Shifters (17 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
The sinking feeling of certainty had already settled hard into Locke’s gut. The book offer last night and the inexcusable (and probably actionable) manner by which Cordesman had treated him were blocked out. Locke, in slow dread, ground his teeth, forcing himself to think about nothing.
An odd, slim woman with dark frizzed hair came out the front door. She carried a black bag with the Seattle PD Criminalistics insignia on it, and she looked shell-shocked, even pasty—that or sleep was an infrequent venture.
“Captain, you’re not taking a civilian up there, are you?” She looked at Cordesman with and expression of deep concern.
“’Fraid so, he might know something about this, and we can’t be sure till we see how he reacts,” Cordesman remarked brusquely as the trio pushed past and started up the stairs.
“I’ve never seen Jill act that way before,” said Kerr. “Shit, I’ve seen her eating lasagna while she’s got a three-week floater out on the slab next to her.”
“Yeah, and that bothers me too,” Cordesman noted.
Another uniform stood at the door to Lehrling’s townhouse. Even before they entered, the stench of wrongness, of violent death, hit Locke like a sharp jab to the solar plexus.
God almighty…
God almighty…
Bracing himself for what waited behind the door, he steeled his nerves and allowed the detectives to guide him almost gently into Lehrling’s abode.
God al—
It was worse than anything he could’ve imagined… The horrific stink emanated from a sheet that had been draped over the loveseat as a slipcover. A huge shape of dried blood encrusted the sheet, along with ample urine and feces. Saving that, the living room was relatively undisturbed. Lehrling’s somewhat ostentatiously handmade book-shelves containing proofs and first printings of all his books stood unmolested, as did his shelves containing valuable first editions by other authors—Crews, Taylor, Tessier, and the like. It was the small bedroom upstairs that provided a vision into a demonic abattoir…
No.
Lehrling’s head had been impaled on one of the bedposts, one eye staring sightlessly at them as they stood at the doorway, the other transfixed on the bedpost, fluid leaking slowly to pool on the floor. His hands and forearms were still tied to the headposts by silken cords. They’d been severed just above the elbows. Locke struggled to keep from vomiting, he probably could’ve held it in had he not glanced down at the body lying just inside the doorway; the body with the chest cavity open and empty, and the horrible wound to the groin; it looked like the whole area had been gnawed on…
Cordesman watched Locke very raptly. “Mr. Locke? I’m sorry about this, but…”
The area of space that had once been occupied by Lehrling’s genitals now revealed nothing more than a ragged void of flesh. In a haze Locke dimly heard Cordesman reciting, “—man teethmarks are all over the corpse, and, uh… Jill, would you be so kind?”
The pale woman with the headful off kinky split-ends had just returned with an acrylic clipboard. On the clipboard, Locke noticed at once, was Lehrling’s driver’s license and gekkoskin wallet in a plastic evidence bag.
“Something worth adding,” Cordesman said. “Lehrling’s tongue isn’t in his mouth anymore.”
Locke wobbled, his knees threatening to give…
“The dentoid patterns, as Captain Cordesman has just told you, are human.” A distinct eeriness—or a sinus problem—exuded with the woman’s discourse. “All dentoid patterns, similarly, will leave salivary evidence. In this case, we used a traxelene field test. Traxelene, simply put, is a genetically-engineered dye that, when in contact with saliva, will register molecular traces of primary salivic enzymatic activity.”
Locke could barely hear her, and could barely understand what she was saying. He did notice, however, small smears of some mock-bluish dye-like substance on various areas of Lehrling’s corpse.
—salivic enzymatic—
The blanched woman went on, her nasally tone irritating as nails on slate. “What this means, Mr. Locke, is that the perpetrator apparently consumed the victim’s penis—”
Dazed as he may have been, this slapped Locke in the face. He jerked the line of his sight to meet hers. He was speechless.
“The presence of primary enzymes, is what she means.” Cordesman again, fingering an unlit Camel. “If you bite something when you’re not hungry, those enzymes won’t be there. Get it?”
No. Locke did not get it. He felt too traumatized to get anything except
out—
out—
“That’s what leads us to seriously suspect that the decedent was subjected to anthropophagic acts,” the woman added.
“That means cannibalism, Mr. Locke.”
Locke just kept staring.
More: “—sliced him open, then commenced with the manual extraction of major organs, such as the liver, pancreas, spleen. We found part of the liver on the front steps.”
“Abstraction, Locke,” Cordesman was insightful enough to add.
Then Kerr, not so insightful: “Looks like whoever did this ate their fill and didn’t want to bother taking home a doggy-bag.”
As Locke fell to his knees, what was left of last night’s dinner came rushing up from his stomach to splatter on the floor. He looked up at the ceiling where a solitary word had been written in a mahogany blend of blood and feces.
The word was
SCIFTAN.
SCIFTAN.
“Locke, hey Locke.” Detective Kerr roughly helped Locke to his feet, sidestepping vomit. “Is this him? Is this Lehrling?”
“Of course it is, you flatfoot gumshoe motherfucker!” Locke properly replied. “He was my best friend! He was like a brother! And you know fuckin’ well it’s him because you got his ID in an evidence bag!”
Kerr throttled back, paused a moment, as if a moment would be enough to absorb Locke’s grief. “Were you with him last night?”
Locke couldn’t believe what he’d seen, Lehrling dead, vigorously mutilated; these cops thinking he could’ve had something to do with it.
It was surreal, abominable…
“I saw him last night at the pub, he had a girl with him, but then he usually did. They were getting pretty close so I didn’t go talk to them. She was real cute, a blonde, pretty young… She couldn’t have done something like this, could she?” Locke needed answers, reassurance that the whole world hadn’t just turned into a sociopath’s funhouse, that maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe that wasn’t his best friend lying here all torn to pieces—
eaten
—by some kind of Dahmeresque creature.
eaten
—by some kind of Dahmeresque creature.
“Sorry about bringing you here, Locke,” Cordesman murmured, “but it’s that…parity I was mentioning; people around you seem to be having really bad luck lately. Your friend for instance—well, we always say ‘it’s a jungle out there.’ Looks like someone thought he was food…”
(ii)
A silent drive downtown then, to Cordesman’s smoke-rank office.
I thought smoking was banned in all public buildings now.
More questions, to the tune of four hours’ worth. Seeing Lehrling dead so abruptly was bad enough; being treated like a suspect only compounded the jagged gears of his feelings. “No rubber hose? No bright light in my face?” he asked. At this point, nothing would’ve surprised him. But instead Cordesman merely asked rounds of the same questions, in different sequences, while smoking perpetually and brushing his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes time and time again.
Jesus Christ, just cut your hair, will you?
I thought smoking was banned in all public buildings now.
More questions, to the tune of four hours’ worth. Seeing Lehrling dead so abruptly was bad enough; being treated like a suspect only compounded the jagged gears of his feelings. “No rubber hose? No bright light in my face?” he asked. At this point, nothing would’ve surprised him. But instead Cordesman merely asked rounds of the same questions, in different sequences, while smoking perpetually and brushing his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes time and time again.
Jesus Christ, just cut your hair, will you?
Eventually he wondered when they would ask him to take a polygraph exam, and he even wondered if they were going to advise him of his right to counsel. Gratefully, though, after crushing up one pack of Camels and opening another, Cordesman and his cohort took Locke back to the unmarked car.
“Look, I didn’t have anything to do with Lehrling’s murder,” he nearly pleaded with them in the car. Kerr drove; his brow creased at the statement.
“So you’ve told us,” Cordesman said, and lit yet another filterless cigarette.
“Do you believe me?”
“Of course. We just want to get your story straight. I eliminated you as a suspect the instant you walked into the crime scene. Tarsal plate fluctuation, right-left eye movement, things like that—it’s the best lie detector, Mr. Locke.”
Locke’s backseat fury began to build up like steam. “If you eliminated me as a suspect when we got to Lehrling’s, why the hell did you question me for another four hours afterwards?”
Smoke gushed in front of the long-haired head. “By making you constantly repeat your observations from different starting points, it’s easier to jar something you may have forgotten. I’d think you’d
want
to assist the police in any way you can. After all, Lehrling was your best friend, or at least that’s what you’ve claimed.”
want
to assist the police in any way you can. After all, Lehrling was your best friend, or at least that’s what you’ve claimed.”
Claimed.
He’s damn near calling me a liar!
Locke wrung his hands together, repressing himself. Figuring Cordesman out made no sense—the man seemed bent on quietly keeping Locke at odds with his own emotions.
He’s damn near calling me a liar!
Locke wrung his hands together, repressing himself. Figuring Cordesman out made no sense—the man seemed bent on quietly keeping Locke at odds with his own emotions.
They stopped and started along with rush hour; Locke thought they were driving him back home but was surprised when they pulled into Concannon’s parking lot and got out, Kerr of the granite jaw and cheap suit, Cordesman pushing hair out of his face.
“I didn’t know Seattle PD drank on duty” Locke said, a mirthless joke. “But, hell, if you’re buying, I won’t tell.”
“We’ll leave the drinking to you, Mr. Locke.” Cordesman jettisoned a Camel butt. “We’re just here for a little human discourse.”
“Oh, you mean you’re going to interrogate, manipulate, and intimidate the bar staff, maybe accuse them of murder like you did me.”
Kerr glared, “Why don’t you—”
But Cordesman stopped the rebuff with a flit of his hand. “No, Mr. Locke. We’re merely going to make relative inquiries regarding this blonde woman you claim to have seen Lehrling with.”
There was that word again—“claim”—and everything it implied. The tone bugged Locke, but so did everything about this guy, and now that he was back on familiar ground, he felt a trickle of bravado. “I ought to sue you for the way you treated me today. You goddamn cops think you’re hot shit with your big bad badges and guns but I’m a
citizen.
Your job is to
protect
citizens, not
harass
them.”
citizen.
Your job is to
protect
citizens, not
harass
them.”
Kerr’s glare deepened, a tint of red coming to his brow. “Captain Cordesman has the highest conviction rate of any homicide investigator on the west coast.”
“He’s also got the longest hair,” Locke came back, “and he smokes more cigarettes, but that doesn’t give him—or you—the right to shake me down—”
Cordesman bid Kerr to follow, replying but not bothering to return any eye contact. “If you feel that I or any other member of the Seattle Police Department has infringed upon your rights, Mr. Locke, then it is not only your privilege but also your responsibility to report such infringements to the Office of the Chief of Police. Feel free to take legal action too; in fact, and I strongly recommend it, in which case, of course, I would be at least temporarily removed from this investigation—”
“Sounds good to me,” Locke butted in.
“—and the assailant or assailants who eviscerated and castrated your best friend would, as a result, never be caught.”
Locke smirked, following them toward the ornate entrance.
He’s got a pretty damn big ego.
The neon-illumed leprechaun beamed knowingly, as though in possession of the answers to the conundrums plaguing him. The electric martini winked on and off, an almost hypnotic summons to the bar, an invitation to partake of fun, festivity, and most of all forgetfulness. Locke stepped inside and was dismayed to find the Irish pub as lively as ever. No mourners for their departed comrade in evidence, not even many familiar faces. Just last night Lehrling had sat here, had joked and flirted and drank here, and was now irrevocably taken from their midst, yet no one seemed aware of it.
He’s got a pretty damn big ego.
The neon-illumed leprechaun beamed knowingly, as though in possession of the answers to the conundrums plaguing him. The electric martini winked on and off, an almost hypnotic summons to the bar, an invitation to partake of fun, festivity, and most of all forgetfulness. Locke stepped inside and was dismayed to find the Irish pub as lively as ever. No mourners for their departed comrade in evidence, not even many familiar faces. Just last night Lehrling had sat here, had joked and flirted and drank here, and was now irrevocably taken from their midst, yet no one seemed aware of it.
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