With A Broken Wing

Sometimes he just liked to stare at the blade. It was a beautiful blade, and the way it caught the light was almost unnatural. He turned his wrist, angled the blade down, cut at an unseen opponent. He reluctantly put the knife back in its sheath and hooked it on his belt. His sweatshirt covered it up, and he was already wearing a pair of black gloves in case he had to abandon the weapon. He didn't want to leave fingerprints; he was already making it far too easy on the police as it was. Not that they would catch him until he wanted them to.

He left his home through the outside entrance. The lights were on in the kitchen of his house, a deterrent to would-be robbers. Not that he believed anyone would dare infringe on his territory. He was untouchable.

He didn't ride the bus anymore. His friend told him that was too dangerous; the police would catch him too early if he kept up the schedule. It was disappointing, but he would cope.

There were a few cabs in the area. He considered taking one, but his friend said that it would be better to walk. This time, anyway. Next time might be different. It was hard to tell in advance just how the chips would fall. Each new adventure changed the playing field, just a little. That's what made it so exciting.

The sixteen block trip took him nearly to the center of town. The buildings were still nice here, and it was easy to forget how close No Man's Land was. He walked under the glow of streetlights, from one yellow spotlight to the next, his head down and his hands in his pockets. When he reached the bar, he went down a flight of stairs to the delivery entrance. The concrete walls rose above him on all sides. Like a tomb. His friend was in the shadows, in the corner, and he was happy to have an audience.

He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and found that it was open. He smiled, grateful for his friend's help. He slipped into the basement room and took out the knife. Cases of beer were stacked against the walls, looming on either side of him, forming aisles in the darkness. He loved the sound the metal made against the leather sheath. He moved quietly across the store room. He could hear music on the jukebox in the room overhead, even though the bar was closed. He wiped his hand over his face and balled his hand into a fist. He pressed it against first one eye, then the other, and calmed himself as he climbed the stairs.

He opened the door slowly. There was no need to rush. Rushing lead to mistakes. That's what his friend told him.

The bartender was sitting at a table with a ledger open in front of him. Money in a lockbox. The bartender jabbed the keys on a calculator and made some figures in his book.

The light from over the bar caught his knife again. He wouldn't be distracted.

David Bowie was playing on the jukebox. Young Americans. He liked that song.

He moved across the room slowly.

The bartender lifted his head just slightly, the animal part of his brain warning him that danger was near. But too late. Just a little too late. He wrapped an arm around the bartender's head and pushed his knife into the man's neck. After the first blow, he slashed the man's back before dropping him to the floor. It was messy, a dirty and wet mess, and he had to ignore the way his feet and hands twitched. The twitching disturbed him. Blood pooled around the bartender's head, his eyes staring wide and confused up at the ceiling.

He sheathed his weapon and knelt. He placed his hand in the blood and pushed it like a child finger-painting. He made the wide arc at the top and dragged his hand down, using the backs of his fingers to make the feathers. He took care to make sure the wings were perfect, adjusting the design as the victim continued to bleed. He made the second wing, forced to push a table out of the way with his hip to get the span right.

When he finished, he blotted his hands on the victim's shirt and stood up. He left the money on the table and went behind the bar. There was an old-fashioned push button phone, and he used a handful of bar napkins to pick up the receiver. He dialed using his knuckle so he wouldn't smear the dead man's blood on the buttons. His friend had told him the number, told him this was the next part of the plan. Still, it made him nervous. He trembled and looked down at his latest piece of work.

The phone was answered on the other end and a brusque woman identified herself. "Gail Finney."

"The Angel Maker claims another victim," he whispered. He gave the address of the bar and said, "If you hurry, you will arrive before the police even know about it."

He hung up the phone and stuffed the napkins into his pocket. He scanned the room to make sure he'd left nothing but the angel. He left the room as David Bowie stopped singing and the records began to shift to play the next programmed song. He was down the stairs and through the basement before it started to play.

His friend was waiting when he left, stepping from the shadows to follow him up the stairs. "Did you make the call?" His friend's voice was deep and dark. It reminded him of the evil tiger in the jungle movie he'd loved as a kid.

"Yes."

"Good. You did very well tonight."

He smiled. He made sure his sweatshirt covered his knife before he stepped out onto the street. He could hear an engine overhead and craned his neck to look for it. His friend stopped, too, and they watched as a small Cessna airplane flew between two apartment buildings. There was barely enough room for it, even tilted as it was. It was extraordinarily low.

His friend touched his shoulder. "Nothing to concern us. Go. We'll meet again soon."

He smiled. "I can't wait."

As he and his friend parted ways, the plane hit the ground with a sound like a giant tin can being destroyed. Soon, sirens filled the air.

 

* * *

 

"The next time you complain about me spending too much time at work, I want you to remember this." Riley slammed the car door and slipped the chain around her neck. Her badge fell to mid-chest, bumping against her as she walked toward the crime scene. Priest followed behind her, contrite. "I was out the door. Coat on, badge in the desk, actually physically walking to the door."

"I know," Priest said. "I apologize."

Riley said, "I'll let you explain to Gillian. I've been good for almost two weeks. I've been sleeping well, coming home on time, spending time with her, and now..."

"I'm sure she'll understand."

"Yeah," Riley said. She checked her watch and saw she was a half hour late for dinner. If she had been a little faster, or if she had ignored Priest's comment about their paperwork, they wouldn't have been there when Briggs came out of her office and told the first detectives she saw to gear up. She and Gillian could have been halfway through their meal by now. And that meant they could have been ten or fifteen minutes away from dessert, and that was really pissing her off. That, and the fact they were responding to a call that should have gone to the National Transportation Safety Board.

The street was blocked by yellow crime scene tape in both directions, and a crowd of spectators had gathered despite the lateness of the day. Two uniformed policemen were managing the crowd, while two more were standing by the wreckage of the plane.

The plane had impacted an el station on its way down, breaking all the glass and leaving the frame a twisted husk in its wake. It then took a quick nosedive toward the street. Riley guessed it was attempting an emergency landing on Madison Street. He didn't quite make it. The nose of the plane was crushed against the brick wall of a food bank.

One of the cops approached her. "Ma'am. We were the first ones on the scene."

"Why didn't you call the NTSB?"

"We did, ma'am, but they haven't arrived yet. We thought we would call homicide as well because... well..." He gestured at the plane and they followed him to the wreckage.

The pilot was slumped in his seat, obviously dead. Blood stained the front of his shirt and most of his face. The uniformed officer took out a flashlight and shone it at the windshield. "My partner noticed these."

Riley crouched and looked through the side window. The glass was cracked, but she could make out three distinct holes in the glass. She wasn't positive, but the way the glass had broken implied that the three holes came before the rest of the damage. She focused on the pilot and looked closer at his wounds. There was a wound above his right ear that could have possibly come from a bullet grazing his head.

She sighed and turned to look at Priest. "Get the ME down here. Looks like we could have a homicide. And the feds will be involved. Fun times."

Priest winced as she took out her phone. "Sorry again."

"Don't worry about it." She put her hands on her hips just as her cell phone vibrated. "Shit. That will be Gillian calling to..." She frowned at the display and flipped the phone open. "Detective Parra."

Briggs said, "Detective. I know you're already busy..."

"Yeah, kind of," she said. She turned to look at the plane. "It looks like the plane crash was really a homicide. We're waiting for the ME and the NTSB and the rest of the alphabet..."

"Riley," Briggs said. "It's the Angel Maker."

Riley tensed and looked back at Priest. "Don't tell me."

"Our boy is back. He got a third victim."

Priest had finished her call and was watching Riley. Riley angled the phone away from her mouth and said, "The Angel Maker is back."

Priest said, "Go. I'll take care of this."

"Are you sure?"

"It's my fault, right?" Priest said. "Go."

Riley said, "Boss. Priest is taking the plane crash. Where is the new victim?" She snapped her fingers at Priest, who produced a notebook from her back pocket and held a pen at the ready. Riley repeated the address Briggs gave her, and Priest wrote it down. "On my way. Fifteen minutes. Priest already has the on-call ME on the way. I want Dr. Hunt at the Angel Maker scene."

"Any particular reasons above the obvious?"

Riley stopped talking as she moved through the crowd, and waited until she was out of earshot to continue her conversation. "She was on the scene for the first murder. She knows more about this guy than anyone, other than me and Priest. If we're putting together a task force to catch him, Gillian needs to be on it." She didn't add the real reason; if Gillian was the medical examiner for the Angel Maker case, she and Priest could be upfront about their theories. It would make things a lot easier, not to mention more enjoyable for Riley, if she was officially involved.

Briggs said, "All right. I'll call her with the address."

"Thanks," Riley said. She tossed the cell phone into the passenger seat and checked the address before she pulled away from the curb.

 

* * *

 

Riley didn't recognize Fielder's Choice by name, but she knew it immediately as she parked outside. She had been there two or three years earlier with a flavor of the month, some brunette who was into baseball. They had a big screen on one wall, and the place was decorated with framed satellite photos of various stadiums. Riley's favorite was Fenway Park, and she'd been admiring it when a drunk blonde enticed her to leave the game and the woman she'd come in with. The idea was foreign to her; she had come a long way from the woman who would be that fickle about who she spent time with.

She ducked under the crime scene tape trying to convince herself that the location had nothing to do with her. If the killer wanted to make that kind of statement, there were far better places for him to choose. The front door of the bar was open and Riley walked past a car parked in front of a meter to get inside. She stopped on the sidewalk, looked at the meter, and waved one of the cops over. "Who does this belong to?"

The cop shook his head. "Not really sure. We assumed it was the bartender's."

There were fifteen minutes left on the meter. Riley looked at her watch and shook her head. "Not unless he put money in the second before he died." She bent down and looked in the passenger seat. A laptop case, stacks of notebooks, and loose pens littered the seat. She straightened and hooked a thumb at the car. "Have it put into impound."

"Yes, ma'am."

Riley went into the bar and took in the scene. The victim was in the middle of the floor, closer to the back of the room than the front. He wore black jeans and a white shirt, his apron still tied around his waist. Riley noticed that one of the tables had been moved out of the way to provide room for the artwork.

One of the cops had followed her inside. "We got in touch with one of the employees. He's on his way down. He said the owner, Mitchell Reese, stayed late on Friday nights to do the books. A couple of the surrounding businesses are still open, but no one noticed anything."

"Shit," Riley said. "It's Friday?"

"Um. Yes, ma'am."

She already knew that she would have to beg on her knees for forgiveness, but to miss an actual date night... Gillian was going to kill her. She sighed and walked into the room. The jukebox was on, but no music was playing. She looked at the spread on the table. "Money in the lockbox," Riley said. "Our boy doesn't care about robbery. No signs of a struggle. Why was the bar closed? It's seven o'clock on a Friday night."

"We talked to his bartender, 'cause it seemed weird to us, too." The officer pointed at the big screen TV. "Satellite went out. He decided to close than have people complain all night. They probably still complained, but he didn't have to hear it."

Riley frowned. She saw a door that would have been behind the owner if he was sitting at the table doing the books. "What's through there?"

"Basement storage room."

Riley went to the door and saw that the door wasn't latched well. She used the toe of her shoe to push the door open and peered inside. A narrow flight of wooden stairs led down to the basement. There was no banister, but she saw a light switch about halfway down. She held out her hand to the cop. "Light."

He handed her his flashlight and Riley switched it on. She went down to the switch, turned on the light, and crouched to get a better look at the basement. She saw shelves full of faded cardboard boxes that held glasses and napkins. She saw a door on the opposite end of the room and straightened to tell the officer to have someone check it out. Before she could speak, she heard movement at the far end of the room.

Riley held up a finger to keep the cop silent and drew her weapon. "I'm going to check that door." She nodded toward the corner where the noise originated and the cop nodded. He took his gun out as Riley started down.

She moved quickly across the floor, moving toward the shelves. Someone was definitely at the far side of the room. She knew it couldn't be this easy. The Angel Maker wouldn't get himself cornered in a damn basement. But that didn't make her any less excited as she moved down the rows of shelves. When she reached the far end, she stopped and said, "Let me see your hands."

Ten slow seconds passed before a pair of hands extended from behind the shelf. The hands were decidedly feminine, and Riley wondered if an employee might have witnessed the murder. Her hopes rose again, but she kept her guard up.

"I want you to come out slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."

The woman stepped out of the shadows, not frightened or anxious as Riley would have expected. She wore a purple dress shirt partially buttoned over a white T-shirt and a black skirt, her blonde hair hanging in her face. When she looked up, Riley realized why the woman was so calm, but it ratcheted up her own anxiety a little. "Gail Finney, you are under arrest."

"Oh, come on," Gail said. "Do you want to put your gun down?"

"No. Trespassing on a crime scene," Riley said. "That's a good starting point."

Gail shook her head. "Look, I got a call. Some creep claiming he was the Angel Maker. I almost didn't even come down here, but I thought I should at least check it out. And I called the police as soon as I realized this wasn't just a joke."

Riley said, "And then decided to hang around and get an eyewitness account of how the cops screwed up? Put your hands on your head and turn around."

"I'll be out by midnight," Gail said, complying with Riley's instructions.

"I'm pretty sure all the judges you're friends with already went home for the weekend," Riley said. She fastened the cuffs on Gail's wrists and said, "You'll have to sweat it out until Monday." She made sure the cuffs were tight. "Piece of advice, don't be yourself. We might find you with a shiv in your back tomorrow morning. That's all kinds of paperwork."

Gail squirmed against Riley's cuffs. "Well, Detective Parra. I never knew you were into bondage. I mean, I'd heard rumors that you liked it rough..."

"Right to remain silent. Try it on for size." Riley turned Gail around and motioned for the cop to come forward. "Read this woman her rights. And use the card. Don't miss a single word or we'll hear about it."

"Who is she?" the cop asked.

"Gail Finney," Riley said. "The genius reporter who gave the Angel Maker his name."

Gail smiled as Riley handed her over to the cop. "And apparently he appreciated the attention. It kind of has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Riley resisted the urge to take one of the bottles off the shelf, although she wasn't sure if she wanted to drink it or use it as a blunt instrument. Gail Finney was a reporter and local radio show host who used her pedestal to antagonize the police. She frequently compared them to the Gestapo when she wasn't declaring them the Keystone Kops of No Man's Land. She was a piranha, and she delighted in making the police look like idiots, and she had just spent a good half hour walking around Riley's crime scene.

To the cop, Riley said, "Who cleared this building?"

"I-I thought... my partner said that he..."

"Shut up," Riley said. "Get her out of here."

Riley watched the cop go up the stairs with the police department's number one rival. She was going to catch hell for this. She pinched the bridge of her nose and left before the lure of the alcohol became too strong to ignore.

 

* * *

 

The crime scene unit arrived, and Riley left the bar so they could work. She spotted Gail Finney in the back of a cruiser and crossed over to her. A uniformed cop was standing guard, and Riley sent him away with a nod of her head. She got behind the wheel of the car and looked at Gail in the rearview mirror. "Have you given any thought about whether you'll be the husband or the wife when you get to jail?"

Gail said, "That depends. Which one are you?"

Riley smirked. "I might not know a lot about you, Gail, but I know a couple of things. You will not wear that outfit until Monday morning." Gail looked down at her blouse as Riley continued. "The same blouse, and the same underwear? You'll be going crazy by tomorrow afternoon. Not to mention that pretty blonde hair of yours. How long does it take you to wash that and dry it? You and I both know you're not going to spend the weekend in jail for a story."

"Don't underestimate my dedication," Gail said.

Riley shook her head. "One time only offer. I'm going to forget I found you here. But in order to do that, I can't be reminded of it when I open the paper tomorrow."

"You want me to sit on the fact I saw an Angel Maker body in the flesh?"

"No," Riley said. "But anything you got inside that bar is out. Pictures, details, everything gets held back. And I want the recordings."

"What recordings?"

Riley pointed at Gail's chest. "That undershirt has a pocket, and there's a voice recorder inside it. I want that, plus the recording of the call you received from the Angel Maker."

Gail reluctantly took the recorder from her shirt. "Were you checking me out, Detective?"

"I just know reporters too well," Riley said.

"The tape of the call is still at the office. I was planning to send it to you guys anyway, as soon as I got back."

Riley nodded. "Sure."

Gail said, "You know, it seems like I'm giving up an awful lot for two days of freedom."

"I'm not really in a position to offer you anything else."

"Oh, but you are." Gail leaned forward. "I want an interview with you."

"Not going to happen."

"Not tonight," Gail said. "When this whole Angel Maker thing is done. When the killer is caught and we can put this whole mess in perspective, I want to sit down and have an interview with you."

"You want to steamroll me and make me, and by extension the police department, look like an imbecile."

Gail shrugged. "Handle the case well and I won't have any ammunition."

"One interview, on my terms," Riley said. "And you don't print a word beyond what you would have gotten on the other side of the yellow tape."

"Agreed."

Riley got out of the car and opened the back door. Gail held out her cuffed hands, and Riley said, "If you print anything, and I mean one word beyond what we agreed, and I'll have you in jail for a lot longer than two days."

"Even if you have to fabricate charges."

Riley ignored the jab as she undid the cuffs and stepped back. Gail stepped out of the car and said, "The same goes for you. If you back out of the interview once the Angel Maker is in custody, I'll become your worst nightmare."

"Oh, you're already in the top four, Miss Finney. Don't go far, we're going to want to talk to you about why you got that call."

"Looking forward to it, Detective." Gail winked and walked to the crime scene tape.

Gail ducked underneath the tape as a blue van parked at the corner. Riley recognized it and groaned. "Out of one frying pan..." She moved to intercept Gillian, and they reached the tape at the same time. Riley lifted it and Gillian ducked underneath. "Hey. Sorry."

"Thanks," Gillian said. "And no, don't apologize. It's fine. Most couples go out to dinner on Friday night. Curl up on the sofa with a DVD. But no, I date Riley Parra, so I get called to drop everything and come look at a dead body."

"Sorry."

Gillian reached out and touched Riley's hip. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just venting a little. I'm not really mad. At least, not mad at you. How are you doing with all of this?"

Riley hadn't realized it until Gillian asked, but she could feel her rage reach the tipping point. Gail Finney was just the focus of it, at the moment. "He hit again, Jill," she said, her voice tight. "And he fucking bragged about it to Gail Finney. I want him."

Gillian moved her hand to Riley's shoulder and rubbed gently as they walked toward the bar. "You'll get him. You have a good support team."

Riley smiled and nudged Gillian. "As long as I don't run you away by constantly canceling dinner dates. I swear I'll make it up to you."

"You'd better. How bad is it?"

Riley looked toward the bar. "Same as the others. Owner was caught by surprise. I'm thinking the killer got in through the basement door, came in from behind him. He'd have to have a lot of inside information, though. That basement would have been pitch black, not to mention the fact he would have had to time it perfectly for the owner to have his back to the door. And who plans for a sports bar to be closed at six o'clock on a Friday night?"

Gillian looked back to make sure her assistant was still unloading the van. "Think his partner lent a hand?"

"I think his partner planned the whole thing out, start to finish."

Gillian stood in the doorway and sighed as she examined the scene. "Okay. Get out of here and let me work."

Riley let Gillian go into the bar and walked around to the alley. The officers had set up spotlights to illuminate the stairs that led down into a concrete cell. The edges of the space were lined with empty boxes and delivery pallets, almost completely hiding the entrance to the basement. A woman in a CSU jumpsuit was dusting the doorknob and Riley waited until she was done to ask her questions. "Found anything yet?"

"A few partials," she said. "But some of them are smeared. I think the guy wore gloves. The only matches we'll get are from employees and the victim. Maybe a couple of delivery guys."

"Don't discount anyone yet," Riley said. "The killer had a pretty good idea of how this place was set up. Could have been someone with inside information. Let me know if you find anything."

Riley turned and examined the rest of the alley. She walked slowly with her eyes sweeping the alley from one wall to the other. The spotlights threw unnaturally elongated shadows across the ground. An officer passed her going the opposite direction and Riley said, "There aren't any bus stops around here, right?"

"I don't think so," the officer said.

Riley resisted the urge to curse as she thanked the cop and continued walking. They had played their hand and let him know they were on to his pattern. He would stop using the bus to get to his victims. They were back to square one and it was because she jumped the gun. She resisted the urge to punch the wall as she reached the end of the alley.

Most of the businesses were closed for the night, their front doors and windows protected by pull-down grates. Riley realized they were only a few blocks away from the current edge of No Man's Land. Every year it was a little further in, another block taken over and forgotten. She wondered how long it would take before it had spread everywhere.

There was an el station nearby. Maybe the Angel Maker had only changed his method of mass transportation. The buses may be out, but he could have chosen the el or a taxi. She had a vague idea of where the first two murders had taken place in relation to the bar. She closed her eyes and pictured a map of the city. She added the bar to the pattern and saw a forty-five degree angle with a small tail angling to the northeast. No help, even if there was a pattern being made.

Riley turned and kicked a newspaper kiosk. It hurt her foot more than the machine, and she grimaced as she walked back to the crime scene. Even if Gillian hadn't found anything, it would calm her to be in the same room. The honest truth was that the Angel Maker would most likely have to kill again before they caught him.

 

* * *

 

Riley spent another hour at the crime scene interviewing witnesses and getting a wide range of statements ranging from "I didn't see anything" to "I didn't know anything happened until the cops showed up." Gillian had to perform the autopsy before she went home, so Riley returned to the station to fill in the new information to their murder board. She added Mitchell Reese's name to the list that already included Bernard Wright and Russell Stone. She added the bar to the list of locations and then plotted it on the map. As expected, there was no discernable pattern so far. Her theory about the locations being dictated by bus schedules was irrelevant now.

Briggs saw Riley through the window of her office and came out to stand next to her. She eyed the board and said, "Busy night. Anything useful?"

"Nothing on the Angel Maker, except we know we didn't scare him into stopping." She capped her marker and tossed it onto the desk. "Priest is taking care of the plane crash."

"She called to let me know she was on her way to the airport."

Riley smiled. "Her first solo case."

Briggs frowned and said, "I'm sure she had a couple before she transferred."

"Right," Riley said. "Of course she did. I don't know what I was thinking."

Briggs said, "Dr. Hunt is performing the autopsy?" Riley nodded. "Okay. We got in touch with Mr. Reese's wife, but she's out of the state. She's flying back in, but she won't be here until tomorrow. Get some rest, Riley."

Riley checked her watch and estimated when Gillian would be done with the autopsy. "I'll do my best."

She waited until Briggs was back in her office before she went to the morgue.

Gillian was standing over the body from the bar when Riley arrived. The pilot was on another slab, but the medical examiner working on him was nowhere to be seen. Riley knocked on the door as she stepped inside, and Gillian looked over her shoulder and nodded at the equipment table. "Gear up."

Riley put on a pair of rubber gloves, a mask, and a backless gown before she approached the table. She had seen several hardened cops turn green just at the thought of being in a morgue during an autopsy, but she'd never had a problem with it. She stepped up next to Gillian and looked down at the mutilated back of Mitchell Reese.

"We certainly have a weird relationship."

Gillian smiled behind her mask. "If I wanted chocolates and roses, I would date an elementary school teacher. I checked the knife wounds first. It's definitely our guy. He severed the spinal cord with his first blow, and then he slashed at the victim's back to cause the rest of the bleeding. It was quick. Judging from the way the knife entered, the victim's neck was extended. I imagine the killer put an arm around the victim's head, twisted, and then stabbed with the other hand. It makes him right-handed."

"Narrows down the suspect pool, at least."

"Yeah, I just eliminated ten percent of the population. That has to make you feel good."

"I'm giddy," Riley said. "No struggle?"

"No. No defensive wounds, anyway. I don't think he had any idea someone else was in the room until it was too late." She looked back at the pilot and said, "Caitlin is going solo?"

Riley chuckled. "Yeah. Airplane drops in the middle of the street, pilot is dead of a gunshot wound."

Gillian raised an eyebrow. "What is this, Monk?"

"What?"

"TV show. They always had weird... crime scenes. You know what, never mind. Have you heard from her?"

"Briggs said she was on her way to the airport to talk with potential witnesses."

Gillian raised an eyebrow. "That should be interesting. I wonder if it's possible for someone to lie to an angel's face."

"Sure. I lie to you all the time."

Gillian laughed. "I'm touched and offended at the same time."

"His wife won't be in until morning, so Briggs is sending me home. Do you want me to wait for you?"

"No, I'm going to be another hour at least." She turned her head and pressed her mask to Riley's. "Love you. I'll see you when I get there if you're still awake."

Riley said, "You can wake me." She backed away from the table and took off her protective gear. She waved goodbye to Gillian and went downstairs to the lobby.

The lights were all turned down low to conserve energy, but it made the place feel like a museum after visiting hours ended. Riley was almost to the front door when it swung open and Priest stepped inside. Riley smiled at her and said, "Hey, Z. How'd you get here?"

"An officer drove me. I like the squad cars." She smiled, but she looked exhausted. Her suit jacket was draped over one arm, and the top button of her blouse was undone.

"How is the case going?"

"Tedious. It's a very small airport, and the only people there when the victim took off were the air traffic controller and a man who said he was waiting for another flight. They both heard the gunshots right after takeoff, but both of them put it down to a car backfiring."

"Where was the witness?"

"In the terminal. The airport has a single common area where people can buy tickets and wait for their flights. It has a big picture window that looks out onto the runway."

Riley smiled. "Did you watch any planes take off?"

"I did. The floor shook a little when they were taking off and landing. It was amazing."

"Not quite as elegant as what you do, but still fun to watch."

Priest nodded and looked down at her notepad again. "I noticed the bullet holes in the plane came in from a downward angle. So the victim was already in the air when the gun fired, but not very high."

"I wonder why he didn't just turn around and set down when he'd been hit."

Priest shrugged. "I'll probably find out. I'm going up to get my preliminary report out of the way. Anything happening with the Angel Maker?"

"No. He changed his MO, like we were afraid of. He took advantage of about a half dozen coincidences, too. Bar closed early because the satellite was out, got into the building through an unlocked basement access door that's barely visible from the street, happened to enter the room while the bartender had his back turned... I figure the demon gave him the game plan."

"Stands to reason," Priest said. She looked at her watch and said, "I should head up."

"I feel like a slacker. You and Gillian are still at work and I'm going home to curl up in bed."

Priest smiled. "We're the ones who begged you to get more sleep. It serves us right."

"Right," Riley said. "Remember that."

She patted Priest on the shoulder as they passed each other, and Riley went outside. She looked down the street toward her car and suppressed a groan when she saw who was leaning against the front bumper. "Thanks for the warning, Caitlin." She slowly walked toward the car, resisting the urge to go back upstairs for her gun. She whistled and snapped her fingers. "Get your ass off my car, Finney."

Gail pushed away from the car and shrugged. "Hey, easy. I thought we were friends now."

Riley unlocked her car and dumped her things on the backseat. "We're not friends. We're reluctantly helping each other out. What do you want?"

"Fulfilling my end of the deal." She held up a CD case. "This is the recording from the newspaper. The Angel Maker's call, in high quality MP3. Should I give it to you or your boss?" Riley held out her hand, and Gail handed the disc over. "I've been thinking about our deal. I want to make a minor adjustment. It would be way too easy for you to back out of the agreement once everything is said and done. Once the Angel Maker is in jail, everything I have is old news. So I want something exclusive."

"You're cutting in to my sleep time," Riley said. "Out with it."

"I want to follow the case with you."

Riley laughed. "Not a chance."

"I don't mean follow you on calls or anything like that. I want regular updates. Interviews once a week, or once a month, until the Angel Maker is in jail. It would be a chronicle of your investigation from start to finish, but not one word would be printed until after the case is closed."

"You're dreaming," Riley said.

"All I want to do is give the police department exactly what they've been asking for: a fair look at how you do your work. You get all the articles before they're published so you can reject it if you don't like something."

Riley framed an imaginary headline and said, "Police Censor Reporter's Words. What are they hiding? Pardon me for not leaping at the opportunity."

Gail rolled her eyes. "Every reporter in this city wants exclusives on the Angel Maker. I have the inside edge and I'm not going to let it go without a fight. I'd hate for your boss to find out you found a reporter on your crime scene and then let her go. Especially one with my reputation."

"It sounds an awful lot like you're trying to blackmail me."

"Is it working?"

Riley said, "You get one interview when this is over. Count yourself lucky for that. Thanks for the disc. And as long as we're amending the agreement, the moratorium goes for your little radio show, too. I figure both your listeners can wait until everything's settled before you give them the story." She got into the car and slammed the door.

"You will talk to me, Detective Parra," Gail said, stepping up onto the curb. Riley was glad the opportunity to 'accidentally' hit her had been taken away from her. "That's a promise."

Riley pulled away from the curb without looking back.

 

* * *

 

Gillian got home a little past eleven to find Riley waiting with two TV dinners and a lit candle. They had a semblance of dinner before Riley took Gillian to bed and made love to her. As Riley was falling asleep, Gillian kissed her cheek and whispered, "That'll do for now." Riley kissed Gillian's temple and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

Riley parked outside of Priest's building the next morning at six. She started up the stairs, but hesitated when she heard the sound of singing from the church on the first floor. She had twice walked in on Priest 'enjoying' the worship, which was as close to masturbation as she thought angels could get. She didn't need to walk in on that again, so she turned around and walked down the block to the café.

She took a cup of coffee to a table by the window and reluctantly searched for Gail Finney's byline. The front page was dominated by a photograph of the crashed plane, with a small snippet about "investigating detective Caitlin Priest." Riley made a note to share that with Priest when she got back. She finally found a small story about the bar three pages in. It reported that Mitchell Reese had been murdered, but there was absolutely no mention of the Angel Maker's involvement.

Riley released the breath she had been holding and folded the paper. The only downside was that she now officially owed Gail Finney an interview. She checked her watch, saw that she had been waiting half an hour, and decided that would have to be close enough. She got a refill and a second cup for Priest, along with a bag of biscotti. She tucked the paper under her arm and walked back down the block to Priest's apartment.

She knocked on the door and waited for Priest to invite her in before she turned the knob. The first thing she noticed was that Priest had finally taken her advice and furnished the apartment. Thrift store furniture made up the living room, and a small television was mounted on an old desk. She smiled when she saw that the TV had a rabbit ear antenna and obviously had never been turned on.

She spotted Priest in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her dress shirt was unbuttoned over a white T-shirt and untucked. She wore black trousers with her bare feet sticking out from the cuffs, her shoes and socks on the dining room table atop her neatly folded suit jacket. She smiled. "Good morning, Riley."

"Morning. I got you coffee, and a paper." She held out her hand and Priest took it. She levered herself up off the floor and Riley handed her the newspaper. "You're famous."

Priest unfolded the paper and read the first paragraph of the story. "Oh. That's embarrassing."

"Wait until they snap a picture of you walking the crime scene. It's never the dramatic, CSI type shot. You're almost always bending over or squinting into a light or something. Of course, knowing you, you'll probably look like a supermodel frolicking on the beach."

Priest blushed. She folded the paper and placed it on the dining room table.

Riley finally gave in to the urge and said, "So, did you rub one out or should I go back down to the café for a few minutes?"

Priest frowned as she put on her socks. "Pardon?"

"The worship." Riley nodded toward the floor. "Did you get your day off to a good start?"

"Oh! Yes." She rolled her shoulders and stretched. "It was particularly enlightening today. I had a long night."

"Redecorating?"

Priest looked into the living room and smiled. "No, that was a few weeks ago. Do you like it?"

"It's a good start," Riley said.

Priest nodded. She sat down to put on her shoes. "I spent last night following a few leads on the plane case. The pilot was killed by a shotgun blast, and the switchboard received several calls last night reporting a loud gunshot. I triangulated the origins of the calls and determined the gunshot came from the southwest corner of the airport's landing strip. No hunting is allowed within a hundred yards of the airport."

"So it looks like it wasn't an accident, and that's why he didn't land," Riley said. "Whoever had shot him was probably waiting to finish the job if he came back down."

Priest nodded as she followed Riley out of the apartment. "I found the next closest airport. He was heading straight for it when the plane started its descent."

Riley said, "Great work, Caitlin. You're almost to the point where I swoop in and take all the credit."

Priest smiled. She looked up into the sky as they left the building, and then looked into the front door of the church. Services were just letting out, and she nodded hello to a few of the women who left. "You seem to be in awfully good spirits considering the Angel Maker is back."

Riley hadn't realized it, but it was true. While she wasn't exactly in a happy mood, she was a far cry from the kiosk-kicking woman in the alley the night before. She shrugged and said, "A night with Dr. Gillian Hunt, the best medicine."

Priest waited until they were in the car before she continued the conversation. "I don't think it will be possible to find a pattern with this killing. The bus route was an anomaly, created specifically for you to find. If the demon who attacked you told the truth, the original pattern was just a way to get your attention. The only way we're going to stop him is to stop the demon controlling his actions."

"Yeah. Any idea how to do that?"

"It should be easier to find the demon than the man. Once we do, I may be able to release his hold on the Angel Maker."

Riley said, "Will it really be that simple?"

Priest looked out the window, deep in thought. Finally, she said, "The demon didn't create the murderous urge in the Angel Maker. The Angel Maker was likely on the precipice of violence when the demon sniffed him out and made his first move. Whispering in his ear. The closest approximation is a hypnotist. He can't make someone do anything they're morally opposed to. He can just make a suggestion."

"So he's a backseat driver."

"Essentially, yes."

Riley slowed and stopped for a red light. She ran her bottom teeth along her top lip and said, "How do we find him?"

"Once I close the pilot case, I'll go back and examine all the crime scenes. There may be a remnant, something I missed the first time around. And I haven't even seen the latest scene. Demons and angels both leave a sort of trail behind them. There's no way to prevent it. I haven't felt anything yet, but maybe we'll get lucky."

Riley sighed and drummed her hands on the steering wheel. "I don't like relying on luck."

"He doesn't appear to be giving us much else to work with."

 

* * *

 

The redhead was perched on the edge of a seat in the waiting area at the top of the stairs. One leg was bouncing and her eyes skipped from one surface to the next. Riley nodded for Priest to continue on to the office.

"Mrs. Reese?" The woman looked up hopefully, and Riley extended a hand. "Detective Riley Parra."

"Oh," she took Riley's hand. "The lieutenant told me I could wait for you at your desk, but I didn't want to impose..."

"That's fine," Riley said. She looked toward her desk and saw the Angel Maker whiteboard. If the news hadn't yet connected Mitchell Reese's death to the serial case, there was no reason to drop that bomb on the poor woman. "Why don't we talk in here?" She guided the new widow into an interrogation room and closed the door.

"I'm not a suspect, am I? I-I was in Toronto for a business..."

Riley smiled. "Not at all, Mrs. Reese. I just thought you might like some privacy. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you. Please, call me Elizabeth." She folded her hands on top of her purse and Riley saw that her fingers were trembling. "The woman I spoke to didn't tell me anything specific. Did you find the person who killed Mitch?"

"We have a strong lead," Riley said. "We just wanted to know a little bit more about your husband before we continued with the investigation."

Elizabeth nodded. "It was someone he owed money to, wasn't it?"

Riley remembered the full lockbox on the table. "Why would you think that?"

"Mitch had a 'system.'" She laughed sadly and shook her head. "He worked in that bar for about ten years before he decided he'd seen enough games to predict the winner of any game anywhere. He placed a few bets, got lucky, and decided he was untouchable. I'm sure you can figure out how that went. It never got so bad that bookies were threatening to break his knees or anything, but he got a few guys mad at him. When you called and said he was dead, I just... I assumed..."

"There was a lockbox near him," Riley said. "It was full of money. We don't think robbery was a motive."

Elizabeth frowned. "Oh. I feel terrible, but that's quite shocking. I was always so worried that he was going to cross the wrong person and that would be it. I guess I prepared myself to blame him. God, you must think I'm terrible."

Riley said, "Of course not. If you need some time to process the..."

"No," Elizabeth said. She wiped at her eyes and blinked rapidly as she leaned back in her seat. "Y-you said you had a suspect?"

"At the moment, we're keeping this information under wraps, but we have reason to believe that your husband was killed by someone that the press is calling the Angel Maker."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh, my God. So... it was just a random thing?"

"It appears that way. We need to know if there was anyone specific your husband was frightened of. Anyone who might have known how to take advantage of the vulnerabilities at the bar to get in unnoticed. A former employee or..."

"What vulnerabilities?"

Riley said, "The killer got into the bar through the basement entrance."

"That's not possible." Elizabeth shook her head as she considered what Riley had said. "There isn't a doorknob on the outside of that door. Are you sure it was the right place? M-maybe this is a mistake. Fielder's Choice."

Riley recalled the technician dusting the door for fingerprints. "There's no mistake. I was at the crime scene. I saw it myself."

Elizabeth frowned at her. "No. Mitch was always worried some drunk might sneak down there and rob him blind. So he had a door installed that only had a doorknob on the inside. He would have to go down and open the door himself for deliveries."

Riley's mind raced as she considered the possibilities. She looked at her watch and said, "Mrs. Reese, I apologize for running out like this, but if you're certain there wasn't a doorknob on that basement entrance..."

"I am absolutely positive."

"In that case, you may have given me very valuable information." She wanted to get on the phone as soon as possible, but she couldn't be rude to the widow of their victim. "I can arrange for you to identify your husband, if you would like."

Elizabeth started to say something and then just nodded. Riley walked around the table and put a hand on the woman's shoulder and said, "I'll send an officer in to sit with you until you're ready."

"Thank you, Detective."

Riley nodded and left the room. She spotted Priest at the stairs, just shrugging into her coat, and ran to meet up with her. "Hey, wait. I have a question."

"Okay." She held up a set of keys. "I got permission to use a squad car."

"Wow," Riley said. "Uh, listen. Could the Angel Maker's partner... create a different kind of door?"

Priest frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The widow of our latest victim swears the basement entrance to the bar didn't have a doorknob on the outside. The Angel Maker couldn't have gotten inside. But the door I saw had an exterior knob."

Priest stopped at the landing. "A demon wouldn't have let that affect his plans. He would have just knocked down the door or found another way inside that didn't require a door. There's a chance he could have transmuted the door to create a knob, but why would he?" She crossed her arms and looked at the floor as she thought. "He most likely would have physically replaced the door with a different one."

"Why go through all that trouble?"

"Perhaps it was important that the Angel Maker not be seen by his victim. He attacked Russell Stone from behind as well. We assumed it was necessary, to facilitate the wounds on the back, but perhaps he was worried about being recognized."

Riley bumped her fist against Priest's shoulder. "That's progress, Priest."

"Thank you."

"Good luck at the airport. I'll give you some advice, too. You decided the pilot didn't land when he got shot because the shooter was standing on the tarmac."

"Right."

"So why didn't whoever you interviewed at the airport notice someone firing a shotgun at a plane that was taking off?"

Priest raised an eyebrow and pointed at Riley. Riley winked at her and headed upstairs as Priest went to retrieve her car.

 

* * *

 

Riley scanned the crime scene photos that included the door. Now that she knew what she was looking for, the door was obviously new. The frame was weather-beaten, but the door itself didn't have a single mark on it. The door opened inward, which meant the hinges were on the inside. The demon would have had to already been inside to take it down. So why didn't it just kill the bartender and forget about the theatrics?

Because he's not the killer. The Angel Maker is.

It was important for the Angel Maker, the human, to actually do the crime. Riley assumed it was just another step in the corruption of the mortal. The demon was pushing the Angel Maker to damnation like Priest was helping Riley to be a better person. It made sense that the Angel Maker was her opposite, the champion of evil that her presence balanced out. All she had was the demon's word that it wasn't him.

The file had the phone number for other employees at the bar, and Riley picked up the phone and dialed one at random.

She went through four brief conversations before she found the bartender that had been on duty the night before. The man, James, was obviously still shaken, but he agreed to answer whatever questions he could.

"I still can't believe it. If I'd stayed, maybe he wouldn't have gotten killed, you know?"

"Believe me, sir. Your presence wouldn't have changed anything. We just want to know if anything unusual happened the night of Mr. Reese's murder."

"Other than the cable going out? Man, people were pissed off. Oh, God, I told Mitch that someone was going to kill him if he didn't get it fixed. Oh, shit."

Riley squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Did anyone suspicious come into the bar? Maybe they went down into the basement..."

"There was the water guy."

Riley perked up. "What water guy?"

"I don't know. He said there was a leak, a couple of buildings on the block reported their basements were flooded. So I got Mitch, and he showed the guy around down in the basement. There wasn't a leak."

"How long were they down there?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Riley thought about the basement. It was easy enough for Gail Finney to hide down there without being seen.

"Did you get a good look at this water guy?"

"Sure. He was wearing a blue shirt with the water company logo on it, and a baseball cap. He had some tools with him, too."

"What did he look like?"

"Kind of average height, I guess. Thin."

Riley resisted the urge to raise her voice. "Hair color? Did he have a thin nose, a sunken chin? Any identifying features?"

James thought for a long time until he said, "You know, I-I didn't really notice. I don't know. I guess I didn't pay very close attention to him, to be honest. He was the water guy."

"Did he find a leak?"

"Yeah. Mitch propped open the basement door for him so he wouldn't have to go through the bar. He fixed the leak and left."

Riley resisted the urge to slap the table. She thanked the bartender for his help before she hung up. She dialed the extension for the crime scene unit to tell them to retrieve the door, and then she had a lot of calls to make. There were only a handful of home improvement stores in town. She could only pray that one of them remembered selling a door to someone in the few days leading up to the murder.

 

* * *

 

A few minutes before five, Riley finally came out of the media room. Her eyes were blurry, and her back was stiff from hours of staring at the small flickering screen. She was halfway to her desk when Priest appeared at the top of the stairs and made her way over. "Riley. You solved the case."

"Fantastic. Doesn't feel like it."

Priest glanced at the whiteboard with their Angel Maker evidence. "Oh. Sorry, not that case. The pilot." She pulled out her chair and sat down. Riley sat as well, issuing a groan as her back protested the change in posture. "Your clue about the witness at the airport. I checked him out and discovered he was in the middle of a divorce. He found out his wife was already seeing someone else."

"She was banging the now-dead pilot."

Priest nodded. "He said he was merely trying to scare the pilot. According to forensics, that's actually not hard to believe. They said it was a million to one shot that he actually hit the plane, and the shooter doesn't have any history of firearm training. He kept the shotgun for security, but there is no evidence he's ever even used it before. He's downstairs being booked now."

"He'll probably end up going down for manslaughter," Riley said.

"Most likely," Priest said. "How about you?"

Riley grunted. "The demon was at Fielder's Choice yesterday pretending to be from the water company. He claimed to have found a leak, and took the opportunity to change out the door. I got security footage from hardware stores in town and I spent the rest of the afternoon looking at them. Tedious, boring, dull. And most likely pointless. I mean, do I really think I'm going to find a demon on the cheapest security camera money will buy?"

"I don't think you're going to find him using traditional means," Priest said. "You have to feel him out. Eventually, you'll find him and stop him."

"In the meantime, people will die." Priest looked down at her hands. Riley leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Sorry, Caitlin. I didn't mean to bring you down after your first solo case. You did great. You're like a real cop."

Priest grinned and straightened the collar of her blouse and pushed away from her desk. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?"

"Yes. Please."

Priest paused before she left. "You'll stop the Angel Maker, Riley. It's just another trial you have to endure."

"You guys have a set number of trials, right? Like I pass seven of them and I get a gold watch and retire?"

Priest pressed her lips together.

"Forget it. Make my coffee strong. I need to wake up after watching all that security footage."

Priest nodded and walked toward the break room. Riley laced her hands together and stretched, working the kinks out of her back. Another case that wasn't closed. Another notch in the Angel Maker's wall. She was getting damn sick of finding dead ends and following leads that went nowhere. She glanced toward the door and nearly cursed when she saw Gail Finney walking toward her. She stood up and turned the whiteboard so that it was facing the wall. She sat on the edge of her desk, arms crossed as Gail approached.

"Hey, Detective. Nice pose."

"How did you get in here?"

"I committed a murder and when the booking cops were looking the other way, I walked out." She pointed at Riley's desk. "You have my voice recorder. It's expensive, so I came to get it back. All I need is the machine; you can keep the tape."

Riley had already ejected the tape from the machine, so she took it from her desk and handed it over. "I had our tech guys look it over. Just in case you were trying to eavesdrop on the office."

"Damn, I didn't think of that. You must be more devious than I am."

"Don't sell yourself short," Riley said. "And don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Gail grinned and turned to leave. Priest came out of the break room with a mug in each hand, nearly colliding with Gail. They both took a step back, and Priest's eyes widened slightly as she barely kept from spilling the coffee. Gail smiled and said, "You must be the new partner. I'm Gail Finney." She held out a hand, realized Priest wasn't able to respond to it, and shrugged. "I've known Riley since the good old days of Sweet Kara. You have some big shoes to fill, missy."

Priest said nothing.

Gail waited and then turned to Riley. "Well, you're training them to shun me early." To Priest, she said, "I'm not as bad as she says. And I hardly ever bite." She winked and said, "Goodbye, Riley. Give my regards to the statue when she unclenches." She stepped around Priest and continued to the stairs.

Riley walked up to Priest and bumped her arm. "What the hell?"

"It's her."

Riley looked at the stairs where Gail was still barely visible. "What's her?"

Priest was deathly pale. "I can smell it all over her. She's living with demons, Riley. She's evil's champion."

"Gail Finney?"

Priest put the coffee down on a nearby desk, grabbed Riley's arm, and dragged her toward the break room. She shut the door behind Riley and said, "It fits."

"She's a newspaper reporter."

"You're a random police detective," Priest said. "Gail Finney is a reporter who spends the majority of her time badmouthing the police in print. She is a propaganda machine for the demons. Thanks to her, people distrust the entire department. She has a radio show where she can preach to the masses. And what does she preach?"

"Don't trust the cops," Riley said. She lowered herself onto the couch and clasped her hands between her knees. "How sure are you about this?"

"That she's your opposite? Positive. You don't get that... tainted by accident or by casual contact. But that doesn't mean she knows that she's being used. How well do you know her?"

"Too well," Riley said. "She's relentless. She smiles to your face so you're comfortable turning your back. Then she'll dig the knife in. She's your best friend until she buries you. If you say she's the one, then I believe it."

Priest crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Okay. So we accept she's the person we've been looking for. What do we do now?"

Riley looked up at Priest. "We stop her."

 

* * *

 

He had so many gloves. Gloves to wear during his activities, and another pair of gloves to wear after while he was coming home. He took one pair out and brought it to his face. He breathed deeply. He loved the smell of them. He put them on and walked back into his living room. His friend was waiting. "Tonight?" He was almost shaking.

"Not tonight. We don't have a victim."

"When?" He hated the neediness in his voice.

His friend stood and went to the window. "Patience. We will get more than enough blood on your hands before this endeavor ends."

He wanted to ask how it would end, but he was terrified to know. He just wanted to enjoy what was happening while it lasted. It was a joy. If it ended in his death, or in him being caged like an animal, he would accept that. Goodness and pain in equal measure, and he was getting so much goodness from their arrangement. So much joy. He could tolerate the consequences.

"Get some rest," his friend said. "We have a lot of big days ahead of us."

"Call me when we can have another victim."

His friend chuckled and nodded, silhouetted by the window. The front lawn was tree-lined, but some moonlight still came through. The streetlights on the corner were all broken. He turned and went back into his bedroom, flexing his fingers in the gloves. He would keep them on while he slept. He liked the feel of the leather on his palms.

A lot of big days ahead of them.

He couldn't wait.

 

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