of Cecilia’s final moments couldn’t stop her from falling into a deep dreamless sleep. When she finally awoke, the sun was actually out, and there were even patches of blue sky. She grabbed two coffees and a couple hard scones on the way into the office. She unlocked the door and walked in to find Ridley sprawled out on the floor. For a heartstopping moment, she thought he was dead. Then he let out a half grunt, half snore, and she realised he hadn’t made it to the makeshift bed in the back room. She set the coffees down and gently shook him away. Ridley groaned and blinked.

  “Am I dead?” he asked her.

  “No, but you look three quarters of the way there.”

  “Damn,” Ridley said as he slowly pulled himself up to all fours.

  The side of his shirt was soaked with blood. His stitches must have torn when he slumped to the floor. He grimaced and muttered a few choice curses as Nairo helped him up. Together, they limped to the sofa, where Nairo laid Ridley out and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Easy there, Sarge,” he mumbled. “Buy me a drink first.”

  “Oh shut up,” Nairo snapped at him as she pulled off his bloodied shirt. “Good, your stitches are still in tact. Why would you sleep on the floor with a wound like this?”

  “Don’t remember,” Ridley said.

  “Stay there, let me get the medical kit. We’re going to need to clean this up and put a fresh bandage on.”

  Nairo threw his ruined shirt in the trash, grabbed a fresh one from the closet, and snagged the medical bag on her way. She knelt down next to the sofa and began to gently clean his wound. It wasn’t life threatening but it was a vicious cut. It ran from just above his protruding hip bone and along his side, ending just below his ribs. If that hip flask hadn’t been there, Ridley would have been skewered like a trout on a grill.

  “You doing better?” Ridley asked her through gritted teeth.

  “I slept,” Nairo answered as she washed blood from his abdomen.

  “Good.”

  “We have to get back on Shumacker,” Nairo said.

  “Shumacker?”

  “He’s the only one connected to all of the bodies, and he’s the only one that has a halfway plausible motive.”

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  “You think he’s covering his tracks?” Ridley asked, wincing as Nairo began to clean his stitches.

  “Why else would you kill Cecilia now?” Nairo said. “Maybe we spooked him by going to his home, or he heard we were asking about Cecilia?”

  “Whether it was Shumacker or not, Cecilia’s murder was definitely someone cleaning their tracks. That means we were shaking the right tree.”

  “So they cut the tree down?”

  “You’re learning Sarge,” Ridley said, smirking through the pain. “Question is, how do we track down Shumacker?”

  “He has an office in the city,” Nairo said as she taped a fresh bandage over his stitches. “We start there, and if he’s not there, we go back to his home.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Ridley said, sitting up with Nairo’s help. "Shit, I forgot how much it hurts getting knifed.”

  “Broke your streak,” Nairo said as she cleared away the medical supplies.

  “What?”

  “A while back when we first met, you said you hadn’t been stabbed once this decade.”

  “Streak still stands. I don’t count this as a stabbing.”

  “No?

  “No, it’s a cutting. Big difference.” Ridley grinned up at her.

  Nairo rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Get dressed and let’s get back on the hunt.”

  “Aye aye, Sarge.”

  *

  “What the hell is B&B Holdings?” Ridley asked as they walked up to the nondescript white stone building just a stone’s throw from the Houses of Parliament.

  “One of Shumacker’s real estate companies,” Nairo replied.

  “How did you find this place?” Ridley said.

  “It was in his file with half a dozen other businesses. But this is the one that Shumacker runs himself. The others he’s just on the board or one of the named owners.”

  “And who said paperwork is a waste of time?”

  “Only you.”

  Ridley grinned at her as she held the door open for him. He was still limping badly, every step shooting pain up the side of his body. He hugged his left arm to his body and looked thin and drawn with the pain and lack of rest.

  “Good morning and welcome to B&B Holdings, how may I assist you today?” A smartly dressed young man said from behind the reception desk.

  “Hi, my name is Sally Nairo, and this is Ridley, we have an appointment with Mr. Shumacker,” Nairo said.

  The young man’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his date book quizzically.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Shumacker is out of the city at the moment,” he replied. “His date book is completely empty.”

  “Since when?” Ridley said.

  “He left yesterday.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “I’m afraid not. I believe he’s on holiday with his family.”

  “Did he say when he would be returning?” Nairo asked.

  "No, he didn’t.”

  “Did he leave a mailing address or a way to contact him?”

  The man gave a fretful smile and shrugged.

  “He didn’t.”

  “That’s a bit weird, ain’t it?” Ridley said. “For him to just disappear overnight without any way of contacting him.”

  Again, the man gave a helpless shrug.

  “It’s not the first time. What did you say your names were? I can note it down and get Mr. Shumacker to contact you when he returns.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ridley said, walking back out of the office.

  “You think he’s in the wind?” Nairo asked as she joined him outside.

  Ridley screwed a smoke into the corner of his mouth and flicked his lighter. Without the use of his other arm the flame kept going out. Nairo tutted, took the lighter from him, and lit his smoke.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a drag. “The killer starts covering his tracks, and at the same time Shumacker leaves the city with no word of where he might be? I’d say our boy’s done a runner.”

  “Could just be he’s off partying somewhere,” Nairo said.

  “That guy said he was on holiday with his family,” Ridley said, furrowing his brows. “Did Lady Shumacker look like she was getting ready to go on holiday?”

  “No,” Nairo replied.

  “We must have spooked him bad when we went to his house. He’s cleaning up his trail and fled the city. Shit! How are we gonna track him down?” Ridley growled in frustration.

  “He could be anywhere,” Nairo said. “With his resources, he could hide wherever he wanted for as long as he wanted.”

  “Shit!” Ridley kicked at the cobbles with the heels of his shoes.

  “Maybe it’s time we get the police involved,” Nairo said. “They could put out an alert for Shumacker and contact PD’s all across the Free Cities.”

  “And tell ‘em what?” Ridley asked. “You got solid enough proof that Shumacker ordered these murders that the Cap’n would be willing to go after an Owner? I mean, they don’t even think LaRue’s or Quinn’s deaths were murders!”

  “No,” Nairo said, sighing deeply. “Someone must know where he’s gone. Or at least why he would need to kill Cecilia. She hasn’t been involved with him for years and now he goes and kills her? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Only one person knows that,” Ridley replied.

  “Manny?”

  “Let’s go pay the fat man a visit,” Ridley said, tossing his smoke and hailing down a cab.

  *

  They had dropped by Manny’s home first but found the place locked up, so they made their way straight to the Umbry theatre. The theatre was quiet at this time of the morning. The cleaning staff had barely finished tidying up after last night’s performance when Nairo and Ridley arrived. They walked straight in and to the backstage, where a solitary janitor was quietly brushing up.

  “Had a party in here last night?” Ridley asked, looking at the mountain of empty bottles and trash strewn about.

  “Not one that I was invited to,” the old janitor said with a dry chuckle.

  “Have you seen the boss?”

  “Mr. Litteragi?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t say I have,” he replied. “But his office is locked, which usually means he’s sleeping off a hangover. It’s right up them steps.” The janitor pointed to a set of skeletal wooden stairs that led up the balcony.

  Ridley and Nairo nodded their thanks and made their way up the stairs. The door to the office had a frosted pane of glass and the curtains were drawn across the window. The room was dark inside. Ridley tried the handle but it was locked. Nairo knocked and they waited. There was no sounds from within.

  “You reckon he’s in there?” Ridley asked, knocking again, this time more loudly.

  Nairo put her ear to the door and listened. There was no sound from within. She shook her head while Ridley peered through the dark window. He cupped his hands and around his face and tried to peek through a gap in the curtains.

  “Someone’s in there,” Ridley said. “Looks like a woman’s foot.”

  “Ughh,” Nairo sighed, rolling her eyes. “I have seen enough of Manny Litteragi’s naked body to last me a lifetime. Maybe we should wait for him to come out.”

  “Something’s not right,” Ridley said.

  “What?”

  “Get that door open, Sarge.” Ridley stood back from the window, his lips pursed and worry written in his eyes.

  Nairo tried the handle again.

  “Maybe I could pick the lock…”

  “Kick the damn thing down!” Ridley snapped.

  Nairo looked at him and then stepped back. She slammed her boot into the door and it shuddered. She took a step back and kicked it again. On the third attempt, the door flew open, and Nairo wished it hadn’t. It wasn’t an office, it was a mausoleum. Three bodies were splayed out across the room. Manny Litteragi was slumped across his desk, his face twisted in agony, and his eyes were red and bulging. There were claw marks across the surface of his desk as if he had torn at it in his final moments of intense pain. On the floor were two more bodies. One was a woman with dark brown hair cascading around her head. She wore a figure hugging, short, black sequinned dress and matching black heels. She was young. Her body was twisted in a horrifying spasm, her red fingernails were frozen in a gnarled lump, and her eyes were livid red.

  “Eliza,” Nairo whispered, and she stepped towards the body.

  Lana LaRue’s friend, the only one who believed she hadn’t overdosed, the one who sought justice for her friend, lay dead, twisted in agony on the carpet. Nairo looked away. She felt her breath coming hard in her chest. She looked over at Manny. His massive body was limp and perfectly still. She checked his pulse out of habit. He was cold and lifeless. Nairo felt panic creeping up her spine.

  “Sarge!”

  Nairo jumped at the sound of Ridley’s voice. She whirled around and saw him crouched by the third body. It was half hidden behind the sofa, as if the person had writhed and spasmed so hard that they had fallen over the back of the sofa. She couldn’t see the face, but she could tell it was a man, and she could see curly golden hair peeking out from behind the sofa.

  “Oh no… Gerald?” Now she felt tears sting her eyes.

  “He’s alive still!” Ridley barked at her.

  “What?”

  “He’s still breathing but he’s unconscious!”

  Nairo didn’t know what to do. She stood there, frozen for a moment, before her instincts and training took over. She ran out of the office.

  “Get help! Call the police and a medic team!” she screamed down at the startled janitor. “Move man!”

  The janitor jumped and dropped his broom. He took off running, repeating Nairo’s instructions to the ushers.

  Nairo walked back into the office, feeling like her legs were made of jelly.

  “Who could do something this evil?” Nairo whispered as she gazed into the unstaring, lifeless eyes of Eliza.

  Three more bodies to add to the pile.