cases he’d worked. His wife had complained that even the IRS didn’t require documentation over five years. Courts had subpoenaed him to testify on crimes even older than that, though, and he liked having his handwritten reports. Now his home office had hundreds of the brown-recycled expanda files, but he’d brought this one he’d made eight years ago because of a common thread among many reports. He pulled the manila folder out with her name on it and the one with the vigilante cases.
Something had been bothering him ever since he’d read off Kristina Heskin’s name as the owner. An encounter he’d had with the girl when she was eight bubbled to the surface as if cued. For some reason, his brain tried to connect her situation with a vigilante case that had started eight years ago, but then had abruptly stopped three years ago. In every situation, the victim had claimed that in one minute they were being attacked, and the next, the attacker had disappeared. One woman had caught a glimpse under the light of a streetlamp. She’d said that a man dressed in black had pulled the man off the ground from above her. Even though she laughed while uttering the words, she remarked that it was as if Batman had pulled him off the ground.
The other victims hadn’t a clue what happened to their attacker because the alley had been so dark. But each one of them insisted that their assailant had mysteriously vanished. Some even cited that it must have been their guardian angel.
Most cops had gone to just inputting their reports into the computer on their patrol car’s dash, but he liked to have a hard copy. And at times as these, he didn’t have to cut through bureaucratic red tape to get copies.
Murphy reclined in his chair, kicked his feet up on the desk, and sipped black sludge from a Styrofoam cup. He scanned his report, glazing over a lot of the description of the poor kid’s dead mother. O’Brian dropped his feet to the floor as he found the passage that had tripped his memory: “My Dark Angel saved me.” He’d put the little girl’s comments in quotes as they were the only words she’d uttered.
Rifling through the other vigilante scenes, he found two similar entries. “It was as if an Angel had pulled him off me.” He found the report from the lady who’d made the Batman comment. “It was like Batman; he’d even been dressed all in black.”
He’d entered all of these comments into the database, but nothing had come back other than in his area, and none of his superiors had been interested in chasing down a vigilante. As long as his captain didn’t have any dead bodies to deal with, he didn’t seem to care about a man ridding the streets of a few thugs.
Murphy set the files aside and fished through his briefcase for the disc the boater had given him on the “jumper” case. The man had been filming for a blog piece he was working when he saw Kristina’s body drop. He’d followed her descent to the water, but then another figure had dropped right behind her. As he was starting the boat to rescue them, the other jumper had broken the surface and was on the shoreline in seconds. The boater had shaken his head and then reiterated, “Less than seconds” to Murphy when he’d recounted the scene.
O’Brian popped the disc into his laptop and watched the scene unfold in regular speed. At least based on the first body’s rate of descent, it looked as though it was in regular speed. Unless the boater had screwed with the recording, he was correct; the second jumper had had Kristina’s body on the riverbank almost faster than Murphy could blink.
“I’ll take care of this, sir.” A man leaned over Murphy’s desk and ejected the CD drive, removed the disc, and then quickly shoved it into his attache case.
Dumbfounded, Murphy bounced to his feet. “Excuse me. Who the hell are you?”
The man, who was about six-four, had a commanding appearance. Everything about the man, right down to his sunglasses, was dark with the exception of his short spiky hair, which was blond. A spook if he ever saw one. Murphy slumped in his chair as the man exited his office without comment, and he was certain there wouldn’t be an explanation even if he caught up with the man.
Murphy picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d scribbled on his desk calendar three days ago. After several rings, the photographer picked up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Bruce. Murphy O’Brian. We spoke the other day and you gave me a copy of a disc you’d recorded of the Tobin Bridge. I was wondering if I could get another copy.”
“Sure, if I had one,” he replied with an irritated edge. “I had months of work on that disc and a man showed up this morning and asked if he could get a copy as well, said he worked with you. No problem, I told him. But as soon as I pulled the disc out to make a copy, he snatched it out of my hand, said thanks, and walked out of my office. I would have chased him down, but he looked scary. I was just getting ready to call you and ask when I could get back my original.”
“Military looking guy with blond spiky hair?” Murphy asked.
“That’s the dude.”
“He’s not my partner. I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m afraid you won’t be getting your copy back.” Murphy hung up the phone and reached for the files. He sighed as he searched all around his desk. The man had taken them too, it seemed.
Scratching his head in confusion, Murphy picked up his cell phone, deciding to make one final attempt at speaking with Kristina. The phone rang a few times, and he was sure as the last six times, it’d go to voicemail, but it didn’t. He heard the click of a connection and waited for a response.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice filled the line, and for some reason he exhaled in relief. From minute one, he’d only wanted to make sure she was okay.
“Hi, Kristina. I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” Murphy used only her first name, hoping she’d assume he knew her.
“Who’s calling please?”
Oh well, he should have known better. “Are you Kristina?” he asked this time.
“Yes.”
Warmth filled his insides; she was okay. He didn’t know why; he’d just wanted her to be okay. “Kristina, my name is Murphy O’Brian. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met when you were eight, and I just so happened to witness your acrobatic maneuver off the bridge a few days ago. You’re not in any trouble. I just want to speak with you, if that’s okay.”
“Hang on.” She muffled the phone and he could only hear low mumblings, nothing discernible.
At this point, he just wanted to make sure she wasn’t in some sort of trouble. Maybe the man hadn’t been a spook, but had illegal reasons for wanting the video. The bulge under his jacket proved he had a concealed weapon, so he was still leaning toward spook, as most civilians wouldn’t get past the front door of the police station.
“Where would you like to meet, Mr. O’Brian?” Kristina asked.
“Your apartment is fine, if that’s okay with you?”
“Sure, I mean, you’re a cop and all, right?”
Murphy smiled. He could picture the cute little blonde with a ponytail. “Yes, ma’am. Detective, actually.”
“I have to meet my friend at the high school around three, but I’ll be home by five if that’s okay?”
“I’ll see you then.” As he hung up the phone, the real image of that day filled his vision. The eight-year-old girl covered in her mother’s blood. He’d never escape the nightmares of all he’d seen in his thirty years as a cop. He was looking forward to retirement.
Chapter Sixteen
Kris covered Derrick’s hands, which were on either side of her face, with her hands as she stood in the doorway of his apartment. “I’ll be fine. I’m running to see Beth after school, we’re going to the bridal shop for measurements, and then I’ll head directly to my apartment to meet the detective at five.” She pulled a canister of pepper spray out of her purse. “I’ll hold the bottle in my hand as I move from car to building, okay?”
He closed his eyes as he shook his head, and then opening his eyes again, he dropped his hands from underneath hers. “O.C. spray will do little against a creatus; it’ll just tick him off.”
“And you think he’s going to attack me in the middle of the day—in the schoolyard? That’d be stupid, and I thought creatus were supposed to be smart.” He rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment, so she continued, “And then once I get to my apartment, the detective will be there. You insisted I could come and go as I please.” She crossed her arms and jutted her bottom lip a tad to convey she wouldn’t allow anyone, a detective, a creatus, or even her
