Chapter 6

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6. HEROES

“I already talked to the police.”

Eliza Hutchins’ short, stocky frame guarded the entry to her home. Evil had visited her home with the murder of her daughter, Gloria, and left her with a young grandson growing up without his mother. She stood between Desmond and a boy whose life would never be the same.

“I understand that, ma’am. I have some follow-up questions for your grandson.”

“He don’t want to talk.”

“There’s been another murder.”

“That don’t concern him.”

“Of course, Ms. Hutchins. I was hoping that if I talked to Isaiah, it might bring new light to these killings. If I could have a few minutes with him - ”

“Like I said, he don’t want to talk.” She started to shut the door.

“Isaiah doesn’t have to talk. I won’t ask any questions. I’ll do all the talking.”

Eliza took a deep breath. “When I found Isaiah on the morning that Gloria, you know….” Her voice choked up, and her eyes welled with tears. “He was sucking his thumb. He hasn’t done that since he was in diapers. He wakes up screaming every night.”

Desmond felt his chest cave in. “No child should see what Isaiah has seen,” he said softly.

Eliza looked him up and down. “All right, you can come in, but if you upset my grandson in any way -”

“As I said, I’ll do all the talking.”

Eliza’s home reminded Desmond of the apartment he had shared with Rhonda, meticulously clean and curated like a museum, a vibe that said, look but don’t touch. A carpeted stairwell led up to a dark second floor, and a hallway table held a small glass vase with reed diffusers, imbuing the air with apple and cinnamon spice. A floral carpet runner spanned the length of the hallway, which led into the kitchen. Framed photographs hung on the wall of parents, grandparents, a baby that must have been Isaiah, and a graduation photograph of Gloria, glowing and luminous with all the promise of a bright future ahead of her. Desmond nearly forgot that he had come to investigate a murder until he turned to his right and saw the boy. Isaiah sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. He was watching a Spiderman movie, and his eyes were fixed on the screen. He paid no attention to Eliza and Desmond when they entered the room. “Isaiah, we have a visitor. This is Detective Kasango.”

Desmond sat on the edge of the couch next to Isaiah. “Spiderman, huh? I haven’t seen these movies. I don’t have it in me to fly around skyscrapers the way Spiderman does. I’m afraid of heights. I’m more of a Batman guy myself. I love his gadgets and his ride?” Desmond whistled. “I could catch a lot of bad guys with a ride like that.” Desmond caught the faint curl of a smile on Isaiah’s lips, and he continued. “I understood Batman. He lost his parents at the same age I lost my mom.”

Across the room, Eliza sucked in a deep intake of breath.

“I lived with my mom and granddad growing up. They were immigrants from the Congo when my mom was a little girl. I never knew my dad. Mom and Granddad took turns working and watching me at home.”

One night, when he was eight years old, the sound of breaking glass woke Desmond up. At first, he thought it was Rémy. His grandfather worked nights cleaning an office building, and he didn’t get home until dawn. Desmond searched the living room, but it was empty. He heard another sound, like the slurping and sucking he made when eating a popsicle, licking the sweet syrupy juice as it ran down his palm and working that last chunk of ice from the wooden stick. The sound came from his mother’s bedroom at the end of the hall. He crept toward it, cautious and curious. His skin prickled, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He turned the knob and entered his mother’s bedroom. Desmond’s mother lay in a mess of blood and ground meat with two shadowy figures crouched on either side. The woman was petite with light brown skin, short curly hair, and big brown eyes. The man had almond-colored skin, a pencil-thin mustache, and light green eyes. They were as startled to see Desmond as he was to see them. He ran back to his room and hid in the closet. The next thing he remembered was his grandfather, shaking and weeping, scooping him up in his arms.

“My mom was killed the same way yours was.”

Isaiah looked at him with doe-like eyes.

“I became a cop to catch bad people. I want to catch the bad people who killed your mom, so they can never hurt anyone again.”

Isaiah was quiet and considered these words for a moment. “Bruce Wayne didn’t become a cop, however. He became a superhero.”

“True.”

“Did they find the people who killed your mom?”

The truth might break the boy, but Desmond couldn’t lie. “No.”

“So you’re not Batman. You’re Commissioner Gordon.” Isaiah turned back to his movie. “I need Batman.” He turned up the volume.

“That will be enough for today, Detective,” said Eliza Hutchins in a polite but firm tone. She walked him to the door and opened it. He paused. The image of two dark figures crouched over his mother’s body flashed in his mind. “Isaiah saw the killer, didn’t he?”

“As I said, Detective, we are finished for today. I have said everything there is to say. It’s like I told that other detective - ”

“Detective Jones?”

“No, the other one, an older white man.”

Desmond searched his memory. He and Tyler were the only ones working on the case. It could have been a uniformed officer or his Captain, but it didn’t make sense why either would have come out here. “Was this man in a uniform?”

“No, he had on a suit that was too tight. Real ugly brown, like something he found at the thrift store. Said his name was Elias or Elliot or something.”

“Did you get a badge number?”

“He said he was a private detective.”

Desmond started to leave, but he stopped. “When is the service?”

“Tomorrow, at 10 a.m. at the funeral home. Wake will be here at noon.”

“Would it be all right if I came and paid my respects? I won’t come as a detective, just as a family friend.” He thought the man in the ugly brown suit might be there.

“You are no friend, but you’re welcome to come. But if you upset my grandson or me in any way - ”

“I’m just paying my respects. You have my word.”

Mourners packed the house, which was heavy with a melancholy mood. Desmond squeezed through the crowd, eavesdropping on conversations. He sipped on coffee and nibbled on pound cake. People spoke in hushed tones about the murders around the city so as not to catch the attention of Eliza and Isaiah, who never left his grandmother’s side. Desmond was intrigued by the stories that abounded. The theory of whacked-out drug addicts had morphed into cannibalistic Satanists. Desmond walked a loop around the living room, dining room, and kitchen until his head rushed with caffeine and sugar. He saw nobody resembling a white man in an ugly brown suit that was too small for him. Desmond offered his condolences to Eliza and Isaiah. She scrutinized him as they shook hands, and he didn’t speak a word about the investigation. He was pulling on his trench coat and stepping out on the front porch when he saw the man.

The suit was ugly, all right as if the man might try to sell Desmond a set of encyclopedias. He had light blonde, short-cropped hair and a fair complexion, and he was broad in the shoulders. He nodded sympathetically as a young woman with rich brown skin, a black pantsuit, and an Afro hairstyle spoke to him with animated gestures. Eager to confront the man intruding on Desmond’s investigation, he marched up to them. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Detective Kasango with the Portland P.D.” Desmond held out his hand.

“I’m Ellis Ecklund, private detective from Wichita, Kansas.” Ellis stared at Desmond with bright blue eyes that regarded him with great interest. He had a slight underbite and a genial, gapped-toothed grin. The man in the ugly brown suit looked Desmond dead in the eye and gave him a bone-crushing handshake.

“You’re an awfully long way from home, Mr. Ecklund. What brings you out here?”

“These murders you’ve been having are an awful lot like a killing spree we experienced last year.”

“You think there might be a connection?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Ms. Aniyah told me some interesting things about her friend Gloria.”

“Gloria was like a sister to me,” Aniyah said. “Best friends since kindergarten. I’m Isaiah’s godmother. I want to find out who did this to her, but I’m not sure the police are as interested.”

“I assure you, miss, we are.”

Aniyah arched an eyebrow. “So, have you guys followed up on my tip?”

“Tip?”

“The hotel where Gloria worked?”

Desmond’s mind was blank.

She chuckled. “Should’ve known.”

“Ms. Aniyah was just telling me how she thinks the killer was someone from Doma,” Ellis said.

“Gloria worked an overnight shift there,” Desmond said.

“You remembered that, at least,” she said. Aniyah’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy from weeping. “I used to visit Gloria at work. I’m a student at Portland State. I work full-time during the day and take classes at night. When class let out, I stopped by to visit Gloria, bring her food or coffee. Doma used to be a quiet place where nothing much happened. I mean, there were always guests who needed towels or complained about the wifi. They might stumble into the lobby drunk, but they never caused any trouble. There was a bar and restaurant on the top floor. Some chichi place. Nothing shady ever happened there.”

“But that all changed,” Desmond said.

Aniyah nodded. “About three months ago.”

Seth, the hotel owner and manager, had a new investor. In a matter of weeks, the restaurant on the ninth floor was converted into a nightclub. Before, the hotel was a serene sanctuary where Gloria welcomed groggy guests checking in after a late flight. The renovations transformed Doma into a den of depravity where Gloria wrangled rowdy crowds of degenerates.

Seth fired the entire housekeeping staff and replaced them with new people. He hired night-time security guards, Marla and Bruno, who were no help and did nothing to tame the nocturnal guests. They weren’t the usual rent-a-cops with cheap uniforms. They were well-dressed, in black suits and ties. Marla was tall and lean with short jet-black hair and dark eyes. Her expression was set in a snarl. Bruno was far more menacing, with his thick chest, broad shoulders, and eyes as cold as a marble slab. Bruno monitored the elevator directly to the ninth floor and controlled which guests could gain access. Aniyah once witnessed a tweaker take a swing at him when Bruno denied him entry. Bruno blocked the punch, and when he twisted the guy’s arm, the bone made a sickening crack as the bone broke.

Seth slept in his office day and night, communicating with Gloria only through text. The night after Bruno broke the man’s arm, Gloria attempted to visit Seth in his office. She wanted to speak to him in person, so she took the service elevator to the ninth floor. She arrived at Seth’s office only to find Marla standing sentinel. Despite Gloria’s pleas to gain entry, Marla refused. Gloria argued with Marla further, and the security guard’s patience wore thin. It snapped when Gloria called her a “skinny white ho,” and before she knew it, Marla grabbed her by the neck and lifted her in the air. Marla’s eyes dilated, and over the din of the nightclub, she said, “You have no idea what this skinny white ho can do.” Marla squeezed the breath out of Gloria. Her vision dimmed, and through the strobe lights, Gloria swore she saw fangs. Gloria would have passed out had it not been for Seth. He emerged from his office, followed by a man with blonde hair and milky white skin. Gloria had only seen the investor a few times since his arrival, but she was certain it was him. She recognized the accent.

Gloria called Aniyah the following morning, hysterical. Aniyah begged her not to return to Doma, but Gloria said she had to give notice. Two days later, she was dead.

“It was them. I don’t know how, but I know it was them. Gloria was afraid for her life, and if you genuinely give a damn about her, Detective, you will look into it.

Desmond’s answer caught in his dry throat and came out scratchy. “I will. I promise.”

Aniyah got in her car and drove off. Ellis gazed up and down the street as if looking for someone who might be spying on them. “My belly’s growling something fierce. Care to join me for lunch?”

“Not after hearing that story.”

“You can’t hunt these monsters on an empty stomach, Detective. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Interesting choice of words. What makes you think there’s more than one?”

Ellis grinned. “How about we talk about that over a good meal?”

“I told you, I’m not - ”

“I’ve been dreaming about biscuits and gravy for days. Let’s get a move on. I’m about to perish.”

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