Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

Post-killing Scene

Robin Hudson knelt next to the body. To her right, streetlights danced off rainwater that flowed fast down the gutter. The water spilled into a thick iron grate half clogged with leaves and bits of trash. Bubble-lights flashed from stationary cop cars, casting red and blue glows against the buildings and the wet black pavement. Sammy and Jimmy had set up portable lights to illuminate the body. They had put up a little tent over it as well — just four poles with no sides and a peaked roof, the kind of thing you might see at a street fair. A light breeze snapped at the tent top.

The rain had soaked the victim long before they’d put up the tent. Beads of water stood out on his thick beard. His blue jeans looked nearly black from the wetness. An arrow shaft stuck up out of his sternum. Water had diluted the red stain surrounding the shaft, turning the blood-soaked white fabric a diluted pink.

Robin was about to start her examination when she saw Bryan and Pookie approaching. The pair had been first on the scene — again. It was getting to be more than coincidence. She needed to find out exactly what was going on.

“Robin,” Pookie said. “Don’t you look official.”

She started to ask him what he meant, then she remembered what she was wearing. “Oh, the uniform?”

Pookie nodded. “No sloppy windbreaker for you, I see. Just like the Silver Eagle.”

She smiled and looked back to the body. Yes, she wore the formal ME’s jacket, even though the windbreaker was an acceptable option. If Metz felt the uniform was an important part of the job, then so did she. And besides, she liked brass buttons and the gold braid around the cuffs.

Bryan knelt down next to the body. Robin couldn’t help but look at him, at his green eyes, at the dark-red hair that looked rumbled and ratty, the way it had when he’d spent the day in bed with her. Then she remembered that there was a corpse on the ground between them. How blasé had she become? This wasn’t the time for a love connection.

Pookie leaned in. “Long beard, wife-beater, hatchet — he fits Verde’s description perfectly.”

Robin pulled out a collapsible probe. “Verde’s report said Bobby shot his killer at least once. That was a few hours ago.” She slid the probe under the tank top’s left strap and lifted. “Take a look, fellas — aside from the arrow, there’s no bullet holes in the chest. I don’t think this is the guy.”

Bryan stared at the body. He seemed so distant, even more so than normal. Whatever ordeal he was going through, it had gotten worse. “Maybe Bobby hit him somewhere else,” he said.

“Maybe,” Robin said. “I’ll be able to tell when I get him on the autopsy table.”

Bryan reached out and gently took the probe. He dragged the tip lightly across the arrow’s feathers. As soon as he did that, Robin saw what had caught his attention.

“Real feathers,” she said. “Aren’t they usually plastic?”

He nodded. “I think so.” He looked up at Pookie, who leaned over both of them. “Don’t most arrows have plastic feathers?”

Pookie made his pfft noise. “Why are you asking me? Do I look like a fletcher?”

Bryan’s eyes wrinkled in annoyance. “A what?”

“A fletcher,” Pookie said. “A dude that makes arrows for a living.”

Bryan shrugged. “Maybe all fletchers are pudgy Chinese dudes, for all I know.”

Pookie rubbed at the belly that stretched out his white button-down shirt. “Naw, there’s only so much of that sexy to go around. Bo-Bobbin, I’ll be shocked if this isn’t Bobby’s killer. What’s the status on the blood samples taken from Rex Deprovdechuk’s house?”

“Already running,” Robin said. “They came into the morgue with Bobby’s body. I also started running Rex’s sperm sample, so we’ll know if the blood is his.”

“It’s not,” Pookie said. He nodded toward the bearded corpse. “It will match this guy. And I bet it will also match the samples you took off of Oscar Woody.”

“You think this man killed Oscar?”

“Probably,” Pookie said. “He tried to kill Alex Panos, so odds are he whacked Oscar and Jay Parlar as well.”

It seemed obvious when Pookie laid it out. “I’ll start this guy’s tests right now with a machine we have in the van. You should have all three results in about an hour.”

Bryan nodded, then slid the probe up the feathers again.

Pookie took the probe and did the same thing, as if he just wanted to see for himself.

“Maybe this arrow is custom-built,” he said. “The way that guy shot, I’m guessing he doesn’t buy his archery supplies from a discount bin at Dick’s Sporting Goods. If we find out who made this, maybe we can find out who bought it. Robin, how soon can you get it out of his chest?”

She leaned in, turning her head this way and that to examine the wound. She lightly touched the notch just above the feathers, then gave it an experimental push. The shaft itself flexed a little, but the arrowhead didn’t move a bit.

“It’s in there good,” she said. “I’m going to need a bone saw to get it out.”

“Shit,” Bryan said. “How fast can you make that happen?”

First Zou had rushed things, then Verde, now Bryan and Pookie? It was their investigation, but it was her job to do things correctly, methodically.

“Guys, Sammy said there’s another body upstairs and a third on the roof. We have to get all three in the van and take them back, so I’m going to be here awhile.”

Pookie knelt. Now all three of them were low around the body, as if the corpse were a small campfire on a freezing night.

Pookie looked around quickly to make sure no one was near, then spoke quietly. “Robs, you’re in charge of the department, right?”

She nodded.

“We need help,” he said. “Can you get wife-beater here to the morgue right away, then have another ME come and handle the other bodies?”

“But keep it quiet,” Bryan said. “Don’t tell anyone you’re taking this guy back, just load him up and go. Can you do that for us?”

She looked at the two men. That kind of action wasn’t illegal per se, but it wasn’t protocol. If people started questioning her decisions, and those questions got back to the mayor’s office, it would damage her shot at permanently taking over Metz’s job. But at the same time, Pookie and Bryan had never asked her for anything like that before. They seemed desperate.

“That’s not how we do things,” she said. “I could make it happen, but before I go off the reservation, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“We can’t,” Bryan said. “Just do this for us. It’s important.”

It’s important, and so is your health, Bryan — so is your sanity .

“You guys want something from me, I want something from you. I need to know more.”

Bryan’s eyes hardened. “It’s best you don’t. Just trust me.”

She shook her head. “You guys are asking me to do something that could jeopardize my career. So cut the let’s protect the delicate flower bullshit. Convince me.”

Bryan stared at her, then looked over at Pookie. Pookie shrugged.

Bryan turned back to Robin, looked at her over the body on the ground between them. “We think Chief Zou and Rich Verde could be part of a cover-up,” he said. “She’s protecting someone involved with the murders of Oscar Woody, Jay Parlar and maybe even Bobby Pigeon. She could also be involved in a cover-up of those old Golden Gate Slasher murders.”

Bryan and Pookie both looked intense, focused — they weren’t kidding. But the chief of police? Covering up murders? “Why would Zou do something like that?”

“We don’t know,” Pookie said. “We only have theories, and don’t have time to go into them now. If Zou or Sean Robertson or Rich Verde shows up here, we’ll lose the chance to learn more before they shut us out. We need a good look at this arrow. Please, get this guy back to the morgue and start the autopsy immediately.”