KINCAID STARED AT THE WATER UNEASILY. IT WASN'T RAINING NOW, IT hadn't been for a little while, yet the water was roiling, slapping at the banks, and every once in a while a hunk of earth would slide down with a plop and disappear into the river. He was just outside the city, leaning against his car, parked at the side of the road. He ignored the passing motorists who would sometimes honk or yell something at him, something which sometimes sounded like Kooky. That was his new nickname ever since 1995. It didn't bother him except when he heard it inside the station. That was very rare, considering Bowen's presence; so far one officer had been fired following a prank he pulled, sending a bucket of red paint splashing to the floor when Kincaid stepped into his office. It was an incident that would have done Stephen King proud. Kincaid hadn't known any better and the paint had certainly looked like blood. That one had almost sent him back to the hospital. He could hear Bowen yelling through the windows of his office after he found out; everyone else in the station had been cringing and creeping around softly, silencing phones with a touch of the hand, shushing anybody who came in too loudly. Kincaid, when called in, had tried to dismiss it, but Bowen wouldn't listen and had sent the officer packing. The last Kincaid had heard he'd been looking for a post with the State police. He wished him luck.
Well, thinking about all this wasn't going to send the river down. He sighed inwardly and watched it a moment more, wondering if it really were rising that quickly or if it were just his imagination. It seemed he could actually see the level getting higher. He shook his head and pushed himself away from the car, crossing around in front to reach the driver's side.
In the morning DelBora went straight to the police station, assuming Chief Bowen would have her schedule ready; Kincaid must have given him her papers yesterday. She hadn't slept very well last night, her sleep being continually interrupted by dreams of dog carcasses left splayed on her lawn. At one point in her dream she'd gone out to investigate, only to find Lieutenant Kincaid already there, shining a flashlight on the carcasses. When she'd joined him she'd found it wasn't a flashlight at all, but a candle; and Kincaid was muttering something over the dogs' bodies, something which she couldn't remember when she woke up. Yet he saw her and looked up at her, and smiled, saying, "Smile, DelBora. Welcome to your new job."
She pushed that to the back of her mind as she entered the station, heading automatically for Bowen's office. She froze halfway there.
Bowen exited his office and came towards her, a detective trailing behind him. DelBora's eyes widened. She recognized the detective; she'd seen him at work at her own post, the County post, just the day she'd left. Yesterday. Yet here he was, smiling at her as Bowen introduced them.
"I'll assume you're Officer DelBora, am I right?"
"Y--yes, Chief."
"Well, this is Detective Kristeva. Both of you are new here. The detective tells me you've never met. Here you are. Seeing as both of you are going to be on the CRCU, some kind of introduction is in order."
"Nice to meet you, Officer," Kristeva said, amiably enough.
If DelBora hadn't been so shocked she would have been fuming. That smile was infuriating; he knew her, she was certain he did, yet here he was lying through his teeth. What on Earth was the sheriff up to to send him to lie to them?
But the sheriff's voice came in her head; it wasn't something he'd said to her directly, yet she could hear him, clear as if he were standing there beside her.
This isn't up to you to know about, Officer.
"You too, Detective," she just said.
"Good," Bowen said. "I'll have your tentative schedules by one. Till then you're both stuck here unless Kinnie gives you something to do. When I'm not around you take your orders from him, no matter how odd they might be. Clear?"
"Yes, Chief," Kristeva replied, still smiling at DelBora.
"Yes, Chief," DelBora replied.
"Good," the chief echoed himself. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go to the County post and get this straightened out. Kinnie should be back soon. Keep out of trouble." He turned to the door and brushed past them, promptly dismissing them.
The two stared after him as he left, a man in a UPS uniform darting in the closing door. Kristeva turned back to DelBora.
"You lied to him," she said, her voice soft, so no one else in the busy station could hear.
Kristeva shrugged. "It's not so much a lie. He doesn't need to know."
"He doesn't need to know? He's the chief here, Detective. I think he should know."
He shook his head. "I'm simply doing what the sheriff told me to do, DelBora, and I'm sure you're doing all you've been told to do, correct?"
DelBora stared at him. The sheriff had told her, in no uncertain terms, to spy on Kincaid. So what had he told Kristeva to do?
"Yes," she said. "So far."
"Good then. I do my job, and you do yours, and never the twain shall meet. Except as far as this Ritual Crimes Unit is concerned. I heard you had some papers you were supposed to read?"
She nodded.
"Mind if I see them when you get the chance?"
"Not at all."
"Good. Then we can both be up to date. And no one can accuse us of lagging behind." He ceased talking, noticing the UPS man going from cop to cop, questioning them. He held a package under his arm.
"Is there a Kincaid here? A Kincaid?" he kept parroting himself.
"You!" Kristeva called. The deliveryman looked up, turned, and came their way. DelBora glanced at the detective.
"You Kincaid?" the UPS man asked. He looked frazzled.
"No, I can sign it for him and leave it in his office. He's out now but he'll be back in soon. That's for him?"
The deliveryman didn't question it. He handed over the clipboard. "Right here," he said, sounding tired. And it was only ten a. m. DelBora watched as Kristeva signed the form and handed it back, receiving the package. "Thanks," the man said in a dull voice, turning and leaving.
"You're sure that was the right thing to do," DelBora murmured.
Kristeva held up the package and tapped it, putting his ear to the side. "Who knows. At least the Pony Express won't have to hole up here till Kinnie gets back. Does he leave his door locked?"
"I don't know."
Detective Kristeva turned away towards the lieutenant's office, trying the door. It opened and he went inside, emerging empty-handed. DelBora sighed. If this was the way things were done around here, she would have preferred staying at the County post where they went by the rulebook.
"Now, Officer," he said, smiling graciously. "About those papers."
"They're at my house. If you don't mind."
"Not at all. When are you free for lunch?"
She knew he was only being facetious. Still it disgusted her, and she snorted and turned away. Where the hell was Hawthorne?
She heard the door open and close. "Ah, Lieutenant," Detective Kristeva said, and she glanced up. "Good morning."
Lieutenant Kincaid barely looked at Kristeva as he went to his office. "And should I know you?" he said, opening his door.
"Yes, now. I'm going to be on your unit? Officer DelBora's been telling me about it."
DelBora glared at him, her mouth falling open. Was everything he said such a falsehood?
Kincaid looked at DelBora a moment, as if gauging the validity of Kristeva's words. DelBora hoped he could tell from the look on her face they were a total fabrication. Instead of saying anything he shrugged slightly and disappeared inside.
"Seems like a charming sort," Kristeva said, heading back for his new desk. Officer DelBora stayed where she was. Now she was almost certain she'd have preferred staying at the County post.
Kincaid stepped out of his office, holding the package. He shook it slightly and tapped the side as Kristeva had done. "Who left this here?"
"UPS," Kristeva said. "I signed it for you. Didn't know when you'd be back."
"Thank you." In a bland voice. He went back to the exit. "Where's Bowen?"
"He said he went to the County post to get my records straightened out."
Kincaid looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. DelBora didn't doubt it was. He pulled open the door and went out.
Immediately DelBora could feel her legs working again. She jogged to the door and outside to join him.
"Lieutenant?" she called as he headed for his car. He stopped, turning and setting the package on a nearby squad car.
"Yes?" It was barely a question.
"I finished reading those reports you gave me. You want me to hand them on to Detective Kristeva now?"
"Kristeva. Is that your new friend?"
"He's no friend of mine, Lieutenant."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "If he's so interested, I suppose. But just because you join the Minot Police doesn't mean you automatically have to sign up for the CRCU. I hope you know that, DelBora."
"Yes, Lieutenant. I really want to help out on this."
"And it looks like Kristeva does too. Good for him. I'm going to go down and talk with Bowen and the sheriff. They probably both have a lot to say about our new detective."
He didn't say as much, but she assumed he knew--somehow--they'd have a lot to say about her, too. He seemed to know that much. As he went for his car she noticed he'd left his package behind, and stepped forward.
"Hey, Lieutenant? You forgot your--"
Ka-BAMM!! DelBora managed to fling up her arms and drop to the ground the split second the package exploded, landing painfully on her elbows. Pieces of metal rained down all over her back, one slicing her face. A second later she was coughing, sitting up and waving a hand at the air, trying to clear away the smoke and dirt. She touched her cheek and felt the warmth. She brought her hand around in front of her face and stared at the blood trickling down her fingers, tracking a runnel through the dust.
Kincaid dropped down beside her, touching her shoulder. He looked into her face, tipping up her head to examine the cut.
"DelBora?" he asked; she was surprised to hear that his voice was shaking. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I--yeah, Lieutenant. Just a cut." She coughed again.
The door to the station was yanked open and several police poured out, Kristeva in the lead. They stopped on the front steps, gaping at the mess. Kristeva saw the two other cops first, DelBora sitting in the dust with blood trailing down her face, Kincaid kneeling beside her; the second thing he noticed was the squad car, a gaping hole blown in its hood, the windshield shattered, the metal of the roof twisted into crooked jags. He couldn't keep from staring.
"What the hell..." an officer behind him murmured.
"Call the County post," Kincaid said, getting up and helping DelBora to her feet. "Get Chief Bowen back here. Do you need to go to the hospital, Officer?"
"No, no thanks, Lieutenant. I'm okay."
All of the police standing on the stoop just continued staring at the wreckage. Kristeva finally forced himself to turn around, pushing through the crowd and back into the station. He stopped at his desk and picked up the phone, dialing the number he knew so well.
"And so why do you send me two?"
The police sheriff smiled at Chief Bowen, steepling his fingers. He'd hoped Bowen would just accept the officers and take it like it was; however, he should have expected some kind of confrontation. "I just assumed you could use the extra help, Chief."
Bowen snorted. "Help, hell. I know how you run things around here, Sheriff. And I know what you think of my station. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to infiltrate us."
The sheriff laughed. [Note--definitely out of character. As I said before Rhoades has virtually no sense of humor.] "Infiltrate. Sounds like something Kincaid would come up with."
Bowen bristled. "Now you don't--"
"It's nothing personal, Chief, believe me. I truly thought you could use a couple extras on your Ritual Crimes Unit."
"Yeah, just out of the kindness of your heart, right?"
"Of course."
Another snort. "I know perfectly well how you feel about 'ritual crimes.' You believe in that just as much as you believe in the boogeyman."
The sheriff shrugged. "Depends on your definition of the boogeyman."
Bowen stood up. The look he gave the police sheriff was not a pretty one, yet he managed to hold his temper. "I got a couple definitions I could use on you, you know; but out of the kindness of my heart I'll hold them back."
The sheriff's eyes darkened. "Out of the kindness of your heart you do that, Chief."
His phone rang. He picked it up. "Ward County Sheriff's Department," he said. Bowen turned and headed for the door. Just as he pushed it open the sheriff's voice came back to him.
"It's your friend and mine Detective Kristeva, Chief. Seems there's been some incident at your station."
Bowen turned back to face him, keeping his face set, yet feeling a creeping in his chest. "What kind of incident?" he said.
"Apparently someone truly doesn't like your lieutenant. And sent him a bomb in the mail."
Bowen's eyes widened. Before he could get any more details he turned and dashed from the office, the door slamming shut behind him. A moment or two later the sheriff could hear tires squealing, and he shook his head as he set the phone down.
Kincaid leaned against the edge of Bowen's desk, head down, arms crossed, as the chief paced back and forth. He'd already questioned the witnesses, such as they were; DelBora, who had finally allowed Kristeva to drive her to the hospital to get stitches; and Kristeva himself, who had signed for the package. Neither of them had anything useful to say. And as much as he wanted to believe they were hiding something he knew that they weren't. Even the sheriff wasn't that devious.
"That thing could have killed you," he muttered to his lieutenant, for about the fourth time.
"It wasn't a large explosion," Kincaid said.
Bowen snorted. "Yeah, well that hole in the car proves it was big enough. Thank God your mind wasn't on things today or you would have lost your head. Literally."
Kincaid glanced up at him but there was no joke in the statement. Bowen continued pacing.
"What about you?" he finally asked. Kincaid looked at him. Bowen stopped pacing and shrugged. "What d'you think? Any idea who could've sent it?"
Kincaid hitched a shoulder slightly. "You know I have enemies around here, Chief."
"Yeah, but I thought they were behind bars now, Kinnie."
*Not all of them, obviously, eh, Kinnie?* "It could have been just a prank."
The police chief shook his head adamantly. "Oh no, no, that wasn't a prank, Kinnie. Smearing dog guts on Falcon's place, that's a stretch after what happened, but maybe I'd accept that as a 'prank.' Sending a bomb in the mail? That's no 'prank.' We're talking Theodore Kaczynski here."
No reply. Bowen held up his hands. "Well, don't you have any ideas for me, Kinnie?"
"Do you want me to start listing names?"
"If you thought it could possibly help."
"It won't."
Bowen sighed. Did I like him better before, when he at least had the decency to be frightened by this? He shoved that out of his head. "Then what do you suggest?"
Kincaid pushed himself away from the desk. "If you wanted me to tell you everything that's truly on my mind," he said, "then I'd tell you we should call in help. I'd tell you yes, I think maybe it's starting up again. But then I'd also tell you it could be just me."
Bowen stared at him. "God, Kinnie. You really distrust yourself that much?"
A shrug. "If you had to live with me every day, I think you would, too."
The chief continued looking at him, then turned back to his desk and picked up the phone. "'Outside help,'" he echoed, glancing back at him. "Something tells me you've memorized the Michigan area codes?"
Kincaid smiled slightly. "Only the one I've ever needed to call."
The phone rang in the Michigan State Police post, District No. 7. A brief message was taken and an officer popped his head into the back room.
"Detective?" he inquired. The man busy looking at the newspaper glanced up. "There's a phone call asking for you. Long distance. North Dakota."
Detective Mulroy raised an eyebrow. He didn't know anybody in North Dakota. At least, he didn't think he did.
"So who is it?" he asked.
The officer disappeared, reappeared a moment later. "Minot Police? A Chief Bowen asking to talk to you."
Chief Bowen. Mulroy stood up, setting the paper aside. "Okay, I'll take it in here."
He picked up the wall phone and signalled the other officer when he could hang up. He heard the click and shut the door, saying, "Mulroy?"
"Hi, Detective, Chief Bowen. I hope you remember me." [Note--from The Scorpio Murders.]
"Yeah, hi! How's everything going over there?"
It had been about half a year since he'd last seen the Minot police chief, when he and Lieutenant Kincaid had visited from Minot, having been called in to help on a case Mulroy had been working on. The two respective cities, Minot and Cheboygan, Michigan, had their problems with Satanic cults; Cheboygan with one called Scorpio, Minot with one a friend of Mulroy's, Damien, had called "Four P." Mulroy didn't know anything about it.
"Well, I'd like to think things are going good, but my gut's telling me otherwise." Mulroy frowned; he'd gotten gut feelings before too. As a cop investigating ritual crimes he couldn't help but to get gut feelings.
"What is it, Bowen?"
"Has Damien ever filled you in on everything that happened over here last time we had a problem? Before we came to visit you?"
"A little bit. Not much. Dead animals or something? Death threats?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"You're getting that again? I thought you caught the guy doing it."
[Note--mild spoilers for Minot.] "We did. One of our own. He's doing three life terms right now." Mulroy could hear a sigh. "But we got this package earlier today, and apparently it was a bomb; it was addressed to Kincaid. Came through UPS."
"God, is he okay?" Mulroy asked, alarmed.
"Yeah, he's fine. He wasn't holding it when it blew. But someone's gonna have to dig in their pockets to buy us a new squad car. And one of our other officers was wounded. Like I said I've got a gut feeling about this, Mulroy. Kinnie does too. I don't think this was random or anything."
Well, a cult has to have more than just one member. "You think it's this Four--this Four-something? Four P?"
"Well, it's certainly not Four H [sic]." A chuckle on the other end. "They sit around and make crafts, not bombs. At least, they used to."
A pause. Mulroy wondered what he wanted. "You want me to call Damien for you? I have his number. I'm sure he'd want to help you out on this."
"Yeah, we could use Dami and his uncle. But could the station spare you? You don't have anything serious going on over there right now, do you?"
Mulroy smiled faintly. "Not really. Even if we did, you know we've got others that can work on it." His smile grew, but there was a dark tinge to it. "Now."
"Yeah, I know, but I also know I'd hate to lend one of my best detectives right when I need him most."
"You're overestimating me, Bowen."
"Not really, Mulroy. I'd really like you in on this. Are you game? Think the State'll spare you a little while?"
Mulroy was silent for a moment or two. Then, "I don't think they'd mind me taking a break for research, Chief. After all, I have to learn all I can, huh?"
He somehow knew Chief Bowen was grinning at that one. "Research," of course. "Yeah, things do work that way, Detective. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."
"Me too, Chief. Though I wish I could say the same for your nice little town."
Bowen laughed this time. "'Little'! You really do need to get over here and check it out. Just so you can get your facts straight. I'll be sure to have Kinnie show you all the amenities our 'little' town has to offer, Detective."
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