Delta Stevens 2: Storm Shelter (12 page)

“Did she say anything that could help?” Delta asked Jan.

Jan’s eyes narrowed. “Poor thing. She kept babbling something about hands. What have we got here anyway?”

“We’ve got a body with a head split like a dropped coconut and no hands.”

“No what?”

“No hands. Cut off and gone.”

“Oh God. Someone killed him and then cut his hands off?”

“Or vice versa. I just want to get a good look around before Leonard and his men get here and move us out.”

“Gotcha. I’ll take care of Mrs. Griffin.” Jan reached up and lightly touched Delta’s face. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

“If I can keep my burrito down, I should be okay. I don’t suggest taking a look.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Unlike you, I don’t have much interest in the macabre.” With that, Jan whisked off to start taking Mrs. Griffin’s statement.

When she was alone, Delta held in a breath and forced herself to squat down and take a closer look at the handless arms. The smell of death clung to her clothes and hair like cigarette smoke in a bar.

Leaning over, careful not to touch the body, Delta studied the pavement beneath the wrists and saw divot marks. There was only one mark on either side of the wrist, which meant that it only took one huge hack to sever the hand from the wrist. Whoever had done this was extremely strong and using a weapon that was both heavy and sharp. Examining the marks on the pavement, Delta saw that the ends of the divots were slightly shallower than the middle. Noting this in her notebook, Delta rose. It appeared as if the hands had been cut off by a weapon with curved edges.

Tucking her handkerchief back in her pocket, Delta exhaled loudly. There was little doubt in her mind as to who had committed this bizarre and brutal act. She knew, by the unique manner of the attack, as well as the strength of the blows, who was responsible for this. She also knew she was damn tired of people on her beat losing their lives to some deranged psychopath.

Scanning the area, Delta wondered if he was out there now, watching . . . waiting for his next move. Closing her eyes, Delta listened to herself for a brief instant. She did not feel his ugly and insidious presence; all she felt was the spark of a rage slowly kindling beneath the surface of her exterior. Inhaling slowly, Delta uncapped her pencil and outlined the entire murder scene in her notebook. The spark had now ignited, and Delta felt the slow burn of anger and determination erupt inside her. There was one thing Delta Stevens didn’t do very well and that was to be on the losing side of anything.

And this was one game she had every intention of winning.

Even though District Attorney Alexandria Pendleton made it clear that they needed a suspect, Leonard had not handed one over to her. Delta knew it was because he insisted on linking the shooting murder to the other murders. If he persisted in his line of thinking, the shooting homicide would throw him so far off track, he might never find his way back. In the meantime, people were dying, and it was quite possible that two murderers were on the loose. The thought made Delta’s stomach queasy. Before entering the station, Delta popped two Rolaids into her mouth and chewed them quickly before heading to the bathroom to splash water on her face. When she looked up from the sink, she saw Connie’s reflection in the mirror.

“Bad night?” Connie asked, holding a towel out to Delta.

Pressing it gently to her face, Delta breathed deeply into the towel and tried not to think about her burning stomach or searing shoulders.

Sighing a painful sigh, Delta looked out from the towel. “Did you hear?”

Connie reached up and wiped a drop of water off Delta’s cheek. “I heard there was another murder, but didn’t get many details. They’ve had me combing the files for information on the shooting.”

Delta reached back and rubbed her own neck. “It was bad, Con. Really awful stuff.”

Connie took Delta’s hand and motioned for her to sit on the bench. Standing behind her, Connie gently rubbed Delta’s neck and shoulders as she had done on so many nights like these.

“You’re really tight. It must have been horrible.”

Delta closed her eyes and concentrated on Connie’s fingers kneading her neck.

“Grotesque would be an understatement. Try macabre. Whoever this piece of shit is, he is seriously twisted. I’m sick and tired of him prowling around my beat murdering people. He’s definitely without conscience.”

Connie nodded. “The worst kind of killer.”

Delta turned to face her. “Yeah, but most killers don’t maim their victims. Most killers don’t chop the hands off their victims. Most killers don’t . . .”

Suddenly, Connie went white. Backing up, she leaned against the lockers and shook her head as if she was dizzy.

“Con? You okay?” Delta was up in an instant and standing by her side. “Do you need some water or something?”

Without saying a word, Connie simply waved her off.

“I know it’s gross,” Delta continued, “I’m sorry if—"

“It’s not . . . that,” Connie forced out.

“Well, speak to me. Say something. You’re scaring the crap out of me.”

Slowly moving over to the bench, Connie sat down and wiped her face with the towel. Delta had nursed Connie through plenty of nights of illness, but she’d never seen her quite so shaken by a crime.

“Slowly, Del, and without missing any details, tell me what you saw tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

Connie nodded slowly. “Positive. What happened out there tonight?”

Delta told her about arriving at the house, seeing the chauffeur with his head split open and how the chauffeur was also missing his hands. Connie listened very carefully until Delta was through.

“Did you find them?” Connie asked. Her voice was so quiet, it was barely above a whisper.

“The hands?”

Connie nodded.

“Nope. Connie, what’s the matter?”

“Oh my God,” Connie said, bringing her hand to her mouth.

Leaning down next to her, Delta patted her shoulder and waited for Connie to get a hold of herself. Something about this story had rocked Connie, and Delta knew her well enough to know she’d explain at her own time.

Slowly licking her lips, Connie stared down at her hands and into the damp towel. She swallowed hard before she was finally able to ask Delta, “He . . . he chopped them off with the ax, didn’t he?”

Delta nodded.

Connie’s eyes did not blink. She did not look at anything but the towel, and she did not move. Her chest accelerated its heaving motion, and Delta watched as her pupils grew smaller and smaller.

“Con?”

“You said that he killed the chauffeur.”

Delta nodded again.

“The chauffeur was wearing the usual black chauffeur’s uniform, wasn’t he?”

This time, Delta’s eyebrows knitted into a frown. Connie’s reaction was really beginning to frighten her. “Yes, he was. I don’t know why he went after the chauffeur and not Mrs. Griffin, but—”

“I do.”

Delta caught her breath and waited.

Connie looked up from the towel and locked eyes with Delta. Her pupils were so small now, they blended with the deep brown of her eyes. “Con, you’re really scaring me. Tell me what’s going on? What’s the matter with you?”

Connie’s eyes riveted to Delta’s. “I know why the perp killed the chauffeur.”

Squatting next to Connie, Delta barely breathed. “You do?”

Eyes still locked to Delta’s, Connie breathed in through her nose. “Hang with me on this one, Kimo, because it’s so far out there, even you might have a hard time believing it.”

“If you believe it, that’s good enough for me.”

Rising slowly, as if she was just recovering from being drunk, Connie paced over to the sink and got a drink of water. After throwing the Dixie cup into the trash, Connie inhaled and started explaining. “Try to follow me on this, Del, without asking any questions, okay?”

“You got it.” Folding her arms across her chest, Delta waited.

“Remember the other day, when I told you how I killed that fifty-headed beast in the computer game I’ve been playing?”

Delta cocked her head in question, trying to link up this far-reaching non sequitur with the horrible death of the chauffeur. She had expected a curve, but this was more of a spit ball, and Delta could only nod.

“Well, do you?” Connie’s voice ranged between anxious and desperate. “I remember.” Delta thought back to that evening. “You said you poisoned him.”

Connie nodded. “In these adventure games, when you successfully pass an obstacle, you get something for your success. Sometimes, it’s a weapon, or a magic spell, or even a map. But it’s always something you need in order to conquer the next level. Are you with me so far?”

Delta nodded, unsure if she followed at all.

“Do you know what it was that I got for killing that beast?”

Shrugging, Delta had no idea where Connie was going with this.

“Del . . .” Connie put her hand on Delta’s shoulder and stared intently into her eyes. “I was awarded an ax. A double-bladed ax.”

Delta’s eyes narrowed. “An ax? Could be a coincidence."

Connie shook her head. “No, Del. I was awarded the same kind of ax that was stolen from Omega’s.”

Delta walked over to the sink and got herself a cup of water. “A double-bladed ax?”

“Yep. And do you know what I had to do with that ax?” Connie did-n’t wait for an answer. “I had to cut off the demon’s hands in order to get my next prize.”

Delta stood straight and peered into Connie’s face. “And what prize was that?”

Connie exhaled loudly. “Gloves.”

“Gloves?”

Connie nodded. “Gloves much like those worn by the chauffeur. You’ve seen the kind. They’re short at the wrist like the gloves cowboys wear.”

Delta mulled this over. What was Connie suggesting here? “You cut off his hands in order to get the gloves? God, Con, don’t you think this could just be a freaky coincidence?”

“With the singular exception of the shooting death, which you yourself said you don’t believe is related, that game completely parallels your killer’s every move thus far.”

Delta swallowed hard. “Even the first death?”

Again, Connie nodded. “My dwarf started out with what I thought was a sword. But since she’s a dwarf, the length of the sword deceived me. All along, she was carrying . . .” Connie paused here for emphasis, “a dagger.”

Delta shook her head like a boxer who had just received a staggering blow. “Go on.”

“When I figured out that I couldn’t kill the fifty-headed beast with my dagger, I went back to the first level to see what I had missed. You can always go backwards in these games, but never forward unless you have all the right things.”

“And?”

“And I missed the fact that the necromancer—”

“Necromancer?”

“Yeah. You know, an ancient druid who often mixed potions?”

Delta nodded. “Oh yeah. Like Merlin?”

Connie nodded energetically. “A necromancer could speak to the dead as well as mix roots and plants for potions. They often acted like modern-day pharmacists.”

Delta nodded slowly, the picture becoming clearer to her. “Ah. Our first victim, Ben Friedman.”

“Exactly. Earlier in the game, the necromancer gave me directions and I thought that was all he was good for. It never occurred to me to kill him. But later on, when nothing I did could get me to the next level, I went back and stabbed him. Then I took his bag full of potions and elixirs.”

Delta cocked her head. “Potions?”

“More like poisons. The necromancer knew what was needed to kill certain animals.” Connie waited for understanding to register on Delta’s face.

“What you’re telling me is that someone is playing a game on us?”

“Not
on
us, Del,
with
us.”

Backing away, Delta walked over to the sink and splashed more cold water on her face. “You mean this whole thing is being orchestrated?”

“I’d bet a year’s salary on it. When the fifty-headed beast died, Dori, my warrior-dwarf, picked up a battle ax.”

“So, if the necromancer was the pharmacist—”

“And the beast, the Doberman—”

“And the ax was used to kill the chauffeur,” Delta sat down heavily, “then we’re up against one fucked-up sicko.”

“Not quite, Del. we’re up against a highly intelligent psychopath.”

Delta let all of this information sink in before responding. “So the bottom line is you’re playing a game created by a killer, who is acting it out. Is that it?”

Connie nodded.

“Is there any way possible for us to find out who created the game? I mean, there must be something, some kind of clue.”

“There must be. Almost every program has what’s known as a back door. It’s kind of like a secret code that enables you to enter the belly of the game. If I can unlock the back door, it’s possible we might find out who made it and why.”