Phoenix Rising (4 page)

Artemis as a boy: reserved, with bold eyes and a sweet mouth. Even then, there’d been something intense about him. A picture of him around the age of ten showed him staring straight into the camera, his expression challenging. Talis looked at that photo for a long time, seeing the man superimposed over the boy.

Talis had never gone to school and wondered what it was like to sit in a classroom all day, having knowledge pounded into you. He wondered if Artemis had had many friends. Had he been in the popular group, or had he been one of the shadow students who skulked along the edges, head down, attending classes, remaining mostly silent, never volunteering information?

This boy would never be ordinary,
he thought fiercely.
He
is
not ordinary. He is my soul mate, the one I’ve been searching for. Now I’ve found him, and I will not let him go. Together, we begin anew.

Hand shaking slightly, he turned the page. Artemis had been raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, relocated to New York City with his parents at age fourteen, graduated high school with honors, attended college in NYC, become a cop. This would indicate a highly developed sense of ethics and morality. It wouldn’t be easy to win his affection. He would have to utilize all the warmth and charm at his disposal, and he had plenty.

Talis knew where Artemis lived, where his mother lived. There was very little privacy left, thanks to the internet. Credit scores, criminal history, phone numbers… everything was available if you wanted it badly enough.

Placing the papers on the coffee table, he sat back, resting his hands on his thighs. He was expected at the loft in one hour. Final rehearsal would absorb most of the day. Tomorrow would be spent in Central Park as they readied for the evening concert.

“It can’t be done,” he said aloud mournfully. “Not enough time.”
Ammon appeared in the doorway. “Satisfactory?”
Talis let his head fall against the back of the couch. “More. I want more. His real parents? Find out who they were.”
“That will take time. Such records are locked.”
“Everything I have is at your disposal. Use it.”
“As you wish.”
“I need to see him, Ammon. Suggestions?”
“Their tickets and backstage passes have not yet been messengered over.”
“I’ll deliver them.”
“To the police precinct?” Ammon’s tone alerted Talis.
“Perhaps not.” He thought about it. “I will take them to his apartment. Tonight.”
A moment later, Talis felt strong, familiar hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there. He sighed with pleasure. “You are so good at this, Ammon.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you, Talis.”
He leaned back into probing fingers. “Does it ever bother you? What I am? What I do to remain human? Because it
does
bother me. Sacrificing lives is antithetical to my main purpose.”
“You are the only one of your kind. You are to be treasured, protected, and so you must have a guardian. You honor me by accepting me in that role. My father served you, and his father before him, back in an unbroken line for five hundred years. I am here out of love, not obligation. One may as well question the ocean tides or the orbit of the Earth around the sun.” He spoke with a sureness that did not invite questions. “As to the other… you must survive, and so you do what is necessary. All living creatures do the same. Remove your clothes and lie down.”
“I am expected at final rehearsal.”
“They will wait upon your arrival, as always.”
Talis did as requested, removing his shirt and pants and lying down on the couch while Ammon leaned over him, massaging his golden flesh with reverence.
“Ammon, there is something I want you to do for me.” He proceeded to explain. “Can this be done?” he ended.
Ammon’s voice flowed over him like water. “It can. And Detective Wayland?”
“If at all possible, do not harm her.”
“I will not… if at all possible.” He dug in along Talis’s spine. “I am to cancel the California tour dates?”
“All of them.” They were scheduled to play in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento. “Refund the ticket money. Tell them I died.” He sighed and turned his head to the other side. “If this doesn’t work, it will be the truth.”

Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.

R
ACHEL
was waiting for him when he got to work Friday morning, lounging outside the material lab door, cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

“Just got here,” she said, shifting her weight to the other hip. “Someone from Interpol is waiting in the Lieutenant’s office. They want to see us immediately.”

“Interpol? What the hell.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he said, “Not until after we talk to Sherlock.”
Artemis pushed open the lab door and went inside, Rachel on his heels. Sherlock Jones was bent over a microscope, stained lab coat open over a hipster striped shirt and black skinny jeans. The place smelled of chemicals and chicken sandwiches.
Artemis moved to stand at his shoulder, talking as he went so as not to startle the guy. “Sherlock, have a chance to get to the spoon I dropped off last night?”
Sherlock made minute adjustments to a knob on the ’scope. “First thing.” He didn’t take his eyes off the eyepiece. “Your note said, ‘Match it to the prints found at the gay guys’ crime scenes,’ and I did and it does. The user of the spoon was there.”
Artemis exchanged a look with Rachel. “Looks like we’re on the right track after all.” Damn it. He’d really hoped Talis wasn’t involved. “We’ll need a DNA sample from him.”
She nodded. “We’ll go after it as soon as we’re free here.”
Talking to Sherlock, Artemis said, “What about the feather that was turned in yesterday? The one from the Carlson murder scene. Find out anything?”
That got Sherlock’s full attention. He sat up and spun on his stool to face them. “That feather is the most interesting thing I’ve seen in ages. It belongs to no known bird genus. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s not a sparrow or wren or raptor or anything else we call a bird, yet it shares common characteristics with them.”
Artemis thought about that. “Well. This appears to lend credence to your theory that aliens did it.”
“Told ya.” Nodding, he spun back to his ’scope. “Nolan’s report is waiting in your office.”

T
HEY
didn’t get a chance to see it before being whisked into Lt. Numbnuts’s office. His real name was Ed Munlutz, but he was only called that to his face. This series of murders was making him and the department look bad, and when they walked in, he scowled. Not a good look on him, as it accentuated his jowls and incipient double chin.
“About time you got here.” He gestured to the woman

sitting across the desk from him. “This is Liz Blackstone, Interpol, London division. Liz, Artemis Gregory and Rachel Wayland. They’re heading the task force on this one.”

Liz stood and stuck out her hand, which they both shook. She was average height, average weight, and in nearly all other respects, average. Maybe standing out in Interpol wasn’t considered a good thing. “Hello,” she said in an almost fruity upper-class accent. “The case you’re working on. It’s possible I can give you some assistance.”

Without being asked, Artemis dropped into the chair opposite hers. “We’re starting to make some headway ourselves. We’ve matched fingerprints at the scenes to a name.”

Liz regained her seat, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Excellent. We can aid one another, then.”
Rachel perched on the desk between Artemis and Numbnuts, arms folded. “You start.”
Artemis hid a grin. Other enforcement agencies were always anxious to acquire information even as they made every effort to avoid giving any in return. This kind of bullshit psychological gaming often stood in the way of crime solving; Artemis despised it and knew Rachel felt the same way.
But Liz surprised them by getting to it immediately. “For some time, police in countries around the world have been recording murders of young gay men. These killings always occurred on the first night of the full moon, and there was anywhere from one to three murders in any one area. Interpol was brought into this only recently.” She dropped her eyes for a moment. “A French cop was recently traveling in Italy when he read about such a murder. He remembered a similar killing in Paris last year. He looked into it and found the similarities striking. It was subsequently reported to Interpol, we asked some questions, and we issued a green notice.”
“What’s that?” Rachel asked, swinging one foot lazily.
“It provides warnings and intelligence about persons who have committed criminal offenses and are likely to repeat the crimes elsewhere. Within a few hours, we began to hear from other countries that had experienced similar killings. He’s being called the Full Moon Killer.”
“Someone here submitted our cases to Interpol?” It hadn’t occurred to Artemis that the murders might be international in scope, and he mentally kicked himself for that oversight.
“Your FBI did, after you ran prints and DNA samples through ViCAP. We alerted them to watch for the pattern.”
Rachel’s foot tapped against the side of the desk. “Do you have a name?”
“No. This person has, until now, been a mystery. You said you’ve identified him?”
Artemis spoke slowly. “Possibly. Talis Kehk, lead singer of a rock group named Phoenix Rising. Rachel and I spoke with him briefly yesterday. I managed to cadge a spoon he’d touched, and this morning the lab matched the prints to those found at the murder scenes.”
Liz's face became animated. “Circumstantial, I know, but it’s a breakthrough. He’s finally in the system. This has taken too long. The sheer number of murders is stupefying if what we’ve discovered so far is anything to go by.” She turned to Numbnuts. “Can we use your computer? I’m familiar with this group—yes, I’m a fan—and they’ve been touring. I saw them at the Royal Albert Hall just last year. If we can tie them to the murders via the cities they’ve played, we may just have our man.”
Numbnuts almost graciously offered Liz the use of his office, and they got down to work. The morning passed quickly as they tracked the group’s progress around the world via their web site. Artemis took notes as reported murders were compared to tour dates and cities.
They ordered lunch, and while they feasted on sandwiches from Subway, Liz stretched and said, “What have we got so far?”
Artemis consulted his notes. “The band has been in NYC since mid-April. Jason Embry was killed on the eighteenth, Ken Darwin on May 17, and Donny Carlson on June 15.” He glanced up. “Before that, they were in Rome, where murders happened in January and February. They performed there twice.” He wiped mustard off his mouth with a napkin. “In London for a couple concerts, one on July 24, another on August 28. A killing in July, one in August. We’re missing some months.”
Liz grabbed a handful of chips and munched. “We’ll fill in the holes as best we can, but it looks like a pattern is emerging. Web site says they were in Paris in March of 2010. We have a murder that corresponds to that month, and they were in Berlin next, but I haven’t yet spoken to law enforcement there.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I will. A touring group is perfect cover for killing and moving on. They’ll be in California next week.” She looked at them hard. “You’ve spoken to Mr.Kehk. What’s he like?”
Rachel, sitting opposite Liz, leaned back in the chair. “Charismatic. Great-looking. I wanted to like himhell, I
did
like himbut when he turned those purple eyes on me…. Well, if he’d hit on me, I’d probably have been all over him. There’s a scary thought.”
Nodding, Liz looked to Artemis. “Your impression?”
He folded his sub wrapper in fourths and slid it into the empty bag. “Controlled.” He paused, reflecting. “Calculating. Charming.”
“Dangerous,” Liz remarked, sucking Pepsi through a straw.
He hadn’t felt that at all. “Not… as such. At no time did I feel threatened or entertain the idea he might hurt anyone.” Artemis had been alert, watchful, cautious, but he wondered now if that had had more to do with the man’s visceral effect on him than with his being on guard against a possible murderer. He rolled up their refuse and tossed it in the basket. “I’ll get a DNA sample from him today. That will at least confirm him as the person who fucked those young men, which means he lied to us about knowing them.” He altered his voice, making it deeper as he mimicked Talis. “‘I never saw him before.’” He snorted. “We can get him in here for a polygraph, ask him some hard questions.”
“He may agree to none of that,” Rachel said dryly.
His lips tightened. “Oh, yes. He will.”

T
HEY
took a short break so Liz could call her people and start some wheels turning. The London office would coordinate and assemble the information gathered, and subsequently share it with New York. Artemis and Rachel returned to their shared office, where they looked at Nolan’s autopsy report.

“Same as the first two,” she said, flipping through the pages. “No obvious reason for the death. In England, they used to put it down to ‘death by misadventure’. I wonder if they still do that? I love the phrase. Almost makes it sound romantic.”

“Ask Liz, and there’s nothing romantic about the lives of these young men being taken.” He sat in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. “So the group spends a minimum of two weeks in each place before moving on, and Talis murderssomehowwhile they’re there. Did he strike
you
as a killer?”

“Only in the bedroom, but we know there’s no such thing as someone who
looks
like a killer. They come in all shapes and sizes, and lately even kids are doing it. What the hell is our society coming to?”

Artemis leaned forward to type on the keyboard. His monitor woke up, and a moment later, a music video by Phoenix Rising began to play. It was a concert clip, and the sound was surprisingly good.

There were five people in the group, counting Talis, and he was obviously the front man. He prowled the stage, mike in hand, making eye contact with the audience, his lean body moving gracefully from one side to the other. Artemis couldn’t take his eyes off him.