5th Pentagram: The sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 3 of the Darc Murders Trilogy) (Book 3 of the Darc Murder Series) (19 page)

Good job? There was a gap between Darc’s experience and Trey’s. For Darc, speaking that way had been an almost physical pain. And yet Trey had complimented him for it. And Darc found that the compliment caused a reaction in that shadowy gray topography of emotional context that was… pleasant somehow.

Troubling.

Even more disorienting was the fact that Darc had no comprehension of what to do next. This seemed to fall under the umbrella of social niceties, so he scanned through Trey’s rules and found one that appeared to fit.
If someone compliments you, don’t just sit there like a rock. Thank them.

“Thank you, Trey.”

“You’re welcome,” his partner responded, then did a double take. “You did it again! Man, you are on a
roll
.” Trey grinned at him, turned and honked his horn at a yellow Volkswagen Bug that was getting too close and then returned his focus to Darc. “Okay, so what’s the information you’re missing that’s holding us up?”

“That is the issue. I do not know. There is a blank space of non-information that I cannot penetrate.”

“Ooo. Ouch. Brain fart,” Trey said, wrinkling his brow. “Okay, that was a slight step backwards on the communication front.” He waved the comment away. “Don’t worry about it. Baby steps.” Darc’s partner seemed to refocus his attention. “What about those numbers?”

The gray landscape heaved in a violent response that was not nearly as pleasant as the one earlier. The words left Darc’s mouth as if they were leaden balloons.

“They are impenetrable to me.”

Trey gave Darc a sharp look. “Wow. I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was
that
bad. Numbers never get away from you. Hell, neither do letters or lines or little squiggly marks or random scratches in the dirt or…” He appeared to stop himself. “Okay. Whatever. Do you have them written down somewhere?”

Darc opened up the glove compartment in front of him and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. After drawing the sequence of the number down, he handed the paper to Trey.

“Hey. Steer for me a minute, okay? Tell me if I have to brake or something.” Trey handed over the guidance of the vehicle to Darc as he sat and pondered the numbers. “There was something about this that was bugging me before…”

Turning the wheel to avoid clipping an SUV that was encroaching in their lane, Darc observed his partner out of the corner of his eye. Trey appeared to be counting the numbers out to himself.

“One. Eleven. Twenty-one… No. Hold on…” He stopped, and Darc glanced away from the road for a moment to determine what was happening. A honk from a nearby truck yanked his attention back. “One. One one. Two one… Oh!”

Trey straightened up and took control of the wheel back from Darc. He started laughing, and soon the laughter had turned to what Darc could only describe as hysterics. It was possible that his partner would need medical attention.

“Are you experiencing a psychotic break?”

“No, no,” Trey answered, wiping tears away with one hand while navigating around a semi with the other. “That was just funny.”

“What is amusing?”

“The sequence. It’s set up so that each line describes the one before it. Look…” He pointed at the first line, which bore the numeral one. “That’s one
one
. Get it? And then when you look at the ones, they’re two
ones
. Then one
two
and one
one
. The next one will be one
one
, one
two
, two
ones
. See?”

The pattern became clear to Darc the moment it was pointed out to him. But that did not explain Trey’s reaction.

“What about this sequence is humorous?”

“Well, it’s the kind of thing that only a mouth-breather like me would figure out. You see numbers like objects, right?”

That was an accurate, although incomplete, description of the process Darc went through. The numbers were perceived and assigned a shape or color stream that became its own entity. But the subtleties of this internal process would be lost on Trey, so Darc just nodded.

“Well, the only way I figured it out was because I was mouthing the numbers out loud,” Trey explained. “Making
sounds
. There was no way you were ever going to make sense out of this. Not in a million years.”

And then it struck Darc, as the filaments of color assailed him internally, just what that meant. These numbers had been a distraction from the beginning. A nonsensical puzzle designed solely to keep Darc’s full facilities from being engaged. A red herring.

The illusion had been penetrated. The ruse was no longer effective. But Darc had a much more serious concern.

Whatever he had missed, due to his preoccupation with the numbers, was going to catch up to them rapidly. And while he now felt himself to be free of encumbrances, he was no closer to information that would lead them to the killer.

The lines of light dripped color, weeping acknowledgement of their failure.

* * *

Trey leaned back in his chair. Most of the time he was careful about how he did this. Didn’t want to end up sprawled on the ground with everyone laughing at you, trying to explain how a chair got the better of you.

But not today. Not today.

Today he was the guy who had figured out a series of symbols etched around creepy pentagrams. Today he was the hero who had taken his team one step closer to victory. Today was the day…

That he did something that no one would ever hear about, because it hadn’t led to any kind of significant break in the case. Damn that honest voice in his head. It was always harshing his vibe.

But you know what? Trey decided he didn’t care about that part. Darc was always figuring stuff out, and this time it’d been Trey that had done it. No matter what everyone else heard about or didn’t hear about, no one could take that moment away from him.

Yeah, Darc would end up being the guy to figure it all out. Again. But for now, for this one moment, it was all Trey, baby.

The phone rang, startling him. His body twitched in response, and Trey almost went over backwards in his chair. Okay. Maybe there was a reason he didn’t lean back on a regular basis.

He straightened up, grabbing the receiver and holding it to his ear with his shoulder while he pulled out his cell phone. Being on the phone was always a good excuse to play Candy Crush. Not like he could do much else while he was talking to someone, right? That would just be rude. Besides, he was stuck on level 65, and it was making him a little nuts. That stupid multiplying chocolate was kicking his ass.

“Detective Keane speaking.”

“Yes, Detective Keane, this is Bradley Moore over at the Mayor’s office.”

Crap. It was the protective detail thingy. And the chocolate was spreading in his game, and there were no matching candies anywhere close. This was not going well.

“Oh yeah. Bradley. You’re the Mayor’s personal assistant.”

“Ah, that’s executive administrator,” the man responded, his tone sharp.

Like there’s a difference. “Right. My bad.”

The
executive administrator
let out a breath. It seemed that Trey was getting on his nerves. Weird. That never happened with uptight governmental officials. They usually
loved
him.

“We need you to come down to the office to discuss the Mayor’s schedule.”

We? You got a frog in your pocket, Mr. Executive Administrator Personal Assistant?
Trey made a move in his game and five different sets of candies fell into place, giving him a huge multiplier and finishing out the level.

“Awesome!” Trey yelled, holding up his phone to show the office. No one seemed nearly as impressed as he was.

“Well,” said Bradley. “It’s good to know that you’re enthusiastic about the assignment. We worried that there might be an issue there. See you in a few minutes.”

“No, wait. That’s not…” He trailed off as he heard the dial tone begin. That was unfortunate. Although, with no pressing leads, now was probably as good a time as any.

“Darc,” he called out to his partner. “Saddle up. We’ve got to get over to the Mayor’s office.”

Trey held his phone back up. Maybe he could get through level 66 while Darc was getting his jacket on. He leaned back in his chair once more.

Just in time for Darc to brush past him, bumping the back of his seat. Trey waved his arms wildly, trying to stay upright, but his chair went past the tipping point and he landed squarely on his back.

The office burst into applause.

“Where was that when I made it past level 65, jerk-faces?” Trey said, standing up and brushing himself off.

Time to get out of this unsupportive workspace.

Too bad it felt like they were headed straight for another one.

CHAPTER 13

“Ah, Dr. Charan,” breathed the ME as Mala made her way back into the morgue. “To what do I owe the privilege of your visit?”

Mala smiled at Dr. Hutchinson and looked beyond the doctor to see the intern working at one of the tables. This would need to be handled with some delicacy if she wanted the medical examiner’s good opinion of her to continue.

For a brief moment, she contemplated abandoning any attempt at doing so. The man was a pompous ass, after all. But that was something that could adversely affect her team’s future dealings with this office. And considering the number of dead bodies they worked with, that wasn’t a great idea.

“Dr. Hutchinson. I was wondering…” she began, thinking furiously. Inspiration struck. “If I could get the paperwork on these pentagram killings. Just so I can have something concrete to work with.”

“Ah,” he said with a wink. “It’s about time someone on this team did some proper detective work. According to Detective Darcmel, he doesn’t
need
anything to refer to.” The tone of this statement revealed the doctor’s low opinion of Darc’s savant abilities. “And his partner wouldn’t understand what he was seeing if he had them. Now
you
, on the other hand…”

“Would be eternally grateful if you would be so kind as to get them for me.” Mala finished for him.

“No need,” he replied with a smug wave of his hand. “I thought you might want them, so kept them right here.” He reached behind himself and pulled forward several folders full of paperwork and pictures.

That was helpful of him. Too helpful. Now how was she going to get him out of the morgue?

“Fantastic,” she said, spinning on her heel as if to leave. Then, as if she had just now thought better of it, she turned back. “Also, I would love to cross reference with the files from Bryce Van Owen and Father John.”

“Hmm,” the ME mused. “Those are upstairs. I’ll have Cody go and get them for us.”

Whoops. She should have known that Hutchinson wouldn’t go get his own files if he had a helper on hand. This wasn’t going the way she had hoped.

“Actually… I’ll go with him,” she blurted. “You know. Save the extra trip back.” Okay, that might not make perfect sense, but it seemed to work, as Dr. Hutchinson shrugged his shoulders and started to go back to his work.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Mala fell into step with Cody, noticing how he was avoiding eye contact. He walked with his head tipped down and also away from her. Classic signs of avoidance. If she was correct in her suspicions, Mala didn’t blame him. Time to draw out the shy young intern.

“Cody, you haven’t been working here all that long, have you?” she began.

“No,” he answered, still without meeting her gaze. “About two months is all.”

“That’s what I thought.” Mala stayed quiet for a moment, letting the suspense build up in the young man. “I noticed that ring you were wearing.”

He glanced up at her, his eyes wide. The hand with the ring on it was tucked away behind his back. Not so much as to be obvious to anyone but a trained professional. But while it might not be convenient for Cody, that is exactly what Mala was.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “It was my grandfather’s.”

“Oh, an heirloom? That’s fantastic.” She again waited until Cody started getting fidgety. “It’s a Masonic ring, isn’t it? I saw the compass and square symbol on it.”

“Uh… right. Yeah. I suppose.”

“You suppose? You mean you aren’t a Freemason?” Mala probed further.

“Well… I…” He fell silent.

“You know what’s interesting?” Mala stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face Cody. “I saw another one just like it earlier today.”

“Oh really?” he asked, his tone light. But there was a bead of sweat on his brow that was giving the lie to the calm, bright sound of his voice. Cody was nervous.

“Yes. I caught sight of it during an argument with a social worker,” Mala said, peering straight ahead of her but watching the intern’s reactions out of the corner of her eye. He wiped a hand across his forehead. “But there’s been something weird about our conversations lately.”

“What’s that?” he squeaked.

“It just seems like he has access to information that there’s no way he could have.”

Mala watched as Cody’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “Wow. That sucks.”

“Cody…” Mala said. The tone was a warning.

“Okay, okay…” he said, breaking. “It was me.”

“
What
was you?” she prompted.

He squirmed for a moment, then burst out, “There was one of the brothers at the temple, and we were talking about stuff, and I mentioned where I was working and he seemed really interested and then before I knew it…” He stopped babbling and looked in her eyes, his gaze tortured. “I was telling him all kinds of stuff.”

“I see.”

“But, I mean, I didn’t really
know
you then. And then I started to find out who you were and what you were like and you’re awesome but he kept asking me stuff and he’s a brother and he’s higher up than me and I was new. We’re supposed to, like, look after each other and he kept saying what a bitch you were and…”

Mala held up a hand to cut off the flow of language. “Cody. I get it. I’m upset, but I get it.”

“I’m really sorry, Dr. Charan.”

Laying a hand on his arm, she gave him a smile. It was clear he had been torturing himself over this, and while it had really messed with her life, there might be a way out of it for both of them. Besides, it was hard to stay mad at someone who was so apologetic.