William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

Maybe Susan can explain it to me. I would like that.

Even as I drove him out to the second crime scene at McCarran, I knew I had no right whatsoever to expect Darcy to come up with more breakthroughs, or to spark new ideas in me, or whatever it was he was doing. But I couldn’t help hoping, just the same. I wonder if that’s why God stopped with the miracles after the New Testament days. People are never satisfied. They always want more.

I asked one of the patrolmen to give Darcy access to the crime scene, then let the boy do as he pleased. Far be it for me to direct him. He spent almost an hour just wandering in and around the plane. He crouched down where the body had lain, looking at it from all angles, his head tilted with that uncanny android expression on his face. He paced the perimeter of the entire pavilion where the retired planes were stored. But he always came back to the place where the body had been found. He crouched down on all fours and pressed his face to the floor, his butt sticking up in the air. He looked like a bird dog sniffing for a scent. I could see one of the techs watching him out of the corner of his eye, laughing. I gave him the finger and told him to get to work. Asshole.

“The criminalists have been all over this site,” I told Darcy, just to hear myself talk. “They didn’t find much. No useful stains or residue. No blood. A few bits of carpet lint on the body.”

Darcy’s head rose, as if he had detected a new scent. “Carpet? Or rug?”

“Whatever. Something from her home or his that-”

“I think maybe it was a rug. Do you think maybe it was a rug?”

I paused. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I see the-”

“Did you know that murderers sometimes wrap bodies in rugs to make them easier to carry? During the 1934 torso murders in Cleveland, the killer-”

“But if the killer brought the corpse in a rug, where is it?”

“I think maybe he must’ve taken it home with him.”

I considered. “No. The body couldn’t have been wrapped, and he must’ve dragged it part of the way. There was dirt on the body.”

Darcy crouched down low again. “There’s a lot of dirt on the floor of the plane. Why would there be dirt on the floor of the plane?”

“I… guess the door blew open and-” Right. We were in a sea of concrete. “He brought the body from somewhere else. Probably got tired at some point and dragged it. It got dirty.”

“I didn’t see the body,” Darcy said. “Was it all scraped up?”

“Well, no. Actually, it seemed well cared for, even washed. Almost like he really cared about her.”

Darcy brushed his hands off and stood. “I think that maybe he brought this one here in a rug.”

And damn it all, I knew he was right. “But where did the dirt come from?”

“I think that maybe he brought that, too.”

“But why? For what reason?” I asked, but I realized that brilliant as he was, Darcy could never deduce the answers to these teleological questions. Because that required someone who understood the wild and wooly ways of people. Perhaps someone blessed with hyper-empathy. Yours truly. I thought a moment…

Because this was a burial, that’s why. At least in his deranged mind, this was a burial, so he’d brought dirt. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

I knew the answer to that question, too.

Because I hadn’t had Darcy before.

I put my arm around his neck and gave him a squeeze. He pulled away but not too hard. “Darcy, my friend, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

He smiled cautiously, eyes up but chin tucked. “Did I-did I do something good?”

“You hit the ball out of the park, slugger.” Bizarre as it sounds, being with Darcy, working with him-if you can call it that-made me feel… better. Stronger. Like maybe I really could still do this.

“Does this mean that we could go for custard later? I like to eat frozen custard. Custard is my favorite thing because I know whenever I have custard it’s going to be a Very Excellent Day. On Wednesdays, my favorite is vanilla toffee, but my dad likes the bubble gum flavor-”

“Your dad likes bubble gum custard? Get out of here.”

“Sometimes he gets Oreo Cookie Mash. If we went now I think my dad wouldn’t mind and it would be okay and I don’t think it would spoil our dinner, do you?” He grinned that goofy grin again. Irresistible.

From a landing bay outside the Arrivals deck, he watched the crime technicians work through high-powered binoculars. His hand still hurt from the bite, but he had cleaned and dressed it and all his fingers were functional, if a bit weak. He was wearing his uniform, which was not the same as those of airport security but was more than enough to keep people from interfering with him. When a man in a uniform went to the airport, no one messed with him, especially these days.

Watching the crime techs at work was fascinating-and rather discouraging, too. It was of considerable interest to him to see where they focused their attention. The careful steps they took to ensure that no tracks or footsteps were obliterated-not that he had left any. All right-one tire track. He was human. What could they possibly do with that? He would change the tires on the truck tonight, just to be safe.

These people spent hours coating the area with a fine white dust, hoping to find a fingerprint. Absurd. To leave behind clues of that caliber, one would have to be a fool. No, he wanted to scream at them, I didn’t leave behind any hair-I wore a net the entire time. Did they think they were dealing with a beer-sozzled redneck? A tripped-out tourist? Had he not made it abundantly clear that he was a serious man doing serious work?

Thank heaven Susan finally arrived. His sweet, beautiful Cassandra. Yes, his totem had been right, had been prophetic. It was still early days, but he felt certain that she would be the one to appreciate what he had done. She’d barely been on the scene a minute yesterday before she had Annabel’s mouth open, something none of her predecessors, not even the representatives from the coroner’s office, had the sense to do. Her understanding encompasseth mountains…

But Susan’s return to the scene today was fraught with disappointment. For starters, she did not come alone. Who was this new companion? He hadn’t been at the police station. He was dressed casually and didn’t appear to have any official status. And yet, Susan talked to him constantly. It was as if she was feeding him information, soliciting his opinion about every aspect of the case. Was he her friend, her partner? Or something more? He seemed younger than she, surely too young to be…

And yet there was something between them, something real, important. He tightened the focus on his binoculars, zooming in for a closer look. He stared at the young man’s eyes, watching the way he moved, the way he talked, for a considerable period of time. And yet, he couldn’t get a reading on him. The young man’s eyes were like reflecting mirrors. There was something… elusive about him. Something inscrutable. As if there was an emotional lacuna where a soul should be. As if… as if he wasn’t entirely a part of this world.

Dream-Land? No. He might not be able to discern what drove Susan’s young cohort, but he was certain it was not enlightenment. There was more confusion about him than determination.

And yet he couldn’t help but wonder…

Did he pose a threat? The others, with their by-the-book approach and mundane sensibilities had little hope of ever discovering the truth. But this new interloper…

He would have to keep a close eye on this young man.

On his way out of the airport, he bought a newspaper from a self-serve kiosk. He would want the day’s story for his History. The article about the discovery of Annabel’s body was rather disappointingly small, even though there were no other stories of great import. Was this town so jaded that murder no longer captured its imagination? What was this distorted mentality that bestowed more attention on Siegfried and Roy than a messiah?