Danny watches Paul Ryan trace the air a fraction of an inch above the photograph of the latest vic and the compassion contained in that simple gesture makes him all screwed up with anger inside. Ryan’s too fucking soft for this game; Danny’s said that all along. Looking pointedly out through slatted blinds, he listens to Web drone on about dead girls. Always dead. More often than not girls. Why do they go to seedy pick up joints when all they’re gonna get is a fuck or a slit throat? Sometimes both.
You gotta say something, Danny.
Inner voices aren’t worth listening to.
Don’t tell that to Rebecca.
“Coffee,” he says, stumbling slightly as his chair scoots backwards more forcefully than he expected making this goddamn screeching noise. He shrugs an apology Mel’s way when he can feel the pain wafting off of her. She’s been this way since school when a vicious first grade teacher tortured the class with chalk.
This is getting way too comfortable. Soon they’ll know everything about each other.
Web glares at him and Danny looks meaningfully over at that greasy box of pastries on the table. “For the donuts,” he mutters and he’s already on his way out the door. A man can’t think without breakfast.
It’s deathly quiet in the outer office. So much so he can do more than his fair share of thinking. Leaning against the wall he stares at the tray. Coffee. Tea. Cream. Sugar. They know each other too well already. There’s nothing left to learn.
Almost nothing.
Leaving the drinks behind, he strides back into the conference room, “I was with her,” he says defiantly, shoving the pictures across the shiny wooden surface in Web’s direction. “Last night.”
~~****~~
The place is hot and dirty with ingrained smoke and sex. It’s nothing
special; just a backwater adult club where restrictions are few and far between.
Danny comes here to get away from the limits. There are too many of them in
his line of work. Here he can watch the drug taking and the porno and not give
a damn about who’s doing it. Here he can stop thinking for a while.
The girl is pretty. Half his age most likely but still legal. She’s strung out on atmosphere and booze and she curls in next to him slotting her arm around his waist.
They small talk for a while to get into the comfort zone.
“A marine?” she says her eyes glinting at his words.
“Ex-marine,” Danny replies with heavy emphasis on the ‘ex,’ staring as her fake leather skirt rides higher, showing off the tops of her stockings.
Three beers later Kayla’s straddling him, grinding her hot little pussy against his erection as he toys with her hair. It’s paler than Rebecca’s, he thinks, and the red streaks in it are more scarlet than Mel’s chestnut colour. Even when he’s off duty they won’t leave him alone.
The girl’s unwrapping him now, licking her lips like he’s a Christmas gift from under the tree. He throws his head back, breathing in some of that pot-heavy air, and grips the edge of the seat as she slides back along his knee bending double like a Kirby grip. It looks unnatural, like so many of the contorted corpses he’s seen over the years, but it doesn’t turn him off the way it should.
Kayla’s a waif-like little thing, slighter than Rebecca, but almost as dominant. Her tongue toys with him, making him gulp and sweat out tiny beads of moisture on his forehead. “You look like a marine,” she says in between licking up droplets of need from the tip of his cock, but Danny doesn’t want any more soldier talk and thrusts upward, straining to lose himself in the anonymity of that hot wet space.
His breath catches as she finally goes to work on him. It’s good, almost perfect, he thinks as she takes him in deep the way he craves. Danny reaches over to stroke the material of her skirt and it rucks up thick in his hand – plastic, fake, coarse the same as always. Yanking hard enough to uncover her butt, he tweaks at the white lace thong which glows supernaturally in the ultra violet; an arrow pointing out the way to the fun parts.
Danny’s whole body is shaking with the effort to control himself. He can tell they’re being watched and he’s excited enough by this knowledge to tug insistently at the elastic of her panties and slip his middle finger into her pussy. The rock music thumps out around him, a slow solid heartbeat buried in the scream of guitars. It makes his blood pound as he fucks her rhythmically with his hand. Her mouth is a black hole drawing him in until he’s imploding with an overload of sensation. Up, down, up, down, up, down, Danny’s panting in time with the blow, hardening from the pain as purple fingernails with tiny iridescent stars on them dig into his thighs.
For a minute he thinks she’s gonna ride him right there in front of everyone, but instead she giggles this hollow laugh and shimmies backward, pulling him to his feet and rubbing herself up against him like she’s in heat.
His cock urges him on, rigid and insistent, and he follows its orders as he’s led out through the back exit to a dark claustrophobic passageway between two brick walls. Doubt rears ugly in his mind and he readies himself for attack or demand for payment, but neither is forthcoming. Instead Kayla wraps her little fist around him and begins to pull him off hard with a fierce grip.
“Did you ever kill anyone?” she asks, looking up at him with glistering eyes.
Danny’s back is arching like a bow and he hears the words through a haze of dirty lust. Kill? He’s killed. And killed and killed and killed and then some.
“Yeah,” he growls, “part of the job.” He sees bodies dropping to the ground, a mist of red covering everything. Sees too much. Especially at night when he’s trying to sleep.
“Tell me.”
The girl spits in her palm and grips harder, twisting and sliding then rubbing a thumb over the wet tip of his cock until he’s shuddering. He can feel the silver of her rings digging into him and the scratch of a semi-precious stone sends him higher up that path toward orgasm.
“Have you killed people with weapons?” She hesitates. “Or with your bare hands?”
“Both,” mutters Danny, watching as she unzips her skirt and steps out of it then drags that outrageously tight little shirt up and over her head. He squeezes the base of his cock and enjoys the stripper act she’s putting on for him.
Naked except for high heels and underwear, the girl leans back against the wall, writhing slightly in anticipation. Her makeup is smudged and overdone and she looks like a whore in the unforgiving brightness from the overhead wall light, but Danny doesn’t care. This is what he comes here for -- sex with no strings.
“Come on then,” she murmurs, her voice slurred from the alcohol. “Come and do me, soldier boy.”
This time Danny doesn’t bother to correct her. He takes her hands and pushes her up against the brickwork, licking down the side of her neck then sucking hard at each small breast until she’s snarling like a caged wildcat.
Filled with this primal burn, he takes a condom from his wallet then grips the foil wrapper between his teeth as he unfastens his belt, pushing down his pants and shorts and wincing slightly when his cock gets caught up in the material. Ripping the wrapper open, he takes the rubber and slides it onto his swollen prick. Almost before he’s done the girl has her arms around his neck and she’s scaling his body, ready to take him inside her.
With one arm wrapped around her, he pulls the lace crotch of her panties to one side and thrusts in deep over and over and over like a pile driver, making her whine then cry out as she digs her claws into the skin of his neck and shoulders.
“That’s it, Danny, fuck me good, baby, fuck me hard. Fuck me like you want me to die.”
~~****~~
“Katie Matthews. Twenty three. Attended Layola Law School. Rented a room in student accommodation in Pico Union.”
Web is reading the details off Carter’s print out in that emotionless way of his, and it’s doing a great job of turning Danny into a scared little boy. Edging over to his chair, he slumps into it, trying hard to make everything about himself seem smaller.
“In what way were you with Katie last night, Danny?”
“Kayla not Katie,” he says glancing around the table at blank faces, not yet ready to answer the question with all of them examining him as if they’re behind one of those two way mirrors in the interrogation rooms. “She called herself Kayla,” he adds by way of explanation as he looks down at the death mask of the girl.
“To make herself more interesting.” Rebecca’s staring at the photographs, head cocked slightly to one side. Her detachment is a comfort to Danny.
“She felt invisible. She wanted to stand out, to be powerful. The stars on her fingernails were a symbol. The same as the tattoos,” she says in that ice cool whisper of hers.
Sometimes Danny dreams about being analysed by Rebecca, amongst other things. It looks as if he may well get a chance to turn dreams into reality. He distracts himself by thinking about the inked on symbols on Kayla’s pale skin. He remembers licking them. Biting them.
“Orion’s belt on one wrist,” continues Rebecca, “and a symbol of Osiris on the other. Not unusual. Ordinary as far as tattoos go.”
“In trying to stand out she made herself one of the crowd.” Web smiles appreciatively at his shining star then turns his attention back to Danny.
“In what way were you with her, Agent Love?” he repeats mechanically.
Those cold eyes make Danny shiver as if he’s underwater and swimming with the fishes. “I had sex with her,” he answers defiantly. It’s not as if it’s a crime; no one has ever asked him to sign a vow of celibacy since he joined the FBI.
“Where?”
Danny shuffles through the photographs on the table, hoping to see something different.
“Here,” he says eventually, looking at the graffiti font sign that reads BASEMENTALITY in electric blue letters. It’s half-hanging off the wall, to the right of the doorway where the vic was discovered at three a.m. -- just a couple of paces away from where Danny had fucked her--like he wanted her to die--four hours earlier.
“We need to examine the crime scene,” says Webster, picking up a photograph of Katie Matthews and attaching it to the board next to images of the other victims. “Rebecca, Danny, you’re with me. Mel, Paul, interview the employees and the manager of the club.”
Webster spits out the word ‘club’ as if it leaves a nasty taste in his mouth and Danny winces as he follows the procession of agents down to the parking garage.
It’s a first for him getting to sit up next to the boss. Normally he’s backseat or more often than not SWAT team mobile. Danny wishes it was just another ordinary day. He doesn’t like the way Web isn’t looking at him.
They head out in the direction of Danny’s apartment in the Valley. The club is in Reseda, not far away from where he lives, and that makes everything seem that much more sordid -- like he’s pissed in his own backyard. They pull in at the back of the sprawling one storey building and Danny is reluctant to get out of the car. Instead he stares at the blacked out windows and thinks of sex acts performed in a smoky haze. The gentle touch on his shoulder makes him jump out of his skin. Rebecca has opened the passenger door and is leaning in, looking at him curiously.
“I’m sorry,” she says in that stilted way of hers. “Web is asking for you.”
For over half his life Danny has risked his neck in the service of his country, but he’s never felt scared like this. The air is brackish and heavy as if there’s an electrical storm brewing. He thinks back to the morning news and tries to recall whether that bitch queen forecaster predicted thunder. The answer is no and Danny thinks it must be the taste of terror in his mouth rather than ozone. He follows Rebecca toward the narrow brick archway that leads to the passageway between the buildings.
Nerves about being jumped are still present and Danny checks that his gun is safe in its shoulder holster. He doesn’t remember picking it up before he went to work, but this morning was a whole lifetime away now. To think that only five hours ago his major worry was whether the boss would be able to read the twinges of hangover in his eyes.
“Where did you have sex with her, Danny?”
Danny’s startled. He’s never once imagined that he’d be forced to discuss this part of his life with Virgil Webster. He looks up and down the alleyway and points to a spot next to a trash can that’s overflowing with burger wrappers and beer bottles -- the place where he was last seen fucking a soon-to-be-dead girl.
“She brought me out here,” he says in a petulant way, as if he’s trying to explain to the teacher.
Rebecca emerges from the back exit of the club and the heavy door slams back with an echoing thud. She palms the brickwork and slinks past both men to the spot Danny has indicated. “She liked it outside because she could feel the stars. She was tempting fate, putting herself in danger. She craved it.”
“Show me,” says Web, encouraging Danny towards Rebecca with a nod his head. “Show me how it was.”
Danny slides a finger under his shirt collar, loosening it off. There’s less air than ever now.
Rebecca takes him by the hand as if she’s possessed and her skin is silk between his fingers. “The girl takes her clothes off,” she murmurs in that otherworld voice. “Needs to feel the energy.”
Danny nods, watching mesmerised as Rebecca mimics Kayla’s writhing, her suit jacket rubbing against the coarse bricks and making little snagging sounds as it catches on the rough edges. Stepping forward, he pins Rebecca against the wall, both of her tiny wrists fitting easily inside his palm.
“She wants to know what it would be like to die.” Rebecca’s voice has that dreamlike quality to it and Danny pulls back a little as the blood tingles inside him.
“She got what she wanted.” He chokes on that ill-chosen sentence, the feel of Rebecca’s body bringing back memories that had once been clouded over by alcohol.
“Did you kill her, Agent Love?”
Danny has been waiting for that question all day and yet Webster’s words still make vomit rise to his throat.
“No. No, I didn’t.”
He expects the questioning to continue along the same lines, but Web changes tack, examining them in their fake coitus as if they’re an exhibit. Danny’s fingers tighten around Rebecca’s thin wrists and she breathes out harshly as her hips jerk. It’s a minuscule movement, but Danny notices it and not because of his training.
“Did you use a condom?” asks Web.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How many times did you have intercourse with Katie Matthews, Danny?”
“Once.”
It’s a relief when Webster’s phone rings. Now at least Danny gets a moment’s respite to collect his thoughts. No way is he describing any more of his sexual proclivities to the boss.
~~****~~
The girl is wild. She comes almost as soon as Danny’s cock is inside her and he’s hard pushed not to lose it as she clenches around him in spasm. Thanking some or other god for the desensitising power of the condom, he begins to thrust, dipping his tongue into the hollow above her breast bone and feeling her pulse quicken against his lips. It doesn’t take long before she’s ready again and as soon as his hand slithers down to make contact with her swollen clit she cries out from the pleasure. Danny’s never felt as potent as this. He sucks at each breast, nipping with his teeth then soothing with his tongue, and she arches against him, throwing her head backwards. Jesus, he’s never going to be able to keep up the pace.
“Fuck me, Danny. Fuck me harder, you big bastard,” she growls and he does as requested, screwing her more and more forcefully until his body takes over and he shudders, burying his face against her soft skin as the ejaculate streams out of him in a series of nerve-jangling spurts.
The girl’s grunting now in harsh low breaths and Danny knows that she’s still not satisfied. Disentangling himself, he pushes her back against the wall then falls to his knees. He knots and discards the condom in the general direction of the trash then gets to work, licking roughly at her soaked pussy. Danny’s not fond of the taste of latex but he loves the feel of a woman bringing herself off into his mouth. She rides his face and he holds her in position with one hand pressed to her belly. With the other he slowly masturbates his cock back to life.
Finally she’s done and she collapses down, her back resting against
the wall. Danny watches her thighs tremble and is filled with a need to fuck
her again, but he’s all out of protection.
“Give me a show, soldier boy,” she says, leaning forward and licking
the swollen head of his cock.
He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to come again this soon, but, ignoring the pain from being knelt in the dirt for so long, he tries his best, stroking his cock, rubbing it against her lips, and watching appreciatively as it hardens up ready to bursting point.
“That’s so fucking good, Danny. You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking good.”
She’s clawing at him now, pushing him back and straddling his body, trying her hardest to climb on to his unsheathed cock. Danny’s fingers close around her throat in his panic to get her away from him and as he begins to tighten his grip she comes with a howl. To his shame she’s not the only one and he grips his cock and finishes off hard, his sperm dripping in thick rivulets off her stomach.
~~****~~
“There’s a problem,” says Webster, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “And the problem is that you’re lying, Agent Love.”
Danny blinks and tries to keep his cool. Losing it has got him into some serious trouble in the past. Webster casually steps to one side as if he’s blocking off an escape route and this action becomes the spark that’s dangerously close to igniting Danny’s tinderbox rage.
“I’m not lying,” he says, and the blood pounding in his ears makes his voice seem unnaturally loud. Did he just shout at Web?
“Was the sexual intercourse between you and Ms Matthews consensual?” asks his boss.
“Yes, it was. I already told you she was the one who brought me out here.”
“It looks consensual from the CCTV footage.”
Mel’s voice sounds no more strained than usual, however it still adds to Danny’s discomfort. He half-turns and sees Paul’s and Mel’s feet close to where Rebecca is standing, but he can’t bring himself to look at their faces. Not after what they must have seen.
“Are you certain of that?” Webster turns his attention to the two agents who have newly arrived at the scene.
“Yes, sir,” replies Ryan.
“I’m not lying,” repeats Danny. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to have lied about. Virgil Webster and his goddamned mind games.
“Tell me what happened. Take your time. Get it clear in your head.”
Webster’s voice has softened now into that of the caring boss man. Fuck! Danny can’t think straight.
“After we…”
“From the beginning, Danny. Tell me how you met her.”
Danny frowns and begins to recount the story of beer, kisses and blow-jobs that was only supposed to have been a means for him to vent. All he’d wanted was to be able to relax for one night.
“She liked me because I was big.” Danny can sense the way Mel is raising her eyebrows and grinning in Paul’s direction. “You know, built,” he clarifies making things worse by the second. There’s a snort of laughter from Paul and Danny glowers at his friends, feeling like himself for the first time today. “Locke was on the money. The girl had a fixation with death and killing. She had a thing about the military.”
“I’m amazed she had time to say so much,” says Mel with another wicked grin. Rebecca’s looking confused and, for some reason, Danny doesn’t want those earlier events explained to the younger agent, but even so the cold sweaty feeling eases a little. At least the others aren’t taking this seriously. Now it’s just a case of clearing himself so they can get on with finding the real unsub.
“Did she have a fetish about pain?” snaps Web, throwing Danny back out of his good mood.
“Not so much.” She liked it a little rough, but then so do a lot of people. Danny included. Rebecca included if her earlier response was anything to go by. Danny tries not to feel guilty over the few marks he may have left on the girl’s body.
“You had intercourse with her one time only?”
“Yes, sir.”
“With a condom?”
“Yes.” Still yes. Are they going around and around in circles or is Danny’s brain hitting meltdown?
“Does anal intercourse not count, Agent Love?”
Danny’s more than confused than ever. He doesn’t know the right answer. “Yes. But I didn’t-"
Web interrupts him, his face expressionless. “I asked for a verbal report from the pathologist as soon as he had completed his examination,” says Webster. “Katie Matthews’ body is covered in abrasions. Her neck shows obvious signs of contusion from attempted strangulation and there are bite marks on her breasts, wrists and abdomen.”
Danny’s about to interrupt, but a warning glance from Webster stifles any retort he had lined up.
The older man continues his cold-blooded description. “Both her vagina and her anus are severely lacerated and her neck has been broken. Time of death has been placed at between 1a.m. and 3a.m. this morning.”
The world stills and falls silent. Danny can’t hear the traffic from the nearby freeway. He can’t even hear his own breathing -- maybe he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“Now tell me what happened again,” says Webster. “Include everything.”
Danny switches off and describes the sex with Katie Matthews, imagining how Rebecca Locke would handle it. He steps away from his involvement and it becomes far easier that way.
“And afterwards?” asks Webster once Danny has finished laying himself open for the whole team to examine.
“She got dressed and we walked back into the club together.” Danny gulps with relief. This is his out. “I went home. She said she was staying.”
“How convenient,” says Webster in that shark voice that sends shivers racing through Danny’s body. “Can you corroborate this?” he asks, looking over at Mel and Paul. Danny can’t understand why there’s another of those agonising silences.
“No, sir,” says Paul.
Danny blinks and waits for further explanation. There’s the video evidence. There’s gotta be.
“There’s no relevant footage from the external CCTV cameras and the internal link shows no sign of Agent Love or Miss Matthews re-entering the club,” continues Paul, glancing at Danny in guilty fashion as if it’s his own fault.
“Well then, it’s been tampered with,” says Danny defiantly, trying to camouflage the creeping horror that’s rambling its way up his spine.
“A reasonable assumption, Agent Love,” says Web. “Now do you have any suggestions as to who may have doctored the equipment? Someone trained in military tactical intelligence maybe?”
Danny knows that Web is trying to goad him into some kind of admission. Not necessarily one of guilt, but some little thing that could prove to be of use. It’s the way the man works and Danny’s seen it dozens of times, but he’s never realised how frightening it feels to be on the receiving end.
“Just because I’ve dealt with electronic surveillance in the past doesn’t mean that I had anything to do with this,” says Danny, trying and failing not to sound defensive.
Webster gives him an appraising look. “Agent Love, I think it’s best you come with me. The rest of you go over the club and its employees with fine tooth combs again. Leave nothing to chance.”
For the first time today, Danny thinks that Webster may be on his side and it alleviates some of the terror. He follows his boss out of the oppressive brick alley, listening to the sound of rummaging and trying hard to forget that right now one of his friends is rooting around in the trash, looking for evidence of his indiscretion.
~~****~~
The last time Danny saw Kayla -- or as he has come to know her posthumously, Katie Matthews -- she was clinging onto his arm and kissing him goodbye in that grateful yet loveless way that’s reserved for parting one night stands. Now she’s lying on a stainless steel slab in the mortuary and she’s so very lifeless that Danny breaks up a little on the inside. Her tiny body has been ravaged in an inhuman way and the thought that the crime is being pinned onto him is making him want to be physically ill.
While Special Agent Webster is on the phone Danny stands over the naked corpse, studying the girl from her blonde hair down to her painted toe nails, his blue eyes fixed and unblinking as he tries to identify which marks were made by him. The slight bruising around the throat stains him with a measure of guilt.
“If you could provide samples for us to analyse, Agent Love,” intones the FBI pathologist.
It’s neither a question nor a statement, but still Danny finds himself ushered into a tiny closet like room where blood is drawn and swabs are taken. A privacy curtain is closed and then a medical assistant hands him a small container, leaving him in peace to jerk out his shame. ‘Is there no other way to do this,’ Danny wonders. An invasive method could be preferable, but then he thinks about anal probes and prostate stimulators and manages to force out a few unhappy spurts of semen into the receptacle.
Zipping up his suit pants, Danny fastens the lid on the small jar and then draws back the plasticized material, making sure that the metal rings clang noisily on the frame to indicate that he’s finished his assignment. Immediately the medic re-enters the room and Danny wonders if the insignificant little man has been watching on a monitor. The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He’s going through too much right now to worry about whether his masturbation techniques are under scrutiny as well.
Danny is then shown into an interview room and waits impatiently for the guillotine blade to fall, drinking coffee as he contemplates what’s left of his future. Finally the door opens and in walks Agent Melody Sim, his best friend, his confidante. She would be Webster’s obvious first choice to interview him. Christ! He can feel the waves of fear taking him over again.
“How are you doing, Danny?” Mel sits down opposite him leaning her elbows on the desk. The material in the sleeves of her suit jacket is thinning from where she does this too much. Danny’s been trained to notice all the little details so why in the hell can’t he sort his own mess out.
“Bad,” he says truthfully and when he sees her eyes soften he knows she’s still his friend.
“Tell me what happened last night,” she says, sipping at her coffee and nervously patting the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. She always does this when she’s interviewing. Everyone has their own individual habits and tics. Maybe Danny’s habit is to kill women and not remember.
He recounts the story of yesterday evening in detail, from leaving his apartment and having a conversation with his neighbour Suzy on the way out, to stopping to buy some gum from the store, to entering the club and talking to the barman and the manager.
“Were any of them strangers?” asks Mel. “New to talk to?”
Danny shakes his head. He’s been going to Basementality for a few years now and he knows most of the permanent staff pretty well.
“Only the guy at the mini mart,” he says. “And Kayla. I didn’t talk to many people yesterday.”
“I could see that,” says Mel, looking at him with that hint of amusement in her eyes.
This should reassure him but it doesn’t. Instead he thinks of the video footage that isn’t there and knows that he’s in the deepest shit unless he starts figuring things out quickly.
“I didn’t doctor the CCTV,” he insists. “When would I have had time?”
“There are at least three unaccounted for hours in between the time you were seen having sex with Katie on the cameras and the time her body was discovered,” says Mel lighting up a cigarette and tapping it repetitively on the rim of her empty Styrofoam cup.
“They’re not unaccounted for,” says Danny frowning. “I told you what happened. I fucked the girl and then I said goodbye to her in the club about midnight and then I went home. The cameras are lying. Someone else is covering their own tracks. We should be out there trying to catch the unsub before he does it again.”
“Did you talk to anyone on the way home?”
Christ, but these questions are getting annoying. “Damnit, Mel,” he shouts slamming his palms on the table. “My ass is on the line here. If I’d spoken to anyone do you not think I’d have told you? I was tired. I walked home. I went to bed.”
“Why didn’t you catch a cab?”
“Because I wanted to clear my head. I had to go to work in the morning and I’d had a little too much to drink. The exercise burns off the alcohol and it’s not as if it’s far.”
“Convenient,” she says sounding so much like Virgil Webster that his eyes narrow in annoyance.
Moments after that the phone rings and following a rigid yes/no conversation she gets to her feet with a sudden, “Excuse me,” and leaves the room. Danny knows she’s been called away because he’s losing his temper with her and he wonders what the new tactic will be. When the door opens he’s not surprised to see Rebecca Locke enter the room, bringing with her two fresh cups of coffee. Danny’s almost relieved; he’s learning to use Rebecca’s detachment as an aid to keep him calm.
“Hi, Danny,” she says without looking up at him. He takes the coffee and when his fingers connect with hers he shivers. She’s so like the victim downstairs-- the woman he fucked last night-- that he’s forced to re-evaluate his own intentions. He’d initially thought that Kayla had chosen him as her sexual partner for the night, but had it actually been him making the selection all along?
Danny thinks back, picturing himself back at the bar of the club, his eyes scanning greedily through the crowds of willing girls. Blinking, he remembers seeing Kayla there, arms above her head as she gives in to the music, swaying and writhing like she’s already fucking an invisible someone. He wills her to see him and she does.
“Kayla wanted you?” says Rebecca as if she’s reading Danny’s mind and he stares back at her in bewilderment. He’d been lost for a moment.
“We wanted each other,” he says, watching the blonde hairs on Rebecca’s forearms stand on end. “So we had each other. End of story.”
“There was no condom,” Rebecca says looking at her notes. “All the ones found at the scene have been tested and none of them contain your sperm.”
“Maybe she took it as a memento,” Danny says, regretting the sordid words as soon as they leave his mouth. The girl didn’t take anything. She never got the chance to leave the club. “Just because you didn’t find the condom I used doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”
Rebecca looks at him for the first time since she entered the interview room and her eyes are cool and uncluttered; there’s no extraneous concern for a friend to be found in them. “The scrapings under Miss Matthews’ fingernails contain your skin and blood.”
“Just because sex is hard and rough, doesn’t mean it’s non-consensual,” replies Danny, remembering how good it felt to pin the blonde FBI agent up against the wall and have her squirm helplessly at his touch. “I think you know that.”
Rebecca continues to look at him with this blank expression on her face. “Also the semen found in her vagina, her rectum and her abdomen are a perfect match with the sample you supplied,” she says.
And then Danny dies inside. It’s over. Somehow in twenty four hours his life has been destroyed and he has no idea how or why or who is doing it to him.
~~****~~
When Danny leaves the seclusion of the interview room, he keeps his head down low and follows Rebecca’s shoes as she leads the way into Web’s office. As soon as he hears soft footsteps and the slam of the door Danny regains some lost pride or balls or respect, maybe a combination of all three, and he looks up at his boss.
“Did you rape and murder Katie Matthews, Agent Love?” says Special Agent Webster, standing formally with his hands behind his back and staring Danny square in the eyes.
“No, sir,” says Danny, finding it increasingly hard to breathe.
“Have you any explanations for the mounting evidence against you?”
“No, sir,” replies Danny.
Webster sighs and then paces the room. Agent Sim has unearthed minor substantiation that you did leave the nightclub at the time you said you did. Raoul Perez remembers serving you at the convenience store and recalls you walking past as he was closing up just after midnight.”
Danny feels the air begin to seep back into his lungs.
“It’s sufficient enough to leave me with some room for manouever,” says Webster. “However, Agent Love, as of now you are suspended from serving the Federal Bureau of Intelligence until this case has been resolved. Please hand over your badge, your weapon and the keys to your vehicle.”
Danny’s hands are trembling as he places the items on the desk in front of him, fumbling to remove the ignition key of his pool car from the metal ring.
“You are requested to stay close to home at all times while the investigation is being carried out.”
Danny nods.
“And, Agent Love? Please remember that I am well within my rights to have you charged with the murder of Miss Matthews, so conduct yourself with appropriate discretion. Do not attempt to unearth any evidence of your own.”
“Yes, sir.” Danny has almost lost his tongue. He’s as nervous as a kid on the first day of school.
“But Danny, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep thinking this over.” Web rests his backside on the edge of his desk slumping his shoulders a little as his voice loses its formal tone. “We’re on your side.”
“Thank you, sir.” Danny isn’t even sure how to address Web any longer and he leaves the confines of the office as quickly as possible, scuttling over to his desk and staring at its contents in a trance. Should he be taking personal stuff home with him? Then he looks through the drawers and realises he doesn’t have any personal stuff here.
“I’ll drive you,” says Paul.
It’s unexpected but Danny welcomes the offer with gratitude.
“Thanks, buddy,” he says to the younger man with a forced grin.
Paul flashes him a smile in return. “Give me five to finish up here and then I’ll be ready to be your chauffeur.”
The friendliness knocks Danny sideways. He might have called him ‘buddy’ just then but he’s never really bonded with Ryan since they’ve worked together and that’s been a while now. Paul’s a soft-hearted family man who falls for every hopeless case going; he probably took in stray puppies when he was younger. Maybe that explains why he’s cosying up to Danny right now.
During the journey home, Danny is painfully quiet and it isn’t because he’s resentful of Paul for treating him like he’s a broken toy that needs fixing. It’s because he feels naked without his badge. His identity has gone. He stills wear his Marine ring because it validates him in some crazy way. Without the marines and the FBI there’ll be nothing left of him and it’s this that terrifies him more than the idea of prison. Maybe this is because he still has a childlike naivety that only guilty people go to prison. His innocence will ride in on a white charger and save him at the last minute.
“Do you have any idea who’s screwing with you?”
Danny takes a while to absorb this question and then he turns to look at Paul. “You’re sure I didn’t do it?”
Paul pats him on the shoulder and belly laughs. “Is that what’s making you wander around with a hangdog expression?” He shakes his head and grins “We all know you didn’t do it, Dan. Thing that’s worrying us is how to prove that you didn’t.”
Danny bites his lip and looks out of the car window, realising that maybe he has more than one friend after all. When they pull up outside his apartment block he’s struck dumb again and sits there looking at his knees.
“Want to eat pizza and watch sports for a while?” says Paul helpfully and Danny discovers that he does want to do this very much indeed. Anything would be preferable to staring at his fingernails and contemplating a very bleak future.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” he says and then remembers Paul’s wife. “As long as Karen won’t mind.” Danny’s unsure as to how long it takes people to get over the loss of a baby, but he’s convinced it isn’t something that can be forgotten easily.
“She’s seeing friends tonight,” says Paul and Danny wonders if that’s a euphemism for therapy. How fucked up is it that he never believes a word that comes out of people’s mouths? He’s been like it for at least half his life.
While Paul is on the phone to his wife, Danny orders pizza and then picks up the mess. There’s not much laying around even after a drinking session; he’s a neat and tidy kind of a guy. Throwing last night’s clothes into the laundry hamper, he gives the bathroom a quick clean, not that it needs it, and by the time Paul has finished his call, Danny is sitting on the couch with his feet up on the table which has two ice cold bottles of Coors on it.
“Karen okay?” asks Danny.
“Yeah.” Paul picks up the bottle and takes a long slug from it. “I was telling her about all the shit that’s been going down today.”
Danny switches on the TV.
“She sends her best.”
Danny nods and drinks, flicking through the channels robotically.
“We’ll get this mess sorted, Dan.”
Twitching nervously Danny stares intently at the basketball match. There’s no one playing he gives a shit about, but watching the game stops him from thinking about tiny blonde dead girls. Girls not girl.
“Mel and Rebecca are out interviewing people who were at the club last night.”
There’ve been others and Danny’s never connected the dots until now. Other small blonde girls raped and killed in the same area.
“Danny!”
Two unsolved murder cases in the last year in the Reseda district. V.C.U. tried to link them together but the modus operandi were slightly different and Virgil decided not to pursue it.
“Mork calling Danny Love!”
“D’you remember that case Web was thinking about picking up couple of months ago?” says Danny, frowning when Paul looks blankly at him. “Two murdered girls in their twenties. Both happened ‘round here.”
Paul takes a swig of his beer and leans back on the couch, throwing his feet up on the table in a mirror image of Danny.
“I remember it. Stacey Greenhill and Rachel something. You could be on to something here, Dan.” Paul already has his phone in his hand ready to dial.
Danny winces again at the shortened form of his name. It’s been a long time he was known as that. He places a hand across the fascia of Paul’s cell. “Maybe they’ll try to pin all three murders onto me,” he says with a look of despair.
“Still gotta call it in,” says Paul, pushing the big hand away from the buttons. “Web needs to know about this.”
Danny doesn’t want to hear even a one-sided version of that particular phone call, but luckily the buzzer heralds the arrival of the pizzas. He answers the door and pays up, tipping the kid well in case this turns out to be his last meal, then carries the hot boxes of food through to the kitchen. Fetching plates and fresh beers, he builds everything into a precarious mountain which he carefully takes through and places on the low table in front of the couch.
“Web thinks-"
“Pizza,” says Danny, thrusting an open box at Paul.
“This isn’t like you, man.” Paul shakes his head. “The Danny Love I know wouldn’t be trying to avoid everything. He’d be fighting.”
“How the fuck would you know?” Danny throws the pizza carton down on the table so hard that the bottles rattle. “Wait and see how you react under the same circumstances.”
Paul looks apologetic and lays a hand on Danny’s arm. “I’m sorry, buddy. We’ll forget it for now.” He picks up his beer and grabs a slice of pizza, managing to get the food to his plate without grease or cheese dripping on to his suit pants. There’s an art to pizza eating and Paul has it down.
True to his word there’s no more talk about ‘work.’ Instead they finish up the food and laugh at the game and all in all it’s enough to make Danny forget the bad things for a couple of companionable hours. When Paul leaves him with a goodbye hug--another first for them--Danny’s back to being alone and scared and he goes to bed hoping that sleep will offer him some much needed peace.
~~****~~
What’s he doing back here? Danny never wants to be here ever again.
He’s stripped naked and crouching like a wild man in the filthy alleyway between those buildings. Unable to stop himself he kneels over the blue-tinted girl then straddles her skinny body that blushes purple with the stains of tattoos, finger shaped bruising and post-mortem petechiae.
“Show me how it happened?” says Virgil Webster who’s circling them as if they’re his prey.
Danny’s cock obeys orders, filling and swelling to exaggerated proportions. He presents the tip to her bleeding vagina and rocks forward, his distended penis pushing its way inside her welcoming little body.
“Show me what happens next.”
Danny looks up, needing clarification, but by now Web is nothing more than a predatory blur. He grips the girl’s shoulder then presses the angle of his thumb and forefinger against her throat, feeling the tickle of a pulse as her soft skin trembles to his touch.
“Yes,” she hisses in a gentle wheeze of breath. “Do it, Danny. Do it. Make me forget.”
She squirms against him and Danny presses down hard with cock and splayed out hand, feeling the orgasm build and shiver through her. He looks at Webster for approval, but the man has disappeared from his view and he’s left alone with Agent Locke who shudders beneath him, tiny frame gasping for air as he throttles the life out of her.
“Rebecca,” he whimpers pulling his hand back from her neck like it’s on fire. Leaning over, he tries to force some oxygen back into her lungs with deep mouthfuls of his breath.
“Call me Becky,” she says arching upwards and taking his erection back inside her body.
~~****~~
TBC