The Catcher in the Eye (America's Next Top Assistant Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

Grabbing my arm,
he dragged me away from the British tabloid guys, to the house entrance where
he exchanged greeting with the officer by first names. I could hear Baz and Dick
asking around about
the bloody giant bloke in funny getup,
and obtaining
the answer telling that they had just met someone they didn’t want to mess with.

“Thank you for
rescuing me.” I whispered to Archangel. 

“No problem.” He
whispered back with an enigmatic grin. “Do you think someone else was taking a
video of everything?”

“You mean, like
the moment you bashed the camera into pieces with your kick? Why do you want
anyone to record that particular moment?”

“You know,” he
shrugged. “I was thinking maybe the video goes viral and maybe it’ll be cool to
have a reality show with a title like
‘Keeping Up with Michael Archangel.’
”

“Are you serious?”

Now I was very confused.
“By the way, there really was a deadly spider on the camera so you had to bash
it, right?”

“Oh-oh,” he
frowned. “I’m not really sure if asking a question for the answer you don’t
want to know is a clever move.”

“Oh my God…” I
gasped. Then I heard the British paparazzi cursing that nothing good ever comes
with Kelly the Poisonous Bitch, so I said, “Mr. Archangel, you could have
kicked their heads off rather than the stupid camera.”

“Ya think?” He
shrugged off my proposition, with a twitch of a cheek hinting a not-so-well-concealed
grin.

As I stepped inside the house, I
couldn’t help but flinching by the stench of blood. Dribbles of blood in the
foyer were telling the horrific nature of the crime that had taken place.

Henderson came up
to us and said, “You’re early, I’m sure you broke a traffic law or two.”

“I didn’t know you
started a side job as a traffic cop.” Archangel raised one eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, every
now and then when I feel like enforcing traffics.” Henderson shrugged, with a
tight little smirk on his face.

“That’s not funny.
Same ol’, same ol’, smartass,” A woman in a white Chanel suit emerged and
snorted like Queen Victoria. I had almost expected her to say, “I’m not amused.”

“Ouch, that hurt.
Really hurt. I’m so crashed.” Archangel cocked his head. “Then again, has it
ever occurred to you that I might have had no intention of entertaining you
when I made one of the same ol’ smartass remarks?”

For just a little
moment, a flash of emotion flickered over her gaze. It seemed like a mixture of
anger, frustration, irritation, and something that resembled a passion. And maybe,
a very subtle sadness. Throw in some blushing on her well-sculpted cheeks,
which added a certain level of warmth to the edgy, femme fatale-esque cool
beauty.

She was beautiful.
Tall, slender and supermodel-esque figure. Only that she looked more feminine. Delicate,
heart shaped face with high cheekbones like Keira Knightley. Icy blue eyes
sparkling with aggressive liveliness. Add shiny platinum blond hair in a tight
ponytail ‘do. Perhaps, drop-dead gorgeous was the most accurate words to
describe the woman standing in front of us.

“Ha.” She snorted.
“Has it ever occurred to you that you can’t waste taxpayers’ dollars by just
hanging around crime scenes without solving murders?”

“Now you’re
talking like a member of the House of the Representatives. Very impressive.”
Archangel countered. “Then again, considering you’ve got spare time hanging
around a crime scene which is completely out of your jurisdiction, the business
in the Capitol Hill must be pretty slow, I guess? So, how have you been, Patricia?
Or, should I call you Ms. Congresswoman? Or should I say Ms. Congressperson
instead, to be politically correct?”

“Stop insulting me
and Congress, and shut up, Archangel.” Patricia snapped. “I’m here to support
solving the crime with my expertise.” Then she added, “I am here to fully
utilize the taxpayers’ money. Unlike you, I’m making an effort.”

“Very funny.” Archangel
chuckled, but I sensed an irritation. And a sign of a trouble.

Always a
supportive assistant, I cleared my throat.

“Who’s there?” Patricia
the cool beauty, now sounding more like
Bitchtricia
, gave me a short glance.
Before I could introduce myself, she said. “Oh, now I remember. She’s the assistant,
whatshername. Mary, I guess? Excuse me, but you’re whimsical or what, Archangel?
Hiring not just an unskilled assistant but a former go-go dancer? Though, she
doesn’t look like one of those go-go dancer type girls, if I may say so.” And
she chuckled a bitchy cackle.

Oh-la-la, now I’m
determined to call you Bitchtricia,
I thought.
 And I didn’t
feel guilty for calling her Bitchtricia.

“When are you
from?” I said.

“I’m a
representative of Virginia, but originally from New York,” she shrugged. “You’re
supposed to say
‘Where are you from?’
in English.” She corrected me as
if I was a toddler, or a foreigner from Godforsaken out of nowhere with a poor
command of English.

“I get your point,
but that doesn’t apply in this case,” I shrugged back. “Because I was asking
when
you came from, using
when
as in
during which time
. Then
again, that might have been unnecessary. Assuming from your vast knowledge of
go-go dancers, perhaps you’re from circa 1960s. Albeit I’m not very familiar of
them on the account that when I arrived this world back in late 20
^th
century, go-go dancing had already well gone extinct-ish, you know.”

Then I continued. “Oh,
did I mention my name is Kelly instead of Mary? I’ve never go-go danced but I
have toured the world with a band called Iron Dragon, performing as a
fire-artist. Okay, so sometimes I danced as a lesbian stripper but that was all
for shows and acts. Besides that, as the tour proceeded and the show matured,
we came to a mutual understanding that I rocked at fire-performance rather than
dancing, so for the most part of the tour, my responsibility was very much
focused on tasks with fire.”

For the emphasis, I
took a bottle of Purell (I always carry one, in case I felt compelled to get
rid of death and murder cooties) and a lipstick from my purse. “Ma’am, if you
like.” Clicking the lipstick lid like that of a lighter’s, I smiled. “I can
breathe fire right here, right now, just for you. Would you care to get some
heat? Oh, you may lose the tip of your eyebrows and eyelashes, I hope you don’t
mind.”

“Stop it!” Cringing
and taking a large step back, away from me, she almost shrieked. “Don’t do it
here. Yo-you-you’ll… ruin the evidence!”

I took it that she
was afraid of getting scorch marks on her smooth complexion.

Behind the
Congresswoman, Henderson was chewing his lower lip so as not to burst out
laughing. Archangel had a facial expression like that of a cat licking cream.

I nodded, “Fine. By
the way, did I mention Michael Archangel usually solves complex cases immediately?
Cases like the ones that the feds and the local police take months and even
years to figure out? And saving a great deal of taxpayers’ dollars? So with
this series of particular cases, he might be taking a little bit more time than
the previous cases but you can’t make a fuss, judging solely on this case.”

“Enough!” Bitchtricia
growled. “Solve the crimes, catch the killer and stop further killing.” Snapping
at Archangel, she stormed out of the place. Following her dramatic departure,
there was a moment or two of silence.

“Ms. K,” Henderson
muttered, “I didn’t know you carried around a lighter.”

“Oh, it’s not a lighter,”
I said. “It’s a lipstick that looks like a lipstick-lookalike lighter.”

“Bummers.”

“Guess what,
Ritchie? She’s good at pranks or what?” Archangel said contently.

“That was so
impressive.” Henderson exhaled. “Scaring away the barracuda in a Chanel suit. That’s
not an easy task, you know.”

“I’ve never heard
of a barracuda in a Chanel suit. Who’s she?” I asked.

“Her name is Patricia
Warshawsky,” Henderson replied. “Before she swam to Congress to become a
representative of Virginia, she used to be a special agent with the FBI. Actually,
Archangel and I mentored her, and…”

For the first
time, he faltered as if searching for the right word. “Um…well…” with furrowed
eyebrows, he stole a glance at Archangel.

“It’s fine, that’s
no secret.” Archangel said with his arms crossed. “Technically speaking, there
was a time that I was engaged with her.”

“Engaged? Like,
for a marriage?” I gasped.

“I believe so.”
Archangel snorted.

“You’re joking.”  

“Except it’s
lacking the punchline.”

“Wow, so it means
you’re a straight guy?” I muttered.

“Excuse me? You
thought I was gay? That’s a shocker.” He grunted through clenched teeth.  “Not
that there’s anything wrong with being you know what. But hey, you could have
asked me before making such a wild assumption.”

“Asking you about
your sexual orientation? I don’t think so, that’s so rude and insensitive.” I
shrugged. “By the way, when you courted her were you wearing a Vera Wang gown
or something like that?”

“No. I was wearing
a darkish suit from Giorgio Armani, with trousers, a dress shirt and a tie.”

“You, in a suit? Wow,
funny that it’s so hard to imagine you in a suit.”

“My attire back
then is not supposed to be the point of amusement. Okay, so let’s get back to
the present issues.” He raised a hand and snapped fingers as if working to make
the past disappear.

He turned to
Henderson.  “How about letting us see Jane Doe for a change?”

“Come in, take a
look,” then, turning to me, Henderson said. “This time, the body’s way more
gruesome than the previous cases, I must warn you.”

“Oh, that bad?” I
said. For a moment, offering to wait in the foyer, with a safe distance away from
the murdered corpse crossed my mind. After all, they didn’t teach me proper
ways to observe corpses in Switzerland. But then again, sharing what the
detective’s going through should be a very important part of the job for an
assistant extraordinaire, right? Add that I didn’t like the concept that I
couldn’t look straight at the corpse with which Bitchtricia had no problem
observing.

So I said, “Don’t
worry, I’m a professional. I’m not going to cry, or puke. I promise.” Somewhere
in my mind, I was competing with that ex-feds agent turned the Congresswoman
for an unknown reason.

“Okay,” Henderson
nodded.

“Add drooling and fire-breathing
to the no-no list,” Archangel said, putting on rubber gloves.

“I’m not that
crooked.”

“Oh yeah?” Giving
a little shrug to my reply, Archangel asked Henderson, “What do we know about
the victim?”

“The name’s Julia
Stewart. She’s thirty-one years old, currently a housewife married to Jonathan
Stewart, an accountant. The ME puts the time of death around ten this morning.”

Then turning to
me, he added, “She was the ME we met at the morgue previously, and she was seven
months pregnant.”

I lost words and
just gasped.

“Are you still
sure you want to see her body?”

“Yes.” I made a
clear reply before giving it any more thoughts. Henderson’s frown deepened, but
he nodded. 

He led us to the
room in downstairs where the body was discovered.

It was a dining
room with a table that sits four. In the center of the table was a vase with fresh
tulips in assorted colors. The room was mostly decorated in baby pink and
ivory, sort of like country-style dollhouse. It should have felt nice—relaxing,
even, if you didn’t see the blood spattering all over the place.

On the table, there
also was barely-eaten breakfast for one. A piece of rye bread, ham and eggs,
and some green salad with sliced tomato sat on a white plate. Everything had completely
dried up. The whole place smelled like caked blood, vomit, and God-knows-what-else.
Besides that, there was not only one, but two corpses dumped like rag dolls in
the corner of the room. Plus…

“No…”I gasped, not
believing what I saw, or rather,
not wanting
to believe what I saw.

Bloodbath was an
understatement.

“Dr. Julia Stewart
was a pathologist who has worked as a medical examiner.” The ME in a white lab
coat informed us. Archangel acknowledged by nodding and muttering “I know. We
met just a couple of days ago.”

“Just like the
previous cases, the killer had poked out the eyeballs from the victim.”
Henderson said and corrected himself, “I mean, the victims.”

“Looks like the
killer got more violent this time,” Archangel commented.

I was at a total
loss of words.

As a personal
assistant to a detective, I have seen my fair share of horrific deaths and dead
bodies, but believe me, this was the worst case I have ever witnessed.

I couldn’t believe
that Dr. Julia Stewart, with whom I’d quickly bonded just a few days ago, had
fallen victim to this atrocious violence. She was one of the people trying to
ID and catch this eyeball-snatching killer. She was on our side. The severity
of damage to the body was so horrible. Just like previous cases, eyeballs were
taken out and all that remaining in the empty eye sockets was caked blood.  In
addition, the face was slashed beyond recognition. Her lower abdomen was ripped
open. Blood was everywhere—on the floor, on the walls, on the furniture, even
on the white ceilings. Who could have thought so much blood was stored in a human
body? It was an astounding sight. Various innards were jumbled on the floor
like scattered toys.

As if to maximize
the shock, a very little baby’s body was abandoned on the floor. It was a baby
girl. Obviously, she was supposed to spend some more quality time in mommy’s
uterus. The umbilical cord was dangling from her and it was still attached to Dr.
Stewart’s cadaver. On top of all, both of the baby’s eyes were taken out. As if
taking the mother’s eyeballs was not enough.

“You may want to
inspect and analyze Dr. Stewart’s hands and arms very carefully.”

Archangel said to
the ME.

“The killer took
her wedding band. The damages with her upper limbs show that she tried her best
to protect her child.”

Her hands and arms
were bloody with a numerous cuts.

“Will do,” ME
nodded, “She’s a fighter. I’m proud of her.”

His voice was
slightly trembling.