Superbia (Book 2) Read online

  “I’ve told you over and over what you have to do.”

  “So schedule me for the damn gastric bypass surgery and I’ll lose weight.”

  “Your heart can’t take it, Claude. Your blood pressure is through the roof, your blood sugar is out of control, and your heart is in serious jeopardy.”

  “Then give me a pill or something.”

  “You’re on enough pills, Claude. Listen, I’m going to be as blunt with you as I can. You are almost sixty years old. You’ve been a police officer for thirty-five years. It is time to retire. Relax. All this stress is killing you. Ever since you became Chief, your health has deteriorated to levels that are truly frightening.”

  “That’s your recommendation? That I retire? Just when I’m finally beginning to enjoy the fruits of all those years I suffered under one imbecile after another? Just when I can finally see my life’s work fulfilled? You want me to just walk away and hand it over to someone else?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “That is what I think you should do. Let it go, Claude. Before it kills you.”

  “That’s enough. I’m done here. If you cannot provide me with the proper treatment for my condition, I will find someone else who can.”

  “If that’s how you feel, then it’s up to you. My prognosis stays the same though. You need to make a complete lifestyle change.”

  Erinnyes buttoned his pants and said, “I like my lifestyle, boy.”

  ***

  The next evening, Frank passed Reynaldo the car keys and said, “You’re on your own tonight. I feel like shit because I had to stay up all night with you. I don’t care what you do before three AM, but after that, if you make a peep on the radio I will kill you. Understood?”

  Reynaldo picked up the car keys and said, “Did you get a call from the Chief today?”

  “No. He was off, I think. Probably doesn’t even know about it yet.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel like I’m going to get in trouble for it.”

  “You probably will. Don’t sweat it.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “When you stop giving a shit, it becomes a lot better around here.”

  ***

  “Seventeen-cars, burglary-in-progress.”

  Reynaldo reached for the radio mic, having to take several breaths before he felt confident enough to answer without his voice shaking. “Go ahead, County.”

  “Homeowner just returned to find her front door kicked in. Unknown if occupants are still on scene.”

  Frank’s voice crackled over the radio, “Seventeen-Eight to County. See who has a K-9 in the area.”

  “Closest one is in the city. They have a K-9 enroute to your location.”

  “10-4,” Frank said. “Seventeen-Eight to seventeen-ten? Step it up.”

  “Yes, sir!” Reynaldo said. He jammed the gas pedal to the floor and flipped as many switches as he could on the emergency light console. The car sparkled from every angle. Lights on the roof, lights on the front and rear end, lights on the door frame, all of them blinking and strobing and flickering. A symphony of red, white and blue. His siren roared out through the car’s speakers, telling people to get out of his way, get somewhere safe because Officer Reynaldo Miguel Javier Francisco was on his way to protect and serve.

  He came screaming around the bend, laying rubber on the asphalt as he slammed on the brakes. Frank was already there, running out of the car so fast he forgot to turn off his overhead lights.

  Reynaldo parked his car and shut everything off. He locked the door and drew his weapon, hurrying after Frank, who shouted, “Take the back.”

  He hurried into the back yard, keeping his gun trained at the large glass doors on the deck. One of them was open. “Seventeen-ten to seventeen-Eight. The rear door is open as well. Do you want me to check the backyard for the suspect?”

  “Negative. Stand by for the dog.”

  Reynaldo crouched down against the wall, keeping his gun aimed toward the backyard. There were garages and fences and swing sets all crammed into the area by a dozen houses that backed up to one another. Minutes later, another siren.

  The dog barked and snarled and snapped at everyone and everything as his handler walked him toward Reynaldo. The officer was tall and dark-skinned, bigger than a football linebacker. He smiled at Reynaldo and said, “You better back up so he don’t think you’re the bad guy. He chase Mexican people all day.” Reynaldo backed up and holstered his weapon as the K-9 officer led his dog up the deck’s steps to inspect the open door. The dog picked up the scent and hurried back down the steps, flying past Reynaldo as the handler shouted, “Come on! He’s got the scent!”

  They ran through the yards, turning in every direction as the K-9 cop shouted, “You got something, boy? You got something? Where he at? Find him, Lucy. Find him!”

  The dog bolted for an overturned canoe in one of the yards, ferociously digging and scratching at the boat’s blue fiberglass surface. “You got him? Is that where he at?” The K-9 officer drew his gun and leaned forward to kick the boat over with the toe of his boot.

  A young, skinny white kid, no more than twenty years old, held up his hands and screamed, “Get away from me! Get away!”

  The dog went crazy, snapping at the kid’s face. The K-9 handler gave the dog an inch and the dog latched onto the kid’s arm, bearing down on it with his teeth. “Get some, Lucy! Get some! There’s your treat, boy. Get it!”

  The kid screamed and screamed and tried to get his arm away from the dog as it ripped his shirt to shreds and blood started to trickle out of the animal’s jaws. Finally, the K-9 officer shouted, “That’s enough” and the dog detached itself and sat down. “Put your hands behind your back and don’t move or I let him go again.”

  The kid laid down on the ground face first and put his hands behind his back, whimpering as Reynaldo moved in to handcuff him. “Careful you don’t get his blood on you,” the K-9 cop said. “Junkies got all sorts of diseases.”

  Reynaldo yanked the kid to his feet and picked up the microphone on his lapel and said, “Seventeen-ten to County. One in custody.”

  A chorus of radio clicks followed as all the other cops on the zone signaled their congratulations. Reynaldo called out to the K-9 officer, “Why is your dog named Lucy?”

  “His name is Lucifer. I call him Lucy to make him sound nicer.”

  “He’s not real fucking nice,” the kid whined. “He bit a chunk out of my arm!”

  The K-9 officer chuckled and said, “Bet you don’t do that shit again though.”

  ***

  The next afternoon, Frank’s police departmental phone rang.

  He’d known that it would. He left it on the nightstand waiting for it to ring. The only surprise was that it took so long.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Jim. You awake?”

  “I am now. What’s up?”

  “The Chief needs you to come in.”

  “What for?”

  “Something happened.”

  Frank paused, trying to understand what was being said. Something in the tone of Iolaus’ voice bothered him. “What do you mean something happened? Did one of our guys get hurt?” Again, he almost said. Please, God. Not again.

  “Not one of us. A family. This girl…It’s real fucking bad, Frankie.”

  There it was again. Despair. Frank said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” and got up.

  ***

  News vans crowded the small street from behind a line of yellow tape that stretched from sidewalk to sidewalk. People stood on the hoods of their cars, chairs on their front lawns, and leaned out of their windows, all trying to get a better look at the small house where police officers and medical personnel crowded.

  Frank parked his car and excused himself past the news cameras, keeping low to avoid his face being seen. He dropped his badge around his neck and walked over to the g
roup of people all gathered around Erinnyes. Men in suits taking notes, men in tactical gear with assault weapons slung over their shoulder, women in EMT outfits, all of them talking at once. The Chief looked at Frank and said, “They’re inside. Take Macariah with you. She’ll fill you in.”

  Frank saw two EMTs standing by the back of an open ambulance. Jim Iolaus was sitting on the back bumper with an oxygen mask over his face, his face sheet-white. “You all right?” Frank said.

  Iolaus did not respond.

  Aprille was standing by the open garage door holding a clipboard. “Nobody’s been inside since we did the initial sweep. The Chief wanted us to wait.”

  Frank pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and glanced around the garage, seeing only a blue van inside the garage with handicapped plates. “Was the garage open when you got here?”

  “No, but there’s evidence on the inside of the front door and I wanted to leave it closed.”

  “Okay.” She was excited, talking quick, bouncing up and down. He imagined her heart was going a mile a minute. “You want to stay out here?”

  “No. Let’s just get started, okay?”

  “Lead the way.”

  They walked up the ramp to the garage entrance to the kitchen and Aprille pointed at the bloody footprints in front of the refrigerator. “Careful where you walk. Our doer grabbed a drink when he was done.” She pointed at a brick sitting on the kitchen island and said, “There’s your murder weapon.”

  Frank walked around the footprints and bent down to look at the brick. It was covered in blood with long strands of brown hair stuck to it. Aprille pointed down the hallway and said, “There’s victim number two.”

  He saw her feet first. Bare. Dirty. She was facedown, her nightdress pulled up to her hips. Her thick, veiny legs were hairy and pale. Large green underpants, soiled in the middle, post mortem. Both of her arms were outstretched toward the door. More bloody footprints by the door, and blood covering the door handle. The back and right side of the woman’s head was caved in. The bones of her skull were pulverized and chunks of brain tissue spiraling out of the wounds like bouncy snakes in a can from a child’s toy.

  There was a long smear of blood connecting the woman to the first step on the staircase that lead down from the second floor, going several feet across the floor to where she laid, her tangled brown hair soaking in the red gore.

  Frank walked around the woman, heading for the stairs. There was a fan of blood spattered on the wall at head level. “Here’s where she took the first hit.” He walked beside the smear on the floor and saw two bloody footprints on either side of the top of the woman’s head, partially covered by her arms. “Tough lady. She was still going after him. Looks like he stood over her right here and finished her off.”

  “She had a reason,” Aprille said quietly.

  Frank looked upstairs and said, “You want to stay down here?”

  Aprille shook her head.

  There was a long metal rail along the bottom of the steps that lead up to a handicapped chair lift mounted at the top. Frank grabbed the handrail and vaulted over the first four steps to avoid stepping in the blood. He reached his hand down to Aprille and said, “Come on, I’ll pull you up.”

  “We already walked through all this when we first got here. We thought the guy was still in the house.”

  Frank headed up the staircase toward the upstairs hallway and stopped.

  There was an open doorway to the first bedroom on the right. It was dark except for a Mickey Mouse nightlight. There were balloons and stickers covering the door. Kayla’s Room was written on the middle of a heart-shaped plaque on the door.

  Frank pushed the door open slowly, seeing the motionless figure sitting in a wheelchair in the center of the room, her head covered by a red-soaked Disney Fairy Princess pillowcase.

  Her legs and arms were atrophied from never being used. There were straps around the arms and legs, holding her in place. Her head was slumped forward against her chest and blood dripped out of the bottom of the pillowcase. Frank stared at the body without moving. “Did you already…”

  “Photograph it?” Aprille said. “Yeah. Before you got here.”

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  He reached for the pillowcase and slowly started to peel it up from Kayla’s head, revealing it a little at a time. He had to reach in and unstick her long blonde hair from the inside of the fabric.

  Aprille came around Frank’s side and said, “He hit her three times.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think she felt anything after the first one?”

  “No, probably not.”

  “How can you know?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” Frank said.

  “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

  Frank looked at her, then back at the crippled dead girl in front of them, imagining the terror she felt when the pillowcase went over her face, covering the only part of her body that worked, the only thing she was physically aware of. Her ability to see, to hear, to smell, all suddenly eliminated while she sat there defenseless. Strapped down. Crippled.

  “Frank?”

  “I’m going to kill this man,” Frank whispered.

  “Okay, buddy.” Aprille patted him on the back, “Let’s just cool downl.”

  “You don’t understand. I really am.”

  12. “Chief, do you have any leads on the whereabouts of Ralph Polonius?”

  Erinnyes pushed past the sea of reporters and said, “Nothing I can share at this time.”

  “Have you had previous contacts with the Polonius family? Anything that might have indicated something was wrong?”

  “Our departmental records show one call a few days ago. A reported domestic in the parking lot of a store, but they were gone prior to our officer’s arrival.”

  “Is Ralph Polonius a suspect in the homicide of his wife and daughter?”

  “We certainly want to speak with him. Now excuse me, I have to get back to the station.”

  Jim Iolaus watched the Chief’s car drive away, just as the coroner’s people came through the front door. The gurney’s wheels dropped down on the hard cement porch, followed by a chorus of cameras flashing from behind the yellow police tape. The large figure in the body bag was strapped down under bright yellow nylon straps. It took four people to roll her down the incline of the front yard toward the driveway. Nobody wanted to ditch the body in front of so many cameras, so they moved slowly.

  The next group came through the door with the second gurney. The figure inside the bag was much smaller, really just the size of a child. Iolaus bent down between his knees and vomited onto the street. Acid filled his stomach until tears dribbled down his cheeks, and as he spat the rest of it out and looked up, some ignorant fucker took a picture.

  ***

  “Hello?”

  “Dawn, it’s me.”

  “You’re up early,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “I got called into work. We had a pretty bad incident here.”

  “So now the Chief decides you can do more than just write speeding tickets?”

  “I guess so,” Frank said. “Anyway, the guy that did it needs to get caught, so I’m going up to look for him. I think he might be up in Potter County.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Far, far away. I probably won’t be home tonight.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “What?”

  “Are you meeting with that CI again, Frank?”

  “…which CI?”

  “The girl. The one you told me about. The one you’ve been going out to see at her work and coming home smelling like perfume and cigarettes.”

  “She works at a bar, hon. I told you that. And no, I’m not working on that case. I’m going to Potter County to look for a homicide suspect.”

  Again, no answer.

  “Go online and check the local news, honey. They were all over the place. You’ll see what I’m talking about.
This guy killed his wife and crippled daughter.”

  “So why are they sending you after making you a patrolman again?”

  “Because they are,” Frank said. “Do you really think I’m cheating on you?”

  “You’ve been going out at night on all sorts of weird hours. Taking our van instead of a police car. Meeting up with some girl. It’s got me wondering.”

  “Listen, I didn’t get much sleep and have seen some things today that I’m not going to forget for a long time. Now I have to drive four hours to go to East Bumblefuck to find this douche bag and try not to put a bullet in his brain. Can you cut me some goddamn slack, please?”

  “Fine. Consider it done.”

  The phone line went dead. Frank tossed it across the car and followed the signs for the turnpike.

  ***

  Trees.

  Cowshit.

  Crickets.

  Cornfields.

  All populated Frank’s senses simultaneously as he looked down at the tiny town below the freeway. It looked to be the size of a postage stamp. Smaller, even. Frank looked at his watch. It wasn’t even eight p.m. and everything was closed. Even the one gas station on the main road.

  Frank drove down into the valley and navigated the dusty, unpaved roads until he passed the dark gas station and headed into town. There were two traffic signals, just blinking single lights strung across the intersections that flashed yellow. Frank stopped to find a street sign, but there weren’t any. “What the hell,” he whispered.

  He kept going, past a barber shop and a Radio Shack. Finally, he saw a sign for the municipal services building and police department and pulled into the parking lot. The municipal services building was a small, glass-faced storefront sitting beside the town bakery. He looked around for the police department but only found a trailer in the back of the parking lot. Finally, he took another look at the trailer and saw the name, Cole Clayton, Chief of Police stenciled across the door. “You have got to be kidding me,” Frank said.

  He heard someone talking inside the trailer and knocked several times until the door opened. Frank held up his badge, “Chief Clayton?”

  A skinny, annoyed looking man with a thin-mustache said, “Naw. He don’t work nights. How can I help you?”