12. I engaged my phone in a staring contest.

TWELVE

I engaged my phone in a staring contest.

Friday, May 4, 2057

Warehouse Row, Precinct 153

Cauldron City, Nebraska.

Sixty-seven corpses dangled from the warehouse’s ceiling, and every last one of them had been butchered for their organs. The scale of the carnage kept me quiet. Miranda, Paul, Grimstone, and Dowdren joined me in gaping at the bodies.

Ten was one thing, shocking enough to disturb even hardened detectives.

Sixty-seven defied comprehension.

All were men, all showed evidence of having their hearts carved out of them, and none had decomposed much, which warned me there was likely magic at play. I rummaged through my pockets for a stone, one that I could use to detect any enchantments, including the use of stasis. Once I found the right one, a river pebble I’d plucked out of a nearby park and carved with a myriad of tiny runes, I rubbed my thumb over it.

For the most part, I’d graduated from needing to use spoken incantations. Rather than murmur words to direct my power, I hummed a single note while contemplating the situation.

One by one, the bodies began to glow in a rusty hue reminiscent of drying blood.

Dowdren shot me a glare. I’d known my fellow detective long enough to understand he wanted to speak with me telepathically, and I lowered my guard enough he could reach me.

“What are you detecting?” his voice whispered in my ear.

According to Dowdren, most received his thoughts as a second narrator in their heads, where I controlled how he could use his magic, forcing him to manifest as a sound only I could perceive. He tended to compare our conversations with how the sentient birds communicated with us.

My mental wards protected me from his other abilities, making me one of the few he could relax around without fear of his powers going haywire or doing something he’d regret.

In a way, Dowdren suffered in similar ways to Roger, forever stuck with an ability he needed to control at all times. Unlike Roger, Dowdren had made the decision to pursue serving the people rather than using his magic for personal gain and greed.

I pointed to the nearest body, one who appeared to have been in his thirties at the time of his death. His head had been shaved along with the rest of his body, and he showed signs of having been beaten before death. “The bodies are glowing because I checked for the use of magic. I’m about to put the FBI’s new toxin detection trick to the test. If it works, they’ll start glowing purple. Considering these corpses aren’t dripping yet, they’re probably in stasis.”

Grimstone stepped away, shed his clothes without a care in the world, handed everything over to Dowdren, and transformed, which put him in easy reach of the corpses. He bumped a toe with the tip of his nose.

The entire body moved as though it were made of stone rather than decomposing flesh. “This one is in stasis.”

I selected my newest stone, carved before leaving the station, which bore a single rune designed to detect the toxin. I’d picked an amethyst, and I’d spent an hour scratching at its surface to bend the rock to my will.

Its magic, still in its infancy, vibrated when I rubbed my thumb against it to waken it, and I perceived a faint chiming sound.

Everyone stared at me.

“It’s singing,” Paul informed me.

Stones sometimes did that, especially when I attempted a carving without having calmed myself first. More often than not, my magic perceived my desires and imbued the working with it. While I’d been infuriated, my fury had been born from my need to put an end to the killings and restore peace to Cauldron City and elsewhere.

I held out my hand, opened my fingers, and observed the amethyst.

Once a stone started to sing, loud enough others could hear, it was wisest to let it do what it wished .

The stone rose from my palm and began to spin, shedding a purple light as it did so.

One by one, the corpses glowed, the red fading away to nothing and leaving everything else bathed in violet.

“Surprise, surprise. It appears our corpses have been poisoned.” I got out my cell phone, checked the time, and cursed, as Dr. Erik would be in surgery and wouldn’t be able to answer my question for a while. I thumbed through my contacts until I located Mrs. Dr. Erik’s number, pressing the green icon to connect the call.

“How can I help you, Lovell?” the woman answered.

“Are you about to head into surgery?” Had the black unicorn been operating on someone, she would have ignored my call.

“I’m not. Erik handed over a bunch of files for your case, and as I’m doing paperwork today, I’m reviewing yours between checking over patient records. What do you need?”

I put the phone on speaker. “Let’s say you’re a twisted doctor who hates the person you’re carving to pieces to take their organs. You have a rather nasty poison you want to experiment with. When would you administer such a thing if you wanted to preserve some organs?”

“I would use magic to force blood through to the rest of the body and record results until brain death, which could be quite a while if I’m not caring about organ damage, patient survivability, and so on.”

“Can you do that if the organ in question is a heart?”

My fellow detectives wrinkled their noses and otherwise made disgusted expressions while staring up at the corpses dangling above us.

“Sure. If all I need to do is poison a body and give it five minutes to start metabolizing, a little magic can go a long way. Brain death would be a guarantee with that method, though.”

“I mean, they’re short a heart, so it’s not that big of a deal if the brain dies, right?” I prowled deeper into the warehouse, marveling over how the culprits had managed to hang so many corpses without anyone noticing their activities.

A worker responsible for cleaning the place had found the bodies and run out screaming, resulting in a few calls to 911 requesting assistance.

“That’s one way to put it. How many new ones do you have?”

“There are enough of them that I will be joining the queue for therapy,” I confessed. “They’re in stasis from the looks of it, and they’ve all been poisoned. I can’t tell if the poison has metabolized or not.”

“I’ll give the ME a call and join the forensics party for this,” Mrs. Dr. Erik promised. “And I’ll cherry pick the best ME for the job. I’ll also handle selecting a few coroners for the work. You’ll need the good ones.”

Cauldron City had an abnormally high number of medical examiners and coroners, something I appreciated when trouble came calling. The fact we needed the extra coroners would forever bother me, but when Mrs. Dr. Erik said something would happen, it would. “Thanks, I appreciate it. We have almost seventy bodies to photograph, investigate, pull down, and send over to the morgue, and I don’t want to miss whatever message the delivery folks have for us.”

“Interesting. Text me with the address and do whatever it is cops do to get the balls rolling. Warn your forensics people that I’m coming armed with a team.”

“Will do.” As I valued my life, I did as the black unicorn wanted, contacting dispatch and relaying Mrs. Dr. Erik’s requests. I also made certain to warn Wynonna that any who came would need stomachs of steel. Her promise to remind people to vomit outside helped steady me in a way.

She understood the severity of the situation.

Once I hung up, I said, “Wynonna is taking care of our dispatch needs, and she is issuing reminders to throw up outside. Grimstone, how are they hung up there?”

The black dragon stood on his hind legs and stretched his neck out as far as he could for a better look at the ceiling. “They’ve been tied to support beams. It looks like they used mundane methods. A weight tied to the end of a rope tossed over a steel support beam, hauled up, and then tied. I’d guess a ladder was used to get them the right height for their art installation.”

I frowned, then I transferred my attention to the feet of the victims. Sure enough, everybody hung to about the same level. Did the message involve distance or height? Or did the victims have another story to tell beyond their unwilling involvement with Dr. Lerrans? I stared at the bodies, committed their faces to my memory, and swore I would bring the madman and his ilk down. True justice would never be served, but I would accept a permanent stop to his activities.

Left with more questions than answers, I settled in to wait for the forensics team, Mrs. Dr. Erik, and the support staff to arrive so we could begin the grisly work of getting everyone down and laying them to rest.

Friday, May 4, 2057

Lower North Lakes, Precinct 153

Cauldron City, Nebraska.

Three more calls led us to more bodies, but the stockpile of corpses found in Precinct 158 dug up more than a few graves, closed numerous missing persons cases scattered over a span of thirty years, and told us a terrible truth: Dr. Lerrans had begun his hunt for organ donors long before the first victims had surfaced in Cauldron City. The ages of the victims horrified me.

The youngest was an infant, and according to an infuriated Mrs. Dr. Erik, he’d been three to five days old at the time of his murder.

Three toddlers had faced the infant’s fate, and I found a bitter consolation in the situation. None of the children had been poisoned. After the toddlers were a handful of four to seven year olds, all boys. According to one of the test kits forensics had brought with them, they all shared type O blood, although there were variances in polarity.

In my office, while a subdued Miranda sorted through the stack of related papers for the case, I plugged the information into the digital board. Some corpses belonged to those of recognized criminals, the kind of person many detectives would add to the bottom of the pile to investigate on a slow day.

When those were all accounted for, we had over a hundred mystery victims, all waiting for us to put names to their faces and close the book on their deaths and bring closure to their families.

The next few months of my life would be one tragedy followed by another until only cold cases remained to haunt me.

Within twenty minutes of arriving back at the station, someone from forensics called to inform me they had emailed the infant’s identification to me. In either an oversight or moment of ego and pride, the baby still wore his hospital bracelet, which included his name, the hospital, an identifier, and the date of his birth.

The morgue already worked to make the baby’s body presentable should his parents still be alive.

It took two phone calls for me to learn that the child, Lancaster Perrol, had been stolen from the hospital two days after his birth. According to the hospital’s records, a Dr. Lerrans had worked at the hospital beginning three years prior and for another two years after before transferring elsewhere.

His son had been born six days prior to the disappearance of the infant.

The mother, a Regina Thatcher, had perished from a complication of labor the day following her son’s birth. To my relief, Regina Thatcher was the daughter of a politician and a teacher, and she’d also had a daughter a year prior. The hospital had given Dr. Lerrans a week of bereavement leave, but he had been at the hospital visiting with his baby at the time of Lancaster’s disappearance.

Thirty-seven years ago, hospitals had limited protections, and cases of kidnapping often involved a doctor or nurse, who could bypass the safeguards with ease. Parents and visitors had been required to use special passes when traveling through certain doors.

Hospital workers could dodge being tracked with ease, and with Dr. Lerrans’s baby in the hospital at the same time, it would have been trivial for him to steal the little Lancaster from his parents.

I engaged my phone in a staring contest.

“What has you so apprehensive?” Miranda asked, neatening up her stacks. “I’m organizing this by case numbers for now. Is that okay?”

“Case numbers are a good start. We’ll get on the floor later and start digging through that mess for connections. As for being apprehensive, my next call is to Lancaster Perrol’s parents. Forensics had already pulled the missing persons report for the baby and had forwarded all the relevant information, including their contact number. I won’t know if this is accurate until I make the call.”

“And a lot can change in over thirty years.”

I nodded. “This is one of the hardest parts of our job. I’ll call to confirm where they live and head over to see them if they are willing to meet with us in person. We’ll transport the baby’s body with us so they can have closure and plan any ceremonies. It could go either way on cases this old.”

“It’s been so long.”

Everyone in the force faced the pain I heard in Miranda’s voice. She would either find her determination or break and wash out. Nothing I could say or do would change anything for her. I could only offer support as I could while she came to her own conclusions and determined if life in the force was truly a good fit for her. I nodded, picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and dialed Mr. Laurent Perrol’s cell number.

It rang twice before a tired, old man answered, “Laurent speaking.”

“Good evening, Mr. Perrol. I’m Detective Lovell from Precinct 153 in Cauldron City. Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”

“Of course, sir. How can I help you?”

“Your son’s case was just assigned to me, and I wanted to find out if we could meet regarding the situation.”

“But we live in Michigan.”

I smiled at the man’s protest, which involved his concern he inconvenienced us. “My partners and I can come to you. That is fine. Are you available tomorrow morning?”

“I am. Do you want the wife to be available, too?”

“Yes, please.” I got onto the airline website and began the search for tickets. “What is the nearest airport to you?”

“We live in Detroit about fifteen minutes from the airport,” he replied before giving me his address. “Would you prefer if we met you somewhere?”

“If you’re all right with a home visit, we can come to you. If you’d be more comfortable elsewhere, an arrangement can be made,” I assured him.

“You’ll probably want to see his records for the investigation. I never thought someone would still be looking for our little boy after all these years.”

His words reminded me of the importance of closure. I would be making hundreds of similar calls in the upcoming weeks, facing the consequences of a madman’s quest for a heart. Pieces of the puzzle fell together while families fell apart. How many tiny bodies would we uncover while learning the story of a father’s drive to save his child?

I never wanted to understand Dr. Lerrans or his twisted motivations.

I found a flight, bought four tickets so Pumpkin could have a seat, and got the confirmation number so I could make certain the airline knew we would be bringing a police dog with us. “How early can you see us?”

“We wake up at five.”

That would work, as our flight would arrive at seven. “We should be able to see you as early as eight. There will be three of us and a police dog.”

“A police dog?” Something in the man’s voice changed, lightening with excitement or interest.

“She’s in training, and she weighs fifteen pounds. We’re teaching her how to interact with others.” Martino might kill me when he found out I was taking the puppy out of the state, but if anyone needed her special brand of love, it was the Perrol family.

“Oh! Can she have any treats?”

“I am sure Pumpkin would love to have a treat,” I assured him, smiling for the first time since the call came in about the young bodies. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Perrol. Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“Thank you, more than you can ever know.”

I could make some guesses. After wishing him a good night, I hung up.

Then, bracing for some screaming, I dialed the captain’s cell.

“What do you have for me?”

“I have a request for forgiveness upon sending the expense report for four plane tickets. I need Paul for a meeting with a vic’s family. I’ll be taking Miranda and Pumpkin with me. She’s going in a support dog role.”

“Ah. Dealing with the infant’s family notification?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is the family located?”

“Detroit, Michigan.”

“All right. When does your flight leave?”

“Stupid o’clock,” I grumbled.

Captain Farthan laughed at me. “I’ll get on the horn with Detroit and see about arranging a ride for you. I’ll get the authorizations for the body’s transport and make certain the unicorns know we’re moving the body tonight. Good work, Lovell. Keep all your receipts. Once you finish the critical stuff, go home and get some rest. Take Paul with you. Did you get a seat for Pumpkin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Have you talked to the airline yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Email me the confirmation for the flight and I’ll take care of it. Oh, your roaster and other toys will be arriving tomorrow morning, and we already had an electrician in to make certain the shed can handle your roasting work. Don’t leave your new wife unattended for too long.”

“You got it.” I hung up, sent him a copy of the confirmation, and went through the process of booking us a flight back home after the meeting. Once Captain Farthan had all the information, I herded Pumpkin and Miranda out of the office and hunted for Paul.

I found him chatting with Dowdren and Grimstone in the cubicle farm. “Hey, Paul. We’re doing a family notification in Detroit in the morning. You’re coming along for the ride. I need you to save me from Martino when he finds out I’m taking Pumpkin with us.”

“The baby?” the elephant asked, gathering everything he needed. “Hardy, if you can handle gathering the paperwork, I’ll handle sorting it as soon as I’m back.”

“Deal,” the black dragon replied. “Have a safe flight and keep us in the loop.”

That left me with dealing with Martino and facing his wrath for taking my puppy on her first real adventure.

Saturday, May 5, 2057

Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport

Detroit, Michigan.

The excitement of the flight had exhausted Pumpkin, requiring me to carry her while we waited to receive Lancaster Perrol’s tiny body. Someone had acquired a casket for the child, a work of art made of mahogany. I suspected the Black Dragon of New York.

Black dragons became unreasonable in the face of tragedy they couldn’t change, and he had no other outlet. The removal of all evidence of the child’s stolen heart came courtesy of the black unicorns with a little help from Jace. As the white unicorn had handled most of the work, there would be no bills of any sort for the family .

An anonymous donation would pay for any funeral the Perrol’s might wish for their little boy.

Detroit had dispatched four officers to join us, and they would have the solemn duty of carrying the body to the family. We’d already received the necessary permits to transport him in the state and keep him outside of a morgue. The magic in the casket, courtesy of one of my stones, created a state of stasis, which would fade beginning in three to five weeks and allow nature to resume its proper course.

I would never forget the number of eyes on us or the silence as we’d disembarked from the plane while the pilot explained that we were escorting a deceased infant. Per airline tradition, all other passengers would remain in their seats until the casket was in our care.

The Detroit officers claimed the body, and someone had folded an American flag on top despite that being a military tradition rather than a civilian one. Instead of a hearse, we had an unmarked police Escalade, and Paul handled opening the back so Lancaster could be placed inside.

With the first part of our work completed, we piled into the vehicle. Officer Zimmer got behind the wheel, and when he started the engine, he said, “The family doesn’t know we have the body, correct?”

“Correct.” I sighed, buckled in, and settled Pumpkin on my lap for the trip. “We have a backup plan if they do not wish to have a wake in their home.” I’d spent two hours before the flight speaking with a local funeral home, making certain they could handle everything on behalf of the Perrol family. “We don’t have any information on their beliefs, so we made contingency plans. ”

“Wise. It’s not often we get to do something like this. Normally, we just deliver the bad news.”

“This bastard has done enough harm. This is just the beginning. This case is ugly.”

“That’s the understatement of the year, Detective Lovell. We were told you can help us identify this poison?”

“I can. The magicker working is simple enough that most with any form of aptitude can do it. The instructions I have need minimal adjustment for the various types of workings. I work with runes for the most part.”

“After we’re done with this business, I’ll make sure our magickers are on hand to learn. I have the feeling we’re going to need it. Detroit has a lot of crime and homeless.”

I winced. “That would make Detroit the perfect hunting ground for this group. Can you send us your missing persons database? I’ll have some criteria for you to help narrow the pool. We’ll be looking for people with an O blood type of certain ages. Our current theory is that he needs hearts for his son.” I hated our sole viable theory. In a way, I would have preferred if Mercy had been formed to solely start an underground organ transplant circle.

How many lives had Dr. Lerrans sacrificed for the sake of his son?

“Sure. I’ll give you my card, and I’ll make sure you have everything we have. What type of dog is Pumpkin?”

“Her paperwork indicates she’s mostly wolf, but in reality, she is a furry angel. She’s a washout that we aren’t willing to actually send off. She’s too nice, but she looks like she’ll be good at sniffing work. If I need a more aggressive K-9, I’ll call one in. If it wasn’t for the wolf in her, she’d be training to be a support dog right now. She might be sentient, but we won’t know for certain until she’s a little older.”

So far, Pumpkin had shown all signs of accepting her new name. While she showered Miranda with affection, the puppy stuck to me like glue whenever possible. Once we got to the station, I would pursue getting official ownership of the puppy to make certain there was no chance she was transferred to anyone else.

While Captain Farthan made efforts to keep dogs and handlers together whenever possible, other stations had different rules, and I’d seen pairs separated for a myriad of reasons. Inevitably, both dog and human suffered from the experience.

If I had any say in the matter, Pumpkin would remain in my hands until death did we part.

“Ah, we’ve had a few furry angels pass through our station. When we get them, they’re usually adopted by someone in the force. Our captain gives us first crack, and the adoption fee is whatever price the station paid for the pup.”

“Good policy. Do you have any information on the Perrol family?”

“We don’t have much. They’re quiet folks and have been searching for their son’s killer ever since his disappearance. They’d accepted the boy’s death years ago, but they’ve been wanting closure. According to our file, neither parent held any hope of him being alive, not after this long with no trace of him.”

Very few kidnappings that lasted beyond a day or two ended with a life at the end of the road. Knowing Lancaster’s parents understood there wasn’t going to be a happy ending would help me get through the rest of the day. Paul’s presence, which comforted most, would also make the entire process easier.

The awareness we were about to close the chapter on almost forty years of grief and uncertainty kept us all quiet. When we arrived at the Perrol home, which was an old stone townhouse that had seen more than its fair share of wear and tear, I breathed in deep and exhaled to calm myself.

Then I got out of the Escalade, carried Pumpkin to the door, and waited for Miranda and Paul to join me before knocking on the door.

An old, tired couple answered, and I recognized the resignation in their expressions. “Thank you for coming, officers. We don’t have a lot of information to give you, I’m afraid. We only have some old hospital records.”

I thought about all the various things I could say, realized there were no words to convey my sympathies, and turned to the vehicle, gesturing for the four officers to bring Lancaster’s body. I would forever wonder how a father’s love could be twisted to the point he would sacrifice another baby for his own. When the quartet reached the back and opened it, I said, “We recovered Lancaster’s body in Cauldron City yesterday, and upon identification, we wanted to deliver him along with what we know of his death.”

No matter how many times I served, informing those left behind of their loved one’s passing, it never got any easier.

Lancaster’s mother raised her hands to her mouth, and her eyes teared up. “You truly found him?”

No punishment could ever make up for what Dr. Lerrans had wrought, and I reminded myself I would be content—even happy—with making certain he never struck again. “An informant recovered his body and tipped off law enforcement in Cauldron City. There is an active investigation into his murder. While an autopsy was performed, he was restored so you could have a wake or do whatever custom you have. We have brought all the paperwork for you to be able to keep his body until burial. If you do not wish to keep him here, we have already made arrangements at a local funeral home for you. The burial expenses have already been covered by an anonymous donor.”

Aware of the solemn quartet bringing the casket, I stepped out of the way.

Lancaster’s mother wept, and his father held on by a thread, making way for the ensemble to bring their lost baby into their home. At a soft word from Officer Zimmer, Paul went back to the Escalade to retrieve the stand.

At Mr. Perrol’s soft suggestion, they placed Lancaster’s body in the living room.

“Do you wish to see him?” I asked, wondering how one question could be so difficult.

Neither spoke, but after some silence and glances at each other, both nodded.

I opened the casket, which was designed with two sections in the lid, allowing for only the baby’s head and shoulders to be visible. The infant had been laid to rest among countless black roses. Someone had swaddled him in white silks, and his tiny hands held a blue iris, the sole splash of color within the casket. Thanks to the unicorns and stasis, he had escaped the consequences of decomposition, appearing to be asleep rather than dead.

Then, while they beheld their baby, I told them the story of a madman and father leaving a trail of bodies in his wake on his quest to save his son. To spare them, I didn’t tell them of the doctor who had worked at the hospital their son had been born at.

There would be time for that later, when the wounds of their loss bled less.

Once I finished, I gave them a card along with a sheet of paper with all the information they needed to lay their son to rest. I offered my sympathy and began the process of easing away so we could leave them to their grief. I’d almost made it to the door when Mr. Perrol turned to me.

“Detective Lovell?”

I halted at the threshold of his home, one foot outside.

Before I had a chance to say a word, he said, “Thank you.”

I raised my hand in acknowledgment, stepped outside, and closed the door behind me.

Dr. Lerrans would fall, and when he did, I would be there, cursing him and naming the names of each and every one of his victims so that his twisted and corrupted soul went to the afterlife haunted for all time.