Shadows Fall (7 page)

“Yes, I know.”

Charlie had to force himself not to look away as Karen finished removing the girl’s organs and handing them to David for washing, weighing, and bread-slicing for tissue samples. He wasn’t squeamish at all, not even a little, but something about the dehumanization factor of an autopsy—reducing a formerly living, breathing person to nothing but a sum of her parts—always disturbed him on some level.

“Oh, and we found the neck markings again,” Karen said as she was running the bowel—palpating the small and large intestine to check for any injuries or abnormalities. “Hers were slightly different, as per usual, but definitely the same type of cuts. Put on some gloves and have a look before I have to reflect the skin.”

Grabbing some plastic gloves from a dispenser on the wall, Charlie went around to the far side of the exam table and gently tilted the girl’s head to the right so that he could have a look at her neck. It was the same M.O. as before. Slashes, circles, all arranged in a block pattern, scored into the skin.

“His signature,” he said.

“If it’s the same guy.”

“Don’t start that again, Karen. I’ve got four bodies and almost no evidence. The only unifying factors are these markings, the fact that they all died from massive blood loss due to
different
wounds, and they were all female.”

Karen froze. “Shit… maybe not.”

“What, blood loss? Did something else kill her?”

“No… female.”

“So what, she’s transgendered?”

Karen was concentrating hard on separating a particular organ from the surrounding tissue. She didn’t look up at him. “Not exactly.”

“Jesus, Karen! Could you stop being so fucking cryptic?”

She paused, raising her hands up as she glared at him. “I’m kind of doing a couple of things at once here, so back the fuck off,
detective.
”

Sighing, Charlie tried to reach down deep into his inner well of patience and pull some out. “Sorry. You were saying…”

Karen reached into the incision and pulled out some tissue that Charlie couldn’t identify—and didn’t really want to.

“These are the victim’s ovaries and uterus.” She set them on a metal tray David held out to her.

“Okay…” Charlie had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from urging her on… or throttling her.

“And these…” she began, taking a couple of clamps and her scalpel back inside and using them to resect another piece. “
These
are testicles.”

“Wait,
what?
” Charlie asked, sure he must have heard her wrong.

“You heard me,” Karen said dryly. “This victim was obviously living as a female, but she possessed both female
and
male reproductive organs; she was hermaphroditic.”

“Holy shit. Does that happen often?”

“No. It’s very rare, actually. I wouldn’t be surprised if the serology comes back indicating some sort of hormone therapy, designed to suppress one sex and enhance the other.”

“Huh… then that begs the question, was the hermaphroditism why he picked her, or was it an unwelcome surprise that led to the genital mutilation.”

“That is indeed a puzzle,” Karen said, moving up to the victim’s head to begin the dissection of the brain. “Worst part is, like the others, I believe she was alive for most of the mutilation. It was likely the removal of the liver that caused her to exsanguinate.”

She picked up her scalpel, then paused to look at Charlie. “You don’t want to be here for the brain, Charlie. I don’t expect to find anything here but if I do, it will be in my report. I’ll try and put a rush on the tox and the serology, and I’ll start looking at the slides as soon as I finish here. Go home and get some sleep, you look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. I think you’re right. Sonny and I will have to talk to her family tomorrow, see if they’ll release those medical records you mentioned. Not having to get a court order would save us a lot of time. Anyway, I’m outta here. Enjoy your… brain.”

“’Night Charlie.”

“Morning, Karen. See ya, David.”

“Bye, Detective.”

Charlie couldn’t help the slump of his shoulders and the shuffle in his step as he left Karen’s lab. It had been a long, horrendous night, but it was doubtful he’d get any rest until he’d talked to the victim’s family. What he really needed, Charlie decided, was a good cup of coffee or twelve.

Chapter Six

He looked like death warmed over. Charlie sat hunched over at the table in the corner. I had been doing inventory in the back when Chelsea had popped in to let me know he was here. I was a little embarrassed by how fast I scrambled out front to get a look at him—and what a look it was.

His skin was pale as a ghost, his blond hair stuck out all over the place as if he’d been running his hands through it, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I shuddered to think of what kind of night a homicide detective had to have to come in looking like that. I imagined that Charlie’s bad night at work would be a bad night for everyone.

As I ambled over to him, I put a little swing in my step, determined not to let on that I was worried about him. I pasted a smile on my face when I came to a stop at his table. “What can I get you, big fella?” I asked, sounding ridiculous even to my own ears.

He glanced up at me and the smile that spread on his face was like the sun coming out after a storm. It made my insides twitch. “Tableside service now?” he asked

“Only for you, baby. Only for you.”

His chiseled cheekbones pinked nicely, and he fidgeted with his watch, but he didn’t run away again.
Progress.

He let out a weary sigh that seemed to rattle his chest-bones. “I’m gonna need about a pitcher of your strongest coffee.”

“That bad, huh? No offense, but you look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

“Careful, Titus, you’re starting to sound like a local.”

“Bite your tongue, Cowboy. I might not’ve been born in Charlotte, but I never lived anywhere but in the South.” I studied his haggard face. Tilting my head, I stared down at him and asked the question I feared the answer to. “What happened?”

“Death, Titus. Death happened.”

I swallowed hard. Couldn’t there be anything around me that
didn’t
have to do with death? “I’m gonna go get that coffee, and you can tell me all about it.”

When I came back with a French press full of fresh coffee, Charlie was staring out the window, a million miles away. I, however, was grateful for the distraction. I’d just received word from my grandmother in the form of a letter—written by one of the
vitsa
, tribe, boys because she couldn’t read or write—that she would come to Charlotte to help me. Not because she loved me of course; she’d come because she was intrigued by my predicament.

I hadn’t seen anyone from the
kumpania
since I’d been cast out, and I was terrified. Hester Faa was a formidable woman, a powerful
chovihani
, and despite the rule of the
Rom Baro
—the ‘big man’ or leader of the tribe—the family deferred to her on most matters. In fact, the
Rom Baro
had forbidden her to come, but come she would. So yes, I was grateful for Charlie and his restive dead.

“So, it was a rough night?” I asked.

His broad shoulders expanded and contracted with the force of a deep breath. “The very worst. I shouldn’t even talk about it—and even if I do, there’s still a lot I can’t say. It’s an open investigation.”

“Sure, I understand. Why don’t you start with what put that look in your eyes.”

“I just came from the morgue, from an autopsy.”

I felt the involuntary quickening of my breath and pulse that was the result of too many years of ingrained beliefs—whether I still held to them or not. “My people believe the desecration of the dead is immoral… an unconscionable act. It angers the
mulo—
the spirit of the dead,” I explained. “It is said by the Rom that a person who passes before reaching old age becomes an evil spirit.”

“Do you believe that?”

I cursed myself because I could feel the pull of him, the deep down urge to give him the truth of me. However, that was far too risky. “I believe in life. I don’t doubt the presence of the
mule
—there’s too much evidence of them throughout history—but I imagine they have bigger problems than worrying about what happens to their earthly personage.”

Charlie gave a weak laugh. I wanted to squeeze him and kiss him, and tell the big, bad cop that everything would be all right. But he probably knew best of all that it wouldn’t be.

“There’s this person out there killing women…” Charlie began.

I was sure I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew he needed me to, he needed
somebody
to.

“He’s killing women and leaving no evidence.
None
. He never kills them the exact same way, the victims have nothing in common, and he just keeps on coming.”

“How do you know it’s the same guy then?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this…”

“You don’t have to, not at all, but you seem like you really need to unload.” God, he did. He looked like he might melt, or explode, or freak the fuck out at any moment. How did these men do this job? Didn’t they have anyone to help them deal with seeing blood every day of their lives?

“He signs them.”

“He what?”

“I can’t go into detail, but they all have something carved on their necks.”

Look. See. Know!

Rapid-fire, flashing images scrolled through my mind. The African woman, the little girl, Violet Eyes, the blond teenager, all baring their necks to me. Scours, scratches, cut deep into the skin. Was this what Charlie had seen? Was I seeing the victims of his murderer?

I suddenly felt sick. I had to tamp down the urge to run from the room, away from this man who might be the very thing that would force me to confront my tormentors. I didn’t want to care about them, I didn’t want to know their stories. I already cared about him, though we’d only known each other for a short while, so I knew I’d have to try.

“That’s awful,” I whispered impotently. What could I, a young coffee shop owner afraid of the shadows that followed me, say to this man? In a way, we were the same, he and I. We both confronted death and sorrow on a daily basis—he in the living world, and me beyond the veil. Maybe we could help each other, if only I could find a way for us to do so without him finding out what a freak I was.

“Yes, it is. We’re just waiting for him to slip up, to give us something—anything—to go on. There are still blood samples and drug tests to come back, but I’m not hopeful.” Charlie rubbed his big hands over his face and into his straw-colored hair. “Jesus Christ, I changed my mind. Let’s not talk about this anymore… let’s talk about anything else.”

I let a wry smile twist my lips. “I could tell you about my current worry.”

“Please do.”

“My grandmother is coming to visit me.”

“Your grandmother? I thought you were estranged from your family.”

“Oh I am. I’m
marime
to them—impure, unclean, outcast.”

“God, that’s appalling.”

I shrugged. It was something I’d been raised with, part of the Rom culture. “I was taught that nothing comes above the community. Religious beliefs among the Rom are sporadic and varied to suit our purposes, mainly because the Rom—the
people—are
the religion. Anything done to pollute the blood or the body is wrong, as is anything that doesn’t further the continuing survival and procreation of the people. Obviously, homosexuality falls under that particular umbrella.”

“But you can’t help who you are.”

“My people view homosexuality neither as something you’re born with nor a choice that you make. It’s just something you do, an act, like stealing or adultery. As with many things to them, marriage is the cure. If I had agreed to marry a nice Romany girl, I could have stayed.”

Charlie gave me a long, intense look and I wondered what was behind it. “Wouldn’t that have been… I don’t know, easier? To play house with some girl, but still get to keep your family, your life?”

Oh, that poor, delusional, closeted man. I knew he was looking for absolution, for someone to tell him that he was right for protecting himself, for keeping his true nature hidden. I couldn’t do it, but I wouldn’t condemn him for it.

“We all do whatever we need to do to survive, Charlie. I found that I couldn’t survive without love—without ever feeling attraction to another human being on which I was allowed to act. I couldn’t survive without my free will, and I couldn’t live with the social and moral blackmail of it all. So when they told me to leave, I did.”

His eyes had taken on a faraway quality as I’d been talking. He swallowed convulsively, blinked, and licked his lips. When he looked at me, the depth of the loneliness I saw in his eyes consumed me. I reached out and placed my hand over his. “What do you need to survive, Charlie?”