Nocturnal: A Novel

Blankenship, could almost always swing over to take care of Emma if Robin worked late. Max would take Emma to his place to play with Billy, Max’s gigantic pit bull. Max was sweet, kind, clever, handsome, sexy as hell and had a key to her apartment — the perfect man, if not for the small fact that “Big Max” was as gay as gay gets.

Robin’s cell phone rang. She looked at it, but didn’t recognize the incoming number. She thought of ignoring it, but it might be work related so she answered.

“Hello?”

“Doctor Robin Hudson?” asked a woman’s voice.

“This is she. Who is calling, please?”

“Mayor Jason Collins’s office. The mayor would like to speak with you. Can you hold for a moment?”

“Uh, sure.”

The phone switched to elevator music. The mayor’s office? It was ten o’clock at night. And more than that, the mayor’s office? Why would the mayor be calling her?

Because it was the mayor who appointed the chief medical examiner.

Oh, no … had something happened to Dr. Metz?

The on-hold music clicked off. “Doctor Hudson?”

She’d heard his voice dozens of times on newscasts. This wasn’t a prank. Holy shit.

“Yes, this is Robin Hudson.”

“This is Mayor Collins. Sorry to bother you so late at night, Doctor Hudson. Do you prefer to be called doctor or can I just call you Robin?”

“Robin is fine. Is Doctor Metz okay?”

“Sadly no,” the mayor said. “Doctor Metz suffered a heart attack earlier this evening. He’s at San Francisco General.”

“My God.” Her heart suddenly pounded at the thought of never seeing her friend again, of death taking him away forever. “Is he going to make it?”

“They think so,” the mayor said. “He’s in stable condition, but he’s not out of the woods yet. I’ll have my office put you on the notification list. The hospital calls me with any information, I’ll be sure to relay that same information right out to you.”

“Thank you, Mister Mayor.”

“I assume you understand why I’m calling?”

Robin nodded to herself, scratched Emma’s ear. “Someone needs to run the Medical Examiner’s Office.”

“That’s right. I’m hoping our famous Silver Eagle will make a full recovery. If he is unable to return to work, we’ll launch a nationwide search for a new chief medical examiner. Until we know if he’ll be okay, however, can I count on you to run the ship?”

Was she ready for this? Could she run the department and not screw it up? There wasn’t any time to doubt herself — Metz would expect her to handle things in his absence.

“Of course,” Robin said. “I’ll keep everything running smoothly, just the way Doctor Metz likes it.”

“Excellent. Now I know this is upsetting news and a lot of information to process, so I’ll let you go. I will say that I’m pleased a representative of our active Asian American community is there to take care of things in the interim.”

Were she not so shocked and saddened by the news of her mentor’s heart attack, Robin might have laughed — Mayor Collins would find a way to spin this into votes. Asians made up a third of San Francisco’s voters. He probably didn’t know she’d grown up in Canada, the daughter of an immigrant Englishman. Still, she’d inherited her mother’s looks, and that meant she’d make a good potential photo op for the mayor. Not that she’d mind taking a picture with a hunk like Collins; with his tailored suits, expensive haircuts and big-jawed smile, the handsome mayor had topped most eligible bachelor lists for years.

“Something else to think on,” he said. “While we will, if necessary, do a search for a new chief ME, you’re in charge right now. If you want that job long-term someday, this gives you a hell of a leg up.”

She was already being considered for the top spot? “Of course, Mister Mayor.”

“Just one more thing, Robin. The Paul Maloney case is sensitive. Delicate. I know Doctor Metz finished the examination, so I’m having Maloney’s body removed from the morgue.”

“And you’re taking it … where?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said. “I’m too worried that, with Maloney’s past, victims or relatives of victims might want to desecrate the body.”

Someone would try to break into the San Francisco morgue?

“Mister Mayor, I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“I am worried about it,” he said. “I know the morgue is at the Hall of Justice, but remember that cops are parents, too. With Doctor Metz out of commission for the first time in recent memory, someone might get ideas. I want to remove the temptation. Maloney’s body will be gone when you arrive tomorrow morning. Understand?”

She didn’t understand. At all. The processing of the deceased was done under a strict protocol. But maybe this was how politics worked. At any rate, Jason Collins was the boss, and she wasn’t going to rock the boat so soon, not when her future career might be on the line.

“Yes, Mister Mayor,” she said. “I understand.”

“Great. Robin, I’m thrilled you’re on this. We’ll let you know when Doctor Metz can have visitors. Good night.”

“Good night,” she said. She hung up and stared at the phone. She stared at it so long that Emma wondered what was going on, thought the phone might be a treat, so she stared at it as well.

Robin put the phone down, then scootched both of Emma’s ears. The dog’s eyes narrowed sleepily and she growl-moaned with pure love.

“Hear that, baby girl?” Robin said. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you might be seeing more of your uncle Max. A lot more.”

Hunter’s Blind

Like any good hunter, Bryan waited. He didn’t know how he’d come to be here, but he recognized the place. He was on Post Street, his back to an abandoned, boarded-up laundromat at the corner of a little alley called Meacham Place. A gate of square, ten-foot-high black bars blocked the entrance to the alley. Beyond those bars, he would take his prey.

Covered by a damp, smelly blanket, he lay perfectly still. Streetlights lit up most of the concrete sidewalk, but couldn’t chase away all of the darkness. Shadows flexed and moved in time with the passing of late-night cars and taxis.

The blanket covered every inch of his body, everything except for a narrow slit through which he could watch. People ignored his presence, and why not? Just one more nasty-ass bum sleeping on the streets, an everyday sight in San Francisco. People walked past, only a few feet away, oblivious to the concept that death hid beneath tattered, filthy, third-hand fabric. Many times on nights just like these, he had grabbed such people and dragged them into the darkness.

He waited for the boy with the curly black hair.

Hail to the king.

First had come the visions. Visions of hateful faces, tastes of fear and the flush of humiliation, of helplessness. Waking dreams made Bryan feel what it was like to be bullied by a pack of boys, to be beaten by a woman who should have protected, to be violated by a man who promised love.

All of those people had wronged the king. All of those people had to be punished. How dare they hurt him, how dare they. Bryan and the others searched, they watched, they hunted, until the faces of dreams matched faces of flesh and blood.

The priest had been first. He could only die once, so they had made it last.

Now the bullies would pay the same price.

Bryan wanted the blond boy, the leader, but he was hard to find. He was difficult game. The curly-haired boy, though — he was predictable. He often came this way.

It would not be enough to just take the curly-haired boy away, to make him disappear. There was too much