by Rachel V. Fewkes
The sickly sweet smell of carrion was the first thing Carri noticed when she followed her “Detective” into the foyer of a once lovely Georgian row house. Once you’ve smelled death, it latches on to your memory like an old college boyfriend who realized that no, he really couldn’t do better than you. She choked back on the bile rising in her throat. God. She hadn’t even seen the body yet. Whoever it was had to have been disposed of in a seriously vicious way at least a day or two ago. Maybe three.
Reaching into the pocket of her coat, damp with morning mist off the Thames, she retrieved her notebook. Dan—she rolled her eyes at the tall, dark, and mysterious man with the badge—needed her to take notes. Useher brain to solvehis assigned case. Again. This was going to be a very long day.
Carri rested on the doorframe, shoulder digging into the ornate architrave. Her eyes flitted across the room. From where she stood in the entryway, she had a decent view of the immaculate sitting room. The usual rushing about had commenced. Flashes here and there, photos of this and that. The glaring flashes glancing off the candelabras and chandelier filled the room. Paparazzi—front page news.
When the two of them . . . Well . . . When Carri had solved the missing persons case with that little blonde haired boy last month, she thought she would at least get some recognition. She’d even stowed her journal in the locker the chief had allowed her to have at the station—reserved for full members of the force—simply so Dan would have to turn to her for answers with the press. Once the cameras and reporters had arrived, there he was, smiling, her journal tucked triumphantly into his back pocket. He looked good on the front page then. She couldn’t help but think he looked good now, too. Bastard.
She surveyed the busy rowhouse. Whoever owned this gorgeous rowhouse clearly had a penchant for luxury and antiques. Between the clicks of cameras and murmurs of departmental grunts, the ever pressing tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick of the grandfather clock tapped on Carri’s skull like a leak in the ceiling that no one seemed to notice. Not that anyone ever noticed her, anyway. Just like no one noticed the drops of blood trailing down the clock face. Typical of Dan and his compatriots. She studied the spray pattern, noting her findings in her supple leather notebook. Carri did her best to ignore the deep green eyes staring back at her from the tainted clock. But, she couldn’t help but watch her blood-streaked twin huff a wayward strand of dirty blonde hair out of their face and slip the journal back into their pocket.
She could hear the detective’s voice, calm and confident, calling out orders here and there. The sound was pure, unadulterated, unearned arrogance.
“What do we have here, constable?” Dan demanded. The grubby little man in question shoved his way past, with no regard whatsoever to Carri, and presented himself.
“Olivia Alcott. Time of death unknown. Looks like she’s been stewin’ a few days though.” The constable was quick to respond.
Detective Daniels hummed, rubbing his chin, surveying the scene. From his posture, anyone else would assume he was cataloging the evidence into the fortress of a mind masked by dashing features. A sharp jaw, piercing eyes, and effortlessly-not-too-messy hair was the perfect facade. Carri, however, had been working with the man long enough to see that he was posing for photos and trying not to be sick. Just last month she’d had to hold a bucket for him to be sick into in an alley somewhere near South Kensington. To be fair, that man’s head had been at one end of the ancient cobblestones and his body was at the other. Ms. Alcott couldn’t have been that bad off though, could she?
The room was bloody, nearly every inch had a splotch or two. Many of the once valuable furnishings stained red. Looking at it made Carri’s heart tense. The sight was torture.
This whole bloody spring was everloving torture. One month. She just had to make it another month and then she could leave this stupid detective and this stupid department behind. She never wanted this internship anyway. Oh, but Carri, dear. Her mother’s voice chided her. You always wanted to join the force, and it wasn’t easy to get you here. You’ll finish it and you’ll like it. Maybe when she was in secondary school, being a detective seemed like the right career path. But if Dan was the finest the yard had to offer . . . London needed more help than a girl with a journal and a knack for observation.
The men continued exchanging notes about the scene. A broken lock here. Ms. Alcott’s phone, bagged and tagged as evidence, was left over there. With a glance, Carri quickly noted the messaging app the constable had open—proudly showing his find to his superior.
“The last text Miss Alcott sent was at . . . eight o’clock, Saturday.” Wrong details. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She silently urged Daniels to look harder, to see what she saw. Time of death is important but look, she wanted to say. The girl’s phone had two numbers with “<3” next to their names in the contacts. The shattered glass littering the designer area rug beneath the bookshelf was obviously from the empty, shattered frame sitting atop it—likely a prized photo of Alcott and her beloved.
“Sir,” she started. “You may have just found your suspects—”
“Very interesting, Constable. Keep up the good work.” The detective rambled on. Carri wasn’t quiet, but Dan’s statement was loud enough to drown her out. No one needed to hear the intern. Daniels clapped his constable on the back, sending him off to gather more evidence.
Turning to her, his brows knit with concern, he asked, “Say something, Carri?” She shook her head and gripped her pen tightly. It wouldn’t matter if he acknowledged her thoughts here. He wouldn’t acknowledge her thoughts here. Too many witnesses and she was just the intern. She ground her teeth. Despite the kindness he offered her in the moments they had alone, he would never acknowledge her as an equal. Yes, she was just an intern, but she thought that he had started to see her as more than that. The stolen glances, jokes, and smirks would have indicated such. Those moments had almost made this internship bearable.
The back of Dan’s head was looking more and more like an acceptable target for her pen when she heard it.
“What is that smell?”
“That’s got to be half of the MPS in there.”
“Ugh. She looks bloody tired.”
“I heard there’s a killer on the loose again.”
“Oh, do you think that handsome one’ll nab him?”
“Oh, you mean Daniels? I’m sure he will. He’s the best on the force, you know.”
“Did you see that he solved that case with the little boy? All by himself—the paper said.”
Biting her tongue so hard she tasted iron, Carri turned to face the foyer. The morning mist turning to steam around the gaggle of older, plump women that had gathered around to gossip, hoping for a glimpse of the handsome detective. Please.
Carri forced sunlight into her eyes and mustered every polite bone in her body. Bringing a bright timbre to her voice.
“Good Morning, Ladies.” She started, “Kindly piss off. The police have a real job to do. Now, don’t get too wrinkly on your way back to whatever hell hole you crawled out of. Bye, bye now.” She promptly shut the door on their delightfully gobsmacked faces. Returning to her post, she sighed. That would be the most fun she’d have all day.
Detective Daniels pretended not to hear the interaction. The praise from citizens no doubt further inflating his ego. His strides were long and confident as he prowled through the scene, a slight smirk tracing his features. Those dark hazel eyes narrowed, watching and waiting, ever the general surveying his killing field. An eyebrow cocked in question. His strong dagger jaw slicing the stagnant air. Within easy reach of his firearm, long and somehow elegant fingers gripped his hips.
“Windsor,” He barked. Carri once again pushed herself from her perch and padded towards her “headache of the year”—perhaps she’d make him a plaque.
“Tell me, what do you see here?” he asked gently.
Carri swallowed, and for the first time since arriving at the scene, looked at the very thing making her insides roil.
She used to be beautiful. Mousy brown hair that could easily be brushed behind an ear. Hollowed, sunken cheeks that, until a few days ago would have held a nice blush, her lips too—blue now. Exsanguination. That’s really what got to her. It looked vicious and intimate all at once. Bits and pieces of the girl’s organs lay scattered about. No wonder the smell shoving its way down Carri’s throat was so . . . pungent.
“Well,” Dan tried again, his gaze avoiding Alcott’s body on the whole now. “Come on, now. Give us your best shot.” He swallowed. Yep, She thought, he’s going to be sick.
Carri felt the whole squad looking at her. Their eyes were like bullets boring into her stomach. She looked back at each and every one of those men, directly in the eyes. Daniels was trying to remind her. He was the detective. He was teaching her, not the other way around. A grim smirk flashed across her features for an instant before Carri wiped any emotion from her face. If he wanted to unsettle her, she would give him unsettling.
“Spaghetti. I see spaghetti.” She stated. The velvety armchairs she’d taken note of were coated in a thin layer of blood. It sort of reminded her of her mother’s lasagna. In a macabre sort of way. That’s what it was: human marinara sauce.
Daniels scoffed, “Spaghetti? I get it, you’re just an intern but, this was somebody’s somebody once. You can’t just go around calling their intestines on the very nice carpet—”
“Spaghetti.” Carri leveled her stare at him, the corner of her lips tugging into a smirk. It was difficult given he had a good 50 centimeters on her. Oh, she was going to get him this time. “Smelly human spaghetti that met a very unfortunate end at the hands of someone that either had a deep connection to Ms. Alcott.”
“Oh?” The corner of his lips now stretched upwards and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Pray tell, what gives you that idea?” The smooth authoritative tone only increased Carri’s inclination to bury her pen somewhere deep within the man’s skull.
“Well, Detective Daniels,” she spat through gritted teeth, her breath catching. “If you were even half as observant as that badge at your hip suggests, you would have noticed half a dozen indicators of a premeditated homicide. Our victim wasn’t merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Your ears are turning red, Windsor.” He winked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Get her bagged up and sent to the morgue,” Dan ordered no one in particular. “We’ve seen enough.” Those long legs strolled to the front door. With a jerk of his chin, the junior officers began scurrying around once more. The general giving the order to finish marking evidence and snagging the last few photos. His charge had gotten what she’d needed to.
Reluctantly, she followed Dan through the ruined home onto the street beyond, struggling to keep pace with his longer strides. His footsteps were near silent on the now-dry concrete of the sidewalk. At least the “Dan Daniels Fan Club” had dispersed. The sounds of the bustling city filled the silence between them. Carri was sure she could feel Dan’s satisfaction. Her carefully manicured nails bit into her skin as she balled her hand into a fist.
She’d lost again. Carri knew it. The worn leather book was burning a hole in her pocket. If she handed it over, all the evidence he needed to solve the case would be in his hands. She’d practically told him Alcott’s boyfriend had done it and everything she’d written down would prove it. The picture taken of them as a reminder of what could have been. She was sure of it. It wasn’t all that difficult to put together. Just like the boy who drowned a few weeks ago, or the man who “hung himself” the month before. If people just paid a bit more attention. She thought. If you just weren’t a coward. Her mind retorted. Case after case solved by the great Dan Daniels. All of it, burning in her pocket.
Carri knew he needed air but she didn’t expect Dan to go so far. Amidst the awakening traffic he crossed Gresham Street, weaving through the pedestrians. Then, he turned onto Wood Street then Cheapside. Where are we going? She thought. To anyone else, the pace would have seemed calm and steady. Carri was struggling to keep up. Her breath was ragged knives in her chest.
When Dan finally slowed, he ducked into a small alley between two buildings near the Museum of London. Carri was losing her patience. The alley emerged into a small park nestled between an old church and some other brick buildings she didn’t recognize. She’d been through this part of town thousands of times before, yet she’d never been here. The tolling of St. Paul’s bells chimed in the not too far distance. Turning to her, Dan held out his hand expectantly.
Just as always, this man expected her to yield. A lowly intern following the commands of her senior officer. Time seemed to slow around her. No. The word like war drums in her head. No, no, no.
People tended to underestimate her. Maybe it’s because she’s short. Maybe because she’s a girl. Maybe it was this male domineering world. Before she even thought to move a muscle, Carri’s fist connected with Dan’s jaw.
“What the hell?” he shouted at her,
“What the hell?! You know ‘What the hell’.” Carri flexed her fingers. That felt good. Her knuckles hurt.
“No! I really don’t, damn it.” He straightened, pressing a hand to his jaw. “Now give me the notes. I thought we had an agreement. I show you the field, what it’s really like to see death and destruction on the streets. You share your insight with me.”
“I never wanted to be your intern.” She swung at him again, “and there was no bloody agreement.” This time, as she swung her fist at him, he ducked. She didn’t have surprise on her side and he was much, much more experienced than she was.
“Carri, come on. Quit it.” he chided. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. Please, just give me your journal and I’ll forget this ever happened. I won’t report the aggression to the chief.” His eyes pleaded with her as he gave her the softest smile. The beginnings of a bruise marring his plea. The look that had gotten her to yield the thousands of times she resisted. God, this idiotic, infuriatingly attractive man. He would never— Ugh.
That was the most arrogant thing she’d ever heard from him.
“Just because you’re my superior doesn’t mean you can just take advantage of me.” She was nearly shouting now. Turning her back to Dan, she clenched her fists. Carri kept her gaze securely fastened on the grass and cobblestone paths at her feet. “If I was a man, I’m sure you’d have more respect for me. So would everyone in the goddamn force.” Carri squeezed her eyes shut, keeping the betraying tears away.
“Carri, I . . .” His voice trailed off into stagnant silence. For once, the oh-so-great Dan Daniels had nothing to say.
“I have worked so hard. Every time I did something great, found the answer, I was in your shadow.” Her breath was ragged in her chest. Whether it was from the brisk walk, the morning air, or the ache in her heart, Carri didn’t know. “Did you ever once think? I’m not some girl fawning all over you. You can’t get everything you want with a few smiles.”
Dan was silent behind her. “I thought you were starting to see me.” The last few weeks had been an improvement on the months before. Instead of simply demanding to see her notes, he had watched her work. Carri had felt him watching her, noting what she deemed as important enough to make it into her notebook. She thought they might have been becoming friends. “I thought that I was more than a book to you.”
The click of his boots on the cobblestones met her ears and she inhaled sharply, bracing herself for whatever that bastard was going to try.
The grass in this area must have been freshly clipped this morning because its stench was shoving its way into her nostrils and . . .Grass. The anger that had steadily been boiling inside her halted. Not settling. Merely waiting. Someone had set a wooden spoon across the top of the pot. It was then she noted the quiet around her, only interrupted by the soft gurgling of a fountain in the center of a flower garden. So rare in the city, the quiet.
Wooden and iron benches lined the paths here and there. An awning with crisp and clean porcelain plaques on the wall beneath it. From where she stood, Carri couldn’t read them. She could tell they bore names and years, something else. A few had been there for ages, their weathered corners calling to her.
“You’re right.” Dan’s voice was suddenly soft. Carri’s eyes drifted from the history just out of view, back to the grass at her feet. “Okay? You’re right.” She turned to find Dan’s jaw set, not sharp. He swallowed. “I’ve. You . . . You’re . . .” His throat bobbed and he ran a slender hand through his blue black hair.
Carri narrowed her eyes. Every bone in her body was telling her that this was wrong. This wasn’t the flashy and arrogant detective she’d come to know these last few months.
“Spit it out,” she spat at the pavement. Dan might have been an idiot, but he was an eloquent one. She’d never seen him stumble over his words. Yes, she’d just punched the asshole—her knuckles still stung from the impact—but he wasn’t one to stumble.
“Carri, you’re right.”
“You’ve said that.”
“Look, I’m a poor detective. An even worse person.” Did he just admit a fault? He moved towards her, hand outstretched as if to touch her. “All the cases I have closed,” he shook his head. “Right place, right time. I’m just lucky. Until you came along. It was like God dropped you in my lap.” He paused, carefully choosing his words. “This was supposed to be a punishment, you know. I’m not the best of teachers.” There was a slight chuckle in his voice. Carri didn’t return the sentiment.
“You are a poor detective. An even worse teacher. I’m not giving you my journal. I might be your intern, but I’m not following orders. Not anymore.” She ground out the words.
She’d had enough. She squared her shoulders. It was about time she stood up to the bastard. Even though their relationship might have been moving in a positive direction, she couldn’t take the arrogant dismissal anymore. She turned to face him, pouring every ounce of confidence into her face that she could. Those hazel eyes bore into her. Carri had never seen his chest moving so rapidly. She could almost hear Dan’s heartbeat. He gestured to the park around them, this sanctuary.
“I wanted to show you this.” He said quietly. This place wasn’t just a quiet corner chosen to get what he needed then.” Dan nodded towards the plaques just far enough to be unreadable.
“Robert Wright. Police Constable of Croydon. Entered a burning house to save a woman knowing there was petroleum stored in the cellar. An explosion took place and he was killed. April 30th 1893.” He took a small step towards her and swallowed. “My mother brought me here for the first time when I turned 15. She’d heard of my aspirations to join the force, to be the greatest detective London has ever seen.” The ghost of a smile traced his features for an instant. A blink later it vanished.
“Officer Wright was a distant relative of my mother’s. Seeing him recognized for his bravery and sacrifice motivated me to get where I am.”
“Dan, what are you—” Carri started.
“There are 61 other plaques here. Ordinary people that gave their lives to save someone else. I thought I could do it on my own, be like them.”
She stared at the awning, at all those plaques she couldn’t read.
“What’s your point?” she asked, the words tumbling from her lips.
“I couldn’t do it on my own. Your notes, they. They were the answer. I finally could do something significant.” Dan’s voice was soft, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.
His eyes scanning her features for any sort of emotional response. He crossed the distance between them, and gently took her hand. As if her legs weren’t her own, she yielded a step. Then two as Dan pulled her to those plaques. She could read them now. Elizabeth Boxall, Aged 17 of Bethnal Green. Who died of injuries received in trying to save a child from a runaway horse. June 20, 1888.
“You used me.” Carri’s voice was hardly a whisper.
“At first, yes. You have to understand. It was my last option. The new intern, the smart one. You were my saving grace. You’re an ass,” he tried with a soft sense of humor. “The whole force can tell you hate being here.”
Carri scoffed, breaking his rhythm. He wasn’t wrong.
“Carri, you’re brilliant. You’re more than brilliant. You’re more than a notebook to me. I’m sorry I never told you as much, never showed you.”
“Sorry? Sorry isn’t enough.” She tore her hand from his grasp. “You aren’t the big hero you think you are. I quit.”
Any trace of laughter or hope guttered from Dan’s eyes.
“Carri, please. Please, listen to me.” Dan whined. Her name on his lips was what she imagined a bullet to the gut to feel. The trickling of the fountain roared in her ears.
“What,” she glanced sideways, her jaw set, at the shadow of a man reaching for her. “Exactly are you begging me for, Daniels?”
The silence was tangible. A violinist could have plucked the strung tension between them to play a symphony. Carri didn’t budge. She didn’t dare breathe. Every muscle in her body coiled. Carri expected him to try something desperate, to lunge for the journal in her coat pocket. She took a small step back. If he was being genuine, what did he have to gain for laying all this at her feet. He wouldn’t hurt her for the journal. Would he? She put a hand over her pocket. Carri couldn’t tell how much of what he was saying to her was for her or what he stood to gain if she handed him that journal.
“For how keen your observational skills are, you have no idea what to do with someone who isn’t dead in a foyer.” Dan stepped closer, a mere 10 centimeters from her
“What do you—” She couldn’t finish her sentence before soft and scratchy hands cupped her cheeks and in a flash, Dan’s lips were on hers. Soft and warm. There was such tenderness in his touch. He pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her heart thundered and the world stilled.
“You, Windsor. I don’t give a damn about your journal or how promising of a detective you are. I just want you.”
Every thought eddied from her head. Dan brushed his thumb across her cheek. Her stomach roiled.
“Let. Me. Go.” She ground out the words. It was her turn to swallow. His breath was warm and his eyes scanned hers. She’d never felt so small. A calloused hand drifted from her cheek, caressing her side.
“Dan, please. This is too much. Let me go.” She was struggling to breathe. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Respect wasn’t a blindside of affection.
“I’m sorry, Windsor.” For a moment he sounded genuinely remorseful.
“You should be.” She wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it was a good start. Dan’s grip tightened on her and something cold pressed into her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You should have just said yes.”
“Yes to what? To give you what you want? I have given and given. Sacrificed enough of myself to get you to listen to me. You should have said yes. Should have realized that you cared for me before your career hung in the balance. If it’s even true.” The silver that lined her eyes finally broke and salty tears left wet trails across her cheeks.
Hurt flashed across his eyes and he fiddled with something at his waist.
“I never lied to you, Windsor.” Dan sighed. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this. I’ll give you one more chance. Stay. Work with me. Let me prove to you how much you matter.” Tears streaked his own face now. Carri couldn’t breathe as realization dawned on her. His holster, that’s what he’d been doing. His 26 was in his shaky hand,
“Please,” he tried again. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Dan,” She could barely breathe as she begged. “You’re better than this.” It was too late to run now. She should have listened to the instincts coiling in her gut. Carri’s heartbeat echoed in her skull. She took a final breath and whispered, “I said no.” Hoping he’d come to his senses. He was impulsive, but this was extreme.
Thunder cracked through the cloudless sky and Carri’s world simply stopped.
Blood smells different when it’s fresh. Different when it’s yours. The iron leaves a tang in the air that you can taste. It’s not sweet. It’s salty and crisp. Your heart drops because the primal, protection driven part of your brain knows that cooling crimson is supposed to be inside of you. The scent of the flowers in the garden is drowned in copper. Droplets and mists of iron envelop your senses. This isn’t what death is supposed to smell like.
His hand still held her cheek, still so gentle. The chamber of Dan’s handgun had sparked as he pressed the trigger. His jaw had been set, his brows furrowed. Then his eyes widened, remorse instant in his gaze. She could see it in his caramel and emerald eyes, “This is my only option, isn’t it?” He had been lowering the weapon, changing his mind. An accident, it was an accident.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he muttered, panic embracing him. A world away Carri heard the soft clatter and scrape on the cobblestones amongst the ringing in her ears as he dropped the routine glock 26. Her legs gave way and the ground rose to meet her. She could see his lips moving but the ringing in her ears drowned out his words. The fall was softer than Carri had expected it to be. He must have lunged to catch her.
“Dan,” Her chest rattled as she coughed. Carri moved a hand to her side. “No.”
“Don’t move so much. You’ll make it worse.” He spoke softly and succinctly. The general had returned. He pulled the supple leather book from her pocket and tossed it aside.
“What the hell.” she murmured.
“Hush.”
A scream shattered her throat as Dan pressed something onto her stomach. Desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.
“Oh god. Carri, I—” His breathing was ragged as if it was his blood pouring out onto the stones, not hers. She couldn’t feel her legs. She knew the indicators well enough. The red iron pool around her was cooling too fast. The stupid bastard, She chuckled to herself. An ornate sitting room flashed across her mind. She and Alcott were one and the same: carrion.
Daniels grabbed her hands and shoved them into place where his had been. His brows knit hard. Fingers coated in crimson. He leaned closer to her, into intimate space. Carri couldn’t help but wince.
“Hold on. Please, please, just hold on. I’m sorry.” He repeated it over and over again like a prayer.
“Your ears are turning red, Daniels.” She whispered. He laughed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The silver that had been steadily lining his eyes trailed down a cheek. “See? That’s how you make a joke.”
“I’m going to get help. Listen to me. Hold pressure here.” He pressed on her hands and she let out a yelp but nodded. “I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry. I. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll never forgive you.” Carri spit blood onto the stones beside her. Dan’s features hardened as he stood.
“I know.” His brows knit and Dan smirked softly, trying to maintain a lighter tone. Engaging in levity to decrease stress levels, she thought. Was this his sick way of trying to redeem himself? She closed her eyes. His blood slickened hands left hers. Carri’s heart dropped. She wasn’t sure if that was from the lack of him or the sheer loss of blood. The cobblestone was cold beneath her. The fountain still gurgled. The sound eerily similar to the chest rattling coughs coursing through her. Carri wondered what poor Olivia Alcott felt like, dying alone. Maybe, she could ask her soon.
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