Whiskey and Wry (Sinners Series) (21 page)

“Then when I saw him… playing like he didn’t give a shit about anything in the world but the music, everything felt… right.” He took a breath, shaking out the tightness in his lungs. “I knew someone was trying to hurt him, and I wanted to do everything—anything—to keep him safe. And it didn’t make any sense…. I didn’t even really know him but there was Damien, wrapped up tight inside of me.”

“Oh, I know that feeling. Yeah, it sounds like you got bit,” Kane conceded. “Looks like you’re going for a ride there, Sionn.”

“Any advice?”

“Just love him. Talk to him. Tell him you’re there.” His cousin cocked his head, thinking for a moment. “Hold onto him. He and Miki, they’ve not had an easy time of it. They’ll fight anything that feels like they’re being tied down. I could see that in him. He’s like Mick in that. It’ll take him time to know love. A different kind of love than what he has with Miki. Treat him gently. Reassure him you won’t walk away. Other than that, hold on. Best thing I could tell you is just to hold on.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that. He’s a bit… wild, you know. Like something stray I’ve been feeding.” Sionn nudged Kane with his foot. “How did you know?”

“I wanted to lock him up in the house and make sure he didn’t talk to anyone I didn’t know. Hell, even people I
did
know.” He shrugged when Sionn stared at him across the platform. “Didn’t say it made sense. Just telling you how I knew. There was a guy dumping dead bodies all over the place, and he was coming after Miki. I knew that in my bones. I think I knew for sure when I felt better he was here… with my parents… than at his own place. And you
know
I’ve got to be sick in the head crazy if I wanted him around my mother.”

“Aunt B isn’t so bad.” Sionn defended the fiery redhead. “She’s come to rescue my ass more times than I can remember. Especially where Gran was concerned.”

“That’s ’cause she hasn’t had time yet to plan things out. You just wait,” Kane warned him. “She’s eyeing me and Miki up for monkey suits and rings. He’s starting to get wild-eyed whenever she’s around. Dad’s made me promise not to shoot her in the leg so Miki can get a head start when he wants to run.”

“Think she’ll leave them alone in there?” He tried not to think about Damien and Miki, but a niggling suspicion that Brigid would crash their reunion remained. As much as he loved his aunt, he had to agree with Kane. She never was one to let things lie.

“Probably. Dad’ll keep her out of it, but no sense borrowing trouble.” Kane stood and held his hand out to Sionn. “Come on, cuz. Let’s call a cab if we have to and move this party over to Miki’s place. Unless you think we can wait long enough for me to shake off what I’ve had.”

“A cab? He can’t drive? We’re drunk as shit, okay, I am. You, boyo, are a shit drinking partner, but yeah, we can’t stay here. Your mum won’t give us a moment’s peace.” Sionn had a bit of trouble finding his feet, but a hand against the roof slope proved helpful. “Damie’s out. He doesn’t have a license.”

“Oh, Miki can mostly drive.” Kane winced slightly as he opened the door. “He used to have a very nice GTO.”

“Used to?” Sionn drew up short. “Damie remembered giving him that GTO. Told me all about it. Don’t know who I was more jealous of… Miki or the car.”

“Oh, he’s still got the GTO.” Sionn caught Kane’s pained grimace. “It’s just going to be a little bit longer before it’s nice again.”

P
ARKER
stepped back, critically regarding his work.

He’d found a spool of copper wire in the kitchen, and the thick strands went a long way in keeping the woman’s flabby legs upright on Murphy’s treadmill. The bright wire was strong enough to wrap around the sawed-off trunks, although he had to cut deep into the thighs’ meat to stabilize the limbs. It was as good as anything he’d seen in that stupid modern art museum. Maybe even better, if he took into account the splatter of old blood seeping from the gashes in the torn skin.

Parker didn’t think he had much time. Not until he’d checked the blinking answering machine, where someone left a message for Murphy to hurry up and get to dinner. With a dinner in the offing, that gave Parker more than enough time to engrave an invitation to Murphy’s downfall.

Everything he used on the woman’s corpse he’d found in Murphy’s apartment. He’d been careful to keep his gloves on, not risking leaving a print on anything he touched. The hacksaw had been a great find. It’d been sharp enough to take care of most of the woman’s joints, cleanly slicing through the tendons and ligaments holding her bones together.

He’d left her head on the bedroom pillows, spreading out her brittle hair into a fan around her shock-white face. Disgusted at the smell of sex lingering in the linens, he’d rubbed the urine-soiled trash bags on the sheets, smearing the flaking mess he’d found there.

“Probably the first time that faggot had a woman in his bed,” Parker muttered as he checked the loft one last time.

The dining room table held her arms, her garishly painted fingers wrapped around wineglasses he’d found in the kitchen. He’d wanted to fill them with her blood, but she’d been too far gone to get more than a few dribbles into one of the bowls. Other parts of the blonde were scattered about the apartment. Her torso lay on the coffee table, lengths of intestines trailing from her sliced-open abdomen to the sofa cushions.

“That’s fine. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just enough for them to keep him under wraps for a while,” Parker reassured himself as he removed the poncho, balled it up, and shoved it into the trash bag he’d brought in with him. He’d dump all of it into the bay, weighting it down with rocks so nothing floated up to the surface. “Okay, Murphy, fun time’s over. Let’s drop a dime and get someone knocking on your door.”

Chapter 12

I hate you for teaching me how to fly

And then you burnt my wings

There’s nothing left of me

But wax, feathers and grief

I can’t put myself together

And I can’t see the fucking sky

—
Burning Sky

“T
HIS
is a sick fucking son of a bitch.” Kel Sanchez shook his head, scanning the apartment crawling with forensics techs.

His partner’s younger brother, Riley, nodded once and checked his phone again, then pressed his mouth into a thin line. The disgust on Riley’s face was clear. They’d both called Kane in, and other than a promise to be there soon, there’d been no further contact, and forensics was making quick work of the mess.

The apartment stank of blood and smoke, a hazy, ashen cloud lingering from the kindling fire set on the hearth. The flames had scorched the living room floor, hindered by the wet towels placed around an area rug, but the damage was extensive. Several of the curtains were wispy charred threads, and the plaster walls were blackened, crumbling when touched.

Peering out at the busy Chinatown street below, Kel asked, “Where’d Murphy get the money for this place?”

“Our families have a shipping business back home. His gran bought properties here like my dad and mum did. How else do you think they fed and clothed eight kids?”

“I dunno. Guess I thought your mom grew veggies or something. Baked bread. Sewed all your clothes.” He shrugged. “Kane doesn’t talk about shit like that. Mostly he just busts my chops for getting shitty cars from motor pool.”

“Yeah, my mom sewing clothes is hilarious. Where the fuck is Kane? It’s been over an hour,” Riley muttered as the elevator doors slid open behind him.

“He was trying to get sobered up after tanking half a bottle of Dad’s best with Sionn.” Kane prowled into the loft, tugging a pair of latex gloves over his large hands. “I wasn’t on call today. Wasn’t expecting a 911 from you both.”

“So you get shit-faced at Mom’s?” His brother turned, lip curled in a slight snarl. “Really?”

“Shit happened. I only had a couple of mouthfuls. Sionn sucked down nearly all of it. I wanted to get some coffee in us before we headed over. Okay, let’s play catch up.” Kane nodded at his partner. “You want to get me up to speed? Who called it in?”

“Looks like the killer did. From inside here, using the landline.” Sanchez popped open his notebook and skimmed what he’d written down. “Said there was a fire and it was getting out of control. Fire responded in three minutes, forced their way up and found this.”

This
was almost awe-inspiring in its horror. From the scattered body parts to the ichor trailing over the floor, Kane felt like he was caught in a nightmare battle between Pollock and Dali. He whistled and said the only thing that came to mind.

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what I thought,” Kel agreed.

“Any idea on who this all is?” Kane waved his hand around. The squeak of a gurney behind him warned them of the coroner’s arrival, and the three detectives moved out of the way, allowing the man through.

“Horan ran the prints, but we’ve got clothes and a purse.” Riley dodged out of the way of the gurney as it trundled past him. “You’re not going to like who it is.”

“I’m not going to like who it is no matter who it is,” Kane grumbled. “Someone’s dead here, kid. And from the looks of it, it wasn’t a go-peacefully-into-the-night.”

“Did you bring Sionn back with you?” Riley pressed his brother. “And… that other guy?”

“Damien Mitchell?” Kane frowned. “Yeah, he’s downstairs. I figured we could question him about everything all at once. Why?”

“Because Horan’s prelim came back, and it jibes up with the identification we found.” Kel flipped out the driver’s license and showed Kane their victim’s information. “The woman we found here? She’s Damien Mitchell’s mother.”

D
AMIEN
couldn’t remember when he’d been so tired.

He wanted to cry.
Needed
to cry. But nothing came.

The shock of what the cops were telling him had finally sunk in after an hour of sitting in the small room they’d put him in. As interrogation chambers went, it was comfortable. A matching threesome of plush chairs around a small rectangular table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a conference room. Still, the off-putting drab green walls and the large one-way mirror reflecting his drawn, pale face left him with no doubt he was in a cop house.

Especially with the smell of burned coffee and antiseptic perfuming the cold air blowing through the metal vent above him.

If his life depended on it, he couldn’t have told anyone the time. It had been late when they’d finally gone through the station’s doors. They separated before Damien even had time to think and he found himself in a beige-green box of a room with a one-way mirror and uncomfortable chairs. After that, came the questions, followed by more questions, all driven at him by stern-faced cops who’d first given him condolences over the loss of his mother.

His mother.

He couldn’t think about her. Not if he wanted to hold himself together. Everything they’d asked him was a blur of sound, then a round of swabs in his mouth, and finally, a scanner sucked up his fingerprints, the passing light turning his palms green when he’d placed his hands on the glass.

The results came back, affirming what he’d already known.

Damien Mitchell, lead guitarist of Sinner’s Gin, was alive and well.

And sitting in a police station after being told his mother was dead and her decimated corpse had been littered all over his lover’s apartment.

“Welcome back from the dead, Damie.” He saluted his reflection in the mirror. Resting his head on his folded arms, he began to stare at the wall, counting off the seconds between blinks to force himself to stay awake.

The door opened, and he looked up, bleary-eyed and fatigued. This time, he knew the man who’d come into the room, and for a few seconds, the outside bled into the quiet he’d marinated in, a loud, raucous noise made of voices and chittering machines. Kane set a cold can of Coke down in front of Damie. A mug of hot chicken noodle soup joined it, and Kane pushed that closer until it was nearly under Damien’s nose.

“How’re you doing, D?” Kane pulled a chair around, angling it on the corner of the table so he could sit next to Damien. He slid a folder out from under his arm and placed it on the table beside him.

“Like I’m fucking dying.” He sniffed at the soup, wondering if his stomach could handle the salty broth. “I just want this day to be over. And I want Sionn… and Miki. I just want to go… fuck, anywhere but here. I want to go home.
Someone’s
home.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I dunno.” He had to strain to think. “I can’t remember if Sionn fed me. Shit, I have no damned clue.”

“Well, drink that while we talk. We’re almost done here,” Kane reassured him. “I’m the last one you’re going to have to face today.”

“And tomorrow?”

“It’s already tomorrow.” The man jiggled the mug’s handle. “Drink some of this, and we’ll get this over as quickly as we can, okay?”

“Just don’t… tell me you’re sorry about my mom.” Damien pulled a plastic spoon out of the soup, letting the broth dribble back in. “I don’t know… how I feel about that just yet. It’s just been… it’s been too much today, you know?”