The officer reached for him again.
“The man I’m chasing, that’s his office —-” Louis said, pointing toward Pacific Imports as the uniform pulled at him. “And he had the kid with him.”
The officer gave Louis a jerk backward and Louis broke free again, planting himself in front of the detective.
“The kid is only eleven,” Louis said.
This time when the uniformed cop came back at him the detective held up a hand to hold him off.
“Wha t’s the name of the guy you’re chasing?” the detective asked.
“Outlaw. Austin Outlaw.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black male, six-foot, about one-seventy, dark skinned, wavy hair. Wears expensive clothes...Rolex.”
“Sounds like our victim.”
Jesus.
“Was there a kid upstairs?” Louis asked.
Someone came up behind them. “Tom, we probably got another body.”
Louis strained to hear what they were saying but they dropped their voices and turned away.
Louis looked up at the open door of Pacific Imports, his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe. The uniform had gone back to crowd control and Louis just stood there, his eyes locked on the office.
“Hey, P. I” the detective called from the bottom of the steps.
Louis hurried to him .
“You can identify the kid, right?”
Louis nodded.
“Come on then. Walk on the paper and don’t touch the walls.”
Louis followed him up the stairs. He could hear the dull slap of his shoes on the concrete steps, but everything else seemed muted. Everything was dark, cold, and close and for a moment he felt like he was blacking out. But he knew he wasn't. He had just turned it all off —- the fear, the dread and the images. Something had kicked back in, a coolness he had learned a long time ago.
He followed the two men into a reception area, down a hall, and to a small room -— more like a closet —- off the main office. Two men were standing over a carved wood chest that looked like a cheap import people put at the foot of their bed. It was no more than three feet long and two feet wide and sat about five inches off the ground on short wooden legs.
There was a small padlock on the front that one of the men was working on getting unlocked. Under the chest, dripping from the bottom, was a widening pool of blood.
The detective glanced at Louis. “You sure you want to see this?”
Louis nodded.
The lock gave way and the cop on his knees looked up at them. The detective with Louis reached down and opened the trunk.
Bloody w hite skin. Blond hair, matted with blood.
Jesus. Jesus.
It wasn’t Benjamin. It was a woman. A tiny woman, her body crammed inside the chest, her face, hair, arms covered in so much blood she looked as if she were floating in it.
Louis felt his chest shudder with a long breath and he stepped back.
“You know this woman?” someone asked.
“What?”
Louder. “Do you know this woman?”
“No, no.”
“All right, thanks. You can go.”
Louis drew his eyes off the woman and looked around the room. “Was there a kid? A small boy about eleven? Did anyone see a boy?”
The cops shook their heads.
“Go wait outside,” someone said.
Louis turned, trying to clear his head. Benjamin must have been here. He had to have been. But what the hell had happened?
“Take a hike, P.I. You’re done here,” the detective hollered .
Louis left, pausing in the outer office.
His eyes swept over the room. He had seen none of this on the way in. He’d been too focused on what they were going to find in the back, but now...
There were papers scattered everywhere and the desk chair was overturned on the floor. The headrest and surrounding carpet were stained black with blood. The beige file cabinets were streaked with bloody prints and spatter. Louis stared at the white wall over the desk. There was a long arc of blood, the tail splaying high on the wall.
He recognized the pattern. He had seen it once before. He knew Austin’s throat had been cut and the long red arc was spray from
“The man I’m chasing, that’s his office —-” Louis said, pointing toward Pacific Imports as the uniform pulled at him. “And he had the kid with him.”
The officer gave Louis a jerk backward and Louis broke free again, planting himself in front of the detective.
“The kid is only eleven,” Louis said.
This time when the uniformed cop came back at him the detective held up a hand to hold him off.
“Wha t’s the name of the guy you’re chasing?” the detective asked.
“Outlaw. Austin Outlaw.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black male, six-foot, about one-seventy, dark skinned, wavy hair. Wears expensive clothes...Rolex.”
“Sounds like our victim.”
Jesus.
“Was there a kid upstairs?” Louis asked.
Someone came up behind them. “Tom, we probably got another body.”
Louis strained to hear what they were saying but they dropped their voices and turned away.
Louis looked up at the open door of Pacific Imports, his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe. The uniform had gone back to crowd control and Louis just stood there, his eyes locked on the office.
“Hey, P. I” the detective called from the bottom of the steps.
Louis hurried to him .
“You can identify the kid, right?”
Louis nodded.
“Come on then. Walk on the paper and don’t touch the walls.”
Louis followed him up the stairs. He could hear the dull slap of his shoes on the concrete steps, but everything else seemed muted. Everything was dark, cold, and close and for a moment he felt like he was blacking out. But he knew he wasn't. He had just turned it all off —- the fear, the dread and the images. Something had kicked back in, a coolness he had learned a long time ago.
He followed the two men into a reception area, down a hall, and to a small room -— more like a closet —- off the main office. Two men were standing over a carved wood chest that looked like a cheap import people put at the foot of their bed. It was no more than three feet long and two feet wide and sat about five inches off the ground on short wooden legs.
There was a small padlock on the front that one of the men was working on getting unlocked. Under the chest, dripping from the bottom, was a widening pool of blood.
The detective glanced at Louis. “You sure you want to see this?”
Louis nodded.
The lock gave way and the cop on his knees looked up at them. The detective with Louis reached down and opened the trunk.
Bloody w hite skin. Blond hair, matted with blood.
Jesus. Jesus.
It wasn’t Benjamin. It was a woman. A tiny woman, her body crammed inside the chest, her face, hair, arms covered in so much blood she looked as if she were floating in it.
Louis felt his chest shudder with a long breath and he stepped back.
“You know this woman?” someone asked.
“What?”
Louder. “Do you know this woman?”
“No, no.”
“All right, thanks. You can go.”
Louis drew his eyes off the woman and looked around the room. “Was there a kid? A small boy about eleven? Did anyone see a boy?”
The cops shook their heads.
“Go wait outside,” someone said.
Louis turned, trying to clear his head. Benjamin must have been here. He had to have been. But what the hell had happened?
“Take a hike, P.I. You’re done here,” the detective hollered .
Louis left, pausing in the outer office.
His eyes swept over the room. He had seen none of this on the way in. He’d been too focused on what they were going to find in the back, but now...
There were papers scattered everywhere and the desk chair was overturned on the floor. The headrest and surrounding carpet were stained black with blood. The beige file cabinets were streaked with bloody prints and spatter. Louis stared at the white wall over the desk. There was a long arc of blood, the tail splaying high on the wall.
He recognized the pattern. He had seen it once before. He knew Austin’s throat had been cut and the long red arc was spray from
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