Dark Mysteries (5 page)

He
was a real son-of-a-bitch in a lot of ways, but the man loved his
girlfriend.

“Right,”
Ellie nodded, “and the girl was his assistant...”

“Hannah,”
Xander finished, feeling a bit of a pang at the mention of her name,
the memory of her in the hospital bed flashing into his mind. Arms
and head bandaged, the unmistakable bruises on her throat from being
strangled nearly to death.

“Yeah.
Hannah. That was a huge story.” She looked over at Xander,
feeling suddenly sorry she even brought it up. He looked absolutely
devastated. “I heard she is doing great now, though,” she
said, her tone a bit too sweet sounding even to her own ears. Xander
made a non-committal grumbling sound in his throat. “Well...”
she started awkwardly, “breakfast should be ready in like five
minutes. I'm afraid you don't have any syrup though.”

Xander
got up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process. “I'll
go get some,” he said, grabbing a shirt and moving toward the
door.

They
ate breakfast in silence, Xander dutifully reading one newspaper, and
handing her the adverts to look through. She shook her head at his
presumptuousness, thinking all women always had shopping on the
brain, but took the glossy pages and flipped through them just to
have something to do.

He
got up quickly, his plate clear, his notepad half-filled with notes
from reading the paper. He brought his plate over to the sink,
running water on it for a second, then squirting soap on it and
leaving it to soak. “Alright,” he said, not meeting her
eyes. “I have a lot of work I need to get done today,” he
said, choosing not to tell her that clawing through her personal
belongings at her apartment was one of them, “so I need to get
going. You want to follow me out and lock the door behind me?”

“Yeah,”
Ellie said over a mouthful of food. She was always such a slow eater.
She watched him walk into the main room and got up to follow behind.
When she walked in, he was stuffing the gun into the waistband of his
jeans again. “Here,” he said, grabbing cash out of the
drawer. “I'll leave this if you want to run to the bodega
around the corner...”

“I'm
not going anywhere,” she squeaked, too quickly.

He
looked up at her, almost smiling. “Alright. Well, I will leave
it anyway. If you want to order food or anything,” he said,
grabbing an expensive-looking camera out of the bottom drawer. “Just
hang low,” he said, watching her shift from foot to foot. “No
one. And I mean no one will bother you in here,” he said with
such authority that she felt like she could believe him. “I
don't know when I'll be back. I need to catch some dude boinking his
mistress,” he said, shrugging like it was the most normal job
to have.

“Boinking?”
she asked, almost laughing. “Did you just say boinking?”

“Yeah,”
he smiled, rubbing his chin. “Would you prefer
fucking
?”
he asked and watched her cheeks redden slightly.

“Boinking
is fine,” she said, moving toward the front door, pulling the
shade aside and looking out.

“No
one is out there,” he said, reaching for the lock. “I'll
see you later,” he said, feeling a strange sort of warmth in
his chest. It would be nice to actually come back home to someone for
a change. “Lock up,” he said, going out the door quickly.

Once
outside, he took a deep breath, shaking his head at his own thoughts.
He liked living alone. It made his lifestyle easier. No one would
want to put up with his erratic hours, his coming home covered in
his own, or someone else's, blood.

“What's
wrong, Rhodes? a voice called from out front the bail bonds office
next door, “you knock someone up or something?”

Xander
snorted, looking over to find Gabriel, a ridiculously blonde-pretty
boy type who was actually the most lethal opponent in a fight he had
ever come across. He remembered coming to the neighborhood for the
first time as a teenager, coming across Gabriel who, a few years his
junior, but with a lot more maturity, had no tolerance for Xander's
headstrong teenage antics. They had lunged at each other, throwing
fists for the better part of a half an hour until they both laughed,
rolling away from each other and declaring a truce. They became
neighbors a few years later, sharing the occasional beer and, once in
a while, teaming up to catch a particularly bad bail jumper.

Xander
shook his head. “Fuck off, Gabe,” he said, smiling.

“Alright
I take it back. With that attitude, there's no way you've been
getting laid,” he laughed.

“I
got a new case,” he said.

“What
kind of case?” Gabriel asked, sounding interested and more than
a little concerned. Xander wasn't the kind of man to worry about a
case.

“Another
stalker case,” he said, walking past his friend and down the
street to catch the subway.

Her
apartment building was in a slightly better neighborhood than his
own, but not by much. He waited outside the front door for someone to
leave and snuck inside. She was situated on the fourth floor, tucked
in the corner by the stairwell. He reached into his back pocket for
his lock pick. Then he went to grab the knob and it turned in his
hand. She had told him she had locked the door behind her when she
came in. He drew his eyebrows together, pushing the door in.

Inside,
all was quiet. He looked on the table beside the door, finding her
purse, keys, and her tip money from the night before. He moved in
toward the kitchen, the delicate floral teacup splintered across the
floor, the tea looking almost dry. He moved in toward the bedroom,
nothing looking particularly out of place. The window was thrown open
and he leaned his head out on the fire escape and found the shoe she
had been missing the night before. He grabbed it and threw it on the
floor in the bedroom, slamming and locking the window.

Her
house was... unusual. Bare. Everything was almost empty as if no one
lived there. Like it was a furnished rental. Her bed was made neatly,
no knick knacks or pictures were on display anywhere. He moved toward
the closet, opening it and finding her clothes hung, her shoes neatly
lined up on the floor.

Xander
squinted, reaching in. There were only four shirts, two t-shirts and
two sweaters, and then five pairs of black leggings. At the bottom
was a pair of sneakers and a pair of heels. So all in all, she owned
three pairs of shoes? And only enough clothes to get through a few
days? He grabbed the shirts, leggings, and the pair of sneakers,
bringing them over to the bed and piling them there. She was going to
need a change of clothes.

He
went to the dresser, pulling open the first drawer and finding five
pairs of socks, two bras, and six pairs of fancy panties. He grabbed
them, trying not to think about them on her, and threw them on the
pile with the rest of her clothes. The second drawer had only one
tube of lotion, which he grabbed. The bottom drawer had three books
settled neatly in a line, taking up the whole draw. Displayed like
something precious. He looked over the titles:
Wuthering Heights,
Jane Eyre, Tess of the d'Urbervilles
. All of them had covers that
curved inward and broken spines from being read and reread. He
flipped one of the books open,
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
, and
saw neat, sprawling, feminine handwriting on the inside of the cover:

“Why
didn't you tell me there was danger in men-folk? Why didn't you warn
me?”

Xander
closed the book, looking at it like it was a great puzzle. Had she
written that when she was young? Was it a new inscription? He flipped
the book over, figuring it was a quote from it. Did it have some kind
of personal meaning to her? Or was it something a teacher had made
them think over?

He
shrugged, grabbing the novels and putting them in the clothes pile.
So far they were the only things he had found that seemed to have any
kind of sentimental value. And sitting around in his apartment was
going to drive her up a wall. At least she could have her books to
read.

There
were no moving boxes anywhere, he realized with a start that had him
stopping on his way back into the living room. She said she had moved
in recently. Four months ago. And yet there were no boxes. And hardly
any possessions at all. He made a mental note to ask her about that
when he got back.

The
fridge had a few items: apples, a few bottles of pre-made organic
smoothies, and milk. He pulled the smoothies and apples out, putting
them on the counter to pack up and take with him, and poured the milk
down the drain. There were no pots or pans in her cabinets and only
one plate and one bowl. He looked down at the cup on the floor and
realized there was only one of those as well. Was she just
economical? Or that broke?

Above
the stove was the only stocked cabinet. Four boxes of tea were there
and he took the and put those next to the refrigerator contents.

He
moved casually about the room, noticing the worn carpets, the utter
lack of any kind of mail whatsoever. Not even store adverts or
coupons. He tried to shrug it off. Maybe she hadn't had her mail
forwarded yet. Maybe the utilities were included in the rent. There
were plenty of explanations. It just seemed odd to him that so many
things required explanation.

He
rummaged around in the bathroom, finding a plastic container at the
bottom of the closet full of toilet paper rolls. He dumped them onto
the floor, taking the empty box and grabbing a toothbrush and the
bottles of shampoo and conditioner out of her shower.

He
packed all the various items into the plastic container, realizing it
was almost everything she owned and finding that thought incredibly
sad. He grabbed her purse and tip money, stashing it underneath her
clothes, looking back at the empty apartment. There was nothing
there. Nothing suggesting someone breaking in. No hidden cameras.
Nothing to go on.

Xander
walked into the hallway, careful to lock the door behind him. When he
turned, a woman
peeked her
head out into the hallway.

“You
looking for her?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

“No,”
Xander said, turning, “she's staying with me.”

The
door closed, the lock slid, and the woman stepped into the hallway.
She was stepping into middle age, her face having lost some of its
youthful plumpness to the cheeks and lips. But she was pretty. Her
face was all sharp angles, her eyes a bright green. She had her hair
long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, making her face all the more
striking.

“She's
in trouble,” the woman half-declared, half-asked.

“Do
you know something, sweetheart?” Xander asked, trying his best
to seem less gruff and intimidating.

The
woman's brows raised at his endearment, clearly annoyed by it but
letting it pass. “Last night... there was a struggle. I heard
things breaking, the sounds of falling, yelling.”

“You
didn't call the police?”

The
woman shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable. “I know I should
have. But anytime there was a cop around, for some reason, she always
ducked her head. Always rushed past. Tried not to be noticed. I
didn't think she would have wanted me to.”

Was
she in some kind of trouble with the law? Xander felt his brows draw
together, thinking of the tiny slip of a girl back at his apartment.
She didn't seem the type.

“I
called the super,” the woman said, shrugging. “He lives
downstairs and he said he would be right up and check things out. But
then there was silence. And when he let himself in, there was no one
there.”

“Has
anyone been here since?”

“This
morning,” she said, nodding. “I work from home so I hear
everything,” she explained.

“So
this guy...” Xander started.

“Guys,”
she interrupted.

“There
was more than one?”

“There
were three,” she said, looking over at the door like she
expected them to come charging out.

“What
did they look like?” Xander asked, putting down the box and
reaching for a pocket notebook.

“Well,
the main one... the other two kind of trailed behind him like he was
in charge. He was tall and thin. Brown hair, slightly long and pushed
back on top. Light eyes. He was too far to tell what color they were.
But he seemed... severe. I don't know. He had a mean-looking face.
And he had red scratches down one side of his face. One of the other
two looked a lot like him but was wider... not fat. Bulky. The other
one was younger, blondish hair.”

“Okay,”
Xander said, writing. “Remember anything else?”

The
woman leaned against the wall, looking over at Ellie's door,
squinting at her memory. “They weren't dressed like... thugs.
The older two all looked really groomed. Slacks and blazers. Dress
shirts. Loafers. The mean one had a really expensive-looking watch
on. The younger one was dressed like your typical twenty-something
guy.”

“Did
anyone use any names?”

“No.
No one said anything. They went up to the door and one of the men,
the short one, pulled something out of his pocket like what you had
earlier...”