LOST

Marie Alderman’s alarm clock started beeping at six a.m. just as it did the five previous mornings. She sleepily reached an arm out from under her blanket and hit the snooze button… just as she did the previous five mornings. She lay in dark silence for a few moments before her head came off the pillow, her eyes closed and mouth agape, as if someone had pulled her head up by her hair.

“Wait a second,” she said, sitting up and squinting. “Today’s Saturday, isn’t it?” she asked her cat, Napoleon, a Russian Blue, as he sauntered up to her from the foot of the bed. He settled on her lap and began to purr as Marie lay back down and stroked the soft fur behind his ears. And then, she remembered, “Oh, hell, Nappy—Faustini. I forgot about Faustini. Damn it.” The cat stopped purring and dug his claws into the blanket, bracing himself for a thrust off the bed. Her head fell back onto her pillow with a soft thud and the cat jumped off her lap. After she made no further attempt to move, he again relaxed beside her and resumed his purring. A few minutes later, the alarm clock went off a second time. Again, she reached her arm out, this time to turn it off, but she missed and caught the cord instead, pulling it off the night stand. It continued to beep from underneath her bed. Napoleon had seemed to teleport himself down the hallway and into the kitchen to avoid being throttled with a daredevil alarm clock.

“Damn it,” she said, muffled by the pillow her head was buried in.

Marie had been a detective for two years and on the force for eight. Being a female had nothing to do with her rapid ascent through the ranks. She was very good at her job. The streets of Charlotte were not a safe place for criminals to be as long as Detective Alderman was wearing a badge. She graduated magna cum-laude from Campbell University with a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and after joining the Charlotte Police Department, got a master’s degree in Criminology from Florida State University through their distance-learning program, again, magna cum-laude. She was one smart cop.

She stretched the sleep out of her arms and neck as she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. Napoleon slowly approached her as she opened the refrigerator and reached down for some orange-pineapple juice.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Nappy,” she said, patting his head as he nuzzled her leg. She opened the cabinet door, grabbed a glass, and filled it with the bright, yellow-orange liquid. As she picked up the glass to drink it, she picked up her cellphone with her other hand to check her messages. No messages, so, she put her phone and the empty glass on the counter and went back to her bedroom to get ready to take a shower.

A few minutes later, as she dried off after her shower, she heard a noise in the kitchen, like something hitting the door. Napoleon was lying on her bed, so she knew it wasn’t him. Quickly putting on a t-shirt, she grabbed her gun— a Smith and Wesson M&P 40 caliber pistol—from her bedside drawer as soon as she had an arm through the sleeve and aimed it at the doorway as she slowly made her way out into the hall. When she was sure it was clear, she moved down the hallway toward the living room. From the hall, she could see that the door was closed and there was no sign of anything abnormal. She quickly cleared the living room on the left and then around the corner to the right—the kitchen. She heard a buzzing coming from somewhere. Her feet tingled slightly. Something was vibrating on the floor. She looked around and there, in the kitchen, underneath the bottom ledge of the cabinet beside the sink, lay her cellphone.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she put her gun on the counter and picked up her phone. She had a text message. It must have vibrated itself off the counter, which would have made the noise she heard. The message was from Captain Sandberg, “NEED U HERE ASAP!”

“What the hell’s going on now?” she said, putting the phone back on the counter. Taking her gun with her, she ran back to the bedroom to get dressed. When she emerged again, wearing pleated black khakis, a dark-grey sweater and short, black, winter boots, she put her gun in her shoulder holster and then put her arms through the straps so that the gun sat just below her left armpit. She wore her badge on a bead chain around her neck and her dark, mahogany hair in a ponytail.

Her black leather jacket was hanging on the back of one of the stools at the breakfast counter. She put her phone in one pocket and her keys in the other, picked up her wallet off the end table beside the couch and headed for the door. As she unlocked the deadbolt, she felt her phone vibrate again within her pocket. When she pulled it out and looked at the screen, she saw that it was a call this time—her partner, Derek Robles.

“What’s up? Did you get the message, too? What?!” she asked, shocked. “How can he be dead? Did he kill himself? I’ll be right there.”

Marie walked into the Charlotte Police Department, unbuttoning her jacket as she made her way across the lobby to the Sergeant’s desk.

“Detective Alderman!” the desk sergeant said, happy to see her. “Sandberg got you here on a Saturday?”

“Hey, Drew. Someone sure did get me here on a Saturday. Didn’t they? How did that happen?” Drew chuckled as she continued, “You’re a Monday through Friday guy. What are you doing here today?”

“Getting some overtime. They offer it, I’m taking it. I got two kids who want iPods for Christmas. You know what I’m saying?”

“I hear ya. Where’s Robles?”

“Holding cells. Oh, that’s why you’re here on a Saturday. ”

Marie could almost see the light bulb above Drew’s head. She turned around, smiled and pushed open with her backside, the door that lead to the hallway that would take her to the east wing, where the holding cells were.

Marie could see Detective Robles’s black, bald head among the handful of officers and investigators as she approached Faustini’s cell. Her partner was wearing black pants, a white shirt with a black tie and a black jacket with CPD on the back. He could hear her coming. He handed her one of the coffees he was holding.

“I knew you wouldn’t give yourself time for coffee, so I made you some.” He took a drink from his cup as he looked down at her feet and without taking the cup from his lips said, “Nice boots.”

“Shut up. I have shoes I can change into at my desk. Can we go in there or what?” she said anxiously, nodding toward the cell door.

“In a minute. Just let Crime Scene take their little pictures and then we can go in and take a look. “Hey… you know how you wanted a shot at homicide?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, this is it,” Robles said enthusiastically. “Homicide is letting us assist since this was our guy anyway.”

“Really? That was sweet of them.”

“Hey!” a gruff, male voice said from somewhere within the crowd of POLICE jackets. Someone muscled his way through. It was Detective Valentine. “I heard that. Homicide is not sweet.”

“Are you sure?” Marie asked dryly. “Because with a name like Valentine, it sure sounds sweet to me.” Everyone within earshot couldn’t help but laugh but got a quick reprimand from Valentine, “Get back to work.” He turned back to Marie and Robles, “So, you think you guys can help us out on this? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we could be of some benefit.”

“Great,” Valentine replied. “I think Crime Scene is done with their photo shoot if you want to get in there real quick and then I’ll let you know what the game plan is.” Valentine turned around and spoke up, “Alright, ladies. Not all of you are working this case. I know you have other important things to work on, so let’s go do them.”

The crowd dissipated and let Marie and Robles through to the cell where Faustini’s body was left as it was found. Marie entered the room first, putting on a pair of purple exam gloves, with Robles just a few feet behind her.

“I’m going to see if I can find Captain Sandberg,” Valentine said from the doorway. “Call me if you need me.”

“Will do,” Robles said without turning around. As soon as Marie knew he was far enough away, she said, “Just because he passes the Lieutenant’s Exam, he thinks he’s the head of the division? What the hell is that?”

“Some people just have trouble controlling their egos,” Robles said as he looked around the cell for any clues. “I don’t pay him any attention. I’m just glad I have no interest in Homicide.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She grabbed a pen flashlight from her pocket and examined the wounds on Faustini’s neck. “These look like claw marks.”

“Like from an animal?” Robles said as he came over to examine them himself.

“Yeah. Can we move this guy at all?” Marie asked. “Would we get in trouble for that?”

“No. We can move him,” Robles replied. “They’re just waiting for the medical examiner to come and take him for the autopsy. Anything we find we’ll just have to report to… Valentine, I guess.”

“I just want to roll him on his side so we can see if there’s anything underneath him.”

Marie placed one hand on Faustini’s shoulder and supported his head with the other. Robles put one hand on his midsection and the other on the lower part of his hip. They pulled up at the same time, both looking under the body. “There is something,” Marie noted.

“Are you psychic?” her partner quipped.

“It was just a hunch. You got him?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Stuck to the bottom of the arm closest to the wall was a single black feather. With the hand that was on his shoulder, she reached under, picked it off and held it up to the light. “Okay. Let him down easy. Give me a baggy.” She kept support underneath his head as Robles eased him back down on the bed. He took off his exam gloves, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a clear plastic bag. He opened it up and held it out for Marie to place the feather in. Marie and Robles looked at each other with furrowed brows, as if they’d just discovered a mysterious ancient code.

“Take it to the lab,” Marie said, standing up. “I want species, habitat, migrating patterns and mating habits.” Her speech steadily grew quicker and more authoritative. “I want to know if it’s possible to own one and, if so, where I can buy one. I want to be an expert on this fricking bird. It might be the biggest lead we’ve got.”

“I’m on it,” Robles replied.

Police Chief Barnett was a tall, stoic man, red hair peppered with gray. A dignified leader in law enforcement for a sprawling metropolis. He stood in the lobby of the police headquarters, in front of the media, with their outstretched hands, microphones and tape recorders, and no idea of the strange news they were about to receive. Marie Alderman was standing off to the side, with Robles and Valentine.

“At approximately three a.m. this morning, a suspect being held in a holding cell in the Charlotte Police Department was killed. Suicide has been ruled out. At this point in time, we do not know who did it. The suspect, Michael Faustini, was being held for an attempted murder that occurred yesterday afternoon. We believe that he was not alone in yesterday’s incident and once we find out who he was working with, that person will be the leading suspect in this morning’s murder. There is no evidence of forced entry. All officers are being questioned. If anyone has any information on this case, they are urged to contact the police immediately. Okay, questions…”

“Does the victim of the attempted murder have an alibi?”

“Yes, he does. He’s still unconscious. In fact, his room will now be guarded around the clock.”

“Police chief, what about the two people who came to his aid?”

“One of them was at the hospital all night. She will be questioned as well.”

“And the other one?”

“We’re still looking for him.”

“Is he a suspect?”

“No more quest—”

“Just one more, Chief. How was he killed?”

“We believe it was by strangulation, though, we won’t have the full Medical Examiner’s report until tomorrow. That’s all I’m going to say. We need to get back to work on this.” The media continued to try to ask questions but he held up his hand as he backed away from the crowd, emphasizing the fact that he was done talking.

Marie’s eyes remained ice cold as her mind went a thousand miles a minute. She leaned over to Robles, “I’m going to go to the hospital and talk to the parents, just to rule them out and then to the theater to see his friend. See if he knows anything. If Kasey has any enemies… that sort of thing. Where are you going to be?”

“After the lab, I’m going to talk to some of the store owners in the area of the crime scene. Maybe they’ve seen this guy.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to walk away. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything. And call me with the lab results on that feather.”

“Hey,” Robles said as she quickly stopped and turned around to look at him. “You want to grab lunch later and then we’ll go over to Kasey’s apartment and see if we can find anything there?”

She nodded her head and clomped out the lobby doors.

“She never did change out of her boots,” Robles said under his breath, chuckling.

“Hey, Derek. It’s me,” Marie said in to her cellphone as she sat in her car at a restaurant parking lot. “Parents were at the hospital all night. Neither of them left until after Faustini was already dead. No, I didn’t get anything from Stew’s friend at the theater. You? Nothing? What the hell? A crime committed by the Invisible Man? Great. What about the feather? Raven? That’s weird. Do we even have ravens here? You’re sure it’s not a crow feather? Okay, okay. It’s got to be some type of calling card or something. All right. I’m sitting at Applebee’s. Where are you?”

Zachary slammed open the door of his abandoned warehouse hideout carrying three bags full of supplies. He looked over to Mr. Trent sitting at the table and clenched his jaw as his henchman remained seated, playing solitaire.

“Would you be so kind as to go out to the van and get the large and rather heavy box out of the back and bring it in? It’s time we got down to business. And before you ask, no, I don’t have the dagger. My only comfort is that whoever has it has no knowledge of its power.”

“You killed Scott. Didn’t you?” Mr. Trent asked.

“What makes you say that?” Zachary replied, the corner of his mouth curled into a snide grin.

“I saw it on the news. They said it wasn’t a suicide.”

“So?”

“Whatever. He was dead weight anyway, if you ask me.” Mr. Trent got up and went outside. “What’s in the box, boss?”

“If you were to go out to the van instead of choosing to remain here and ask me questions, it would quickly become inherently obvious.”

Trent went out and brought the box in, the DELL logo printed on its’ side.

“It’s a computer. You could’ve just said, ‘It’s a computer.’” remarked Mr. Trent.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun as ridiculing your stupidity and laziness. As you can see, I’m not in the best of moods, but if we can get to task, perhaps that will change, if only slightly.”

“What would that task be, boss?” Trent asked, and after receiving an extremely ill look from Zachary, answered himself, “Hook up the computer, if I had to guess.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Trent. I am all out of cookies.”

“What’s the computer for?”

“One thing at a time, Mr. Trent. Any more than that and smoke will be billowing out your ears. It’s stuffy enough in here, as it is.”

“Did the police pick up your dagger?” asked Mr. Trent.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there to witness.” Zachary replied.

“What’s the big deal if the police grabbed it, anyway? It’s just a knife. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just a knife. Don’t worry about it? You don’t have an inkling of an idea about what you’re speaking of. This dagger was imbued with the power to kill a god as if he were a mortal man. It is more than a thousand years old. One of a kind. It was made by a keris-smith on the island of Java for the emperor of China. It was more of an ornamental sword at the time because the emperor wanted it to be long enough to have thirteen luks or bends making the blade serpentine. The smith broke the mold. Don’t worry about it?”

“Sorry, Boss. I didn’t know it was that important.”

“If it wasn’t, I would be in a better mood.”

“So, if it was made like a sword, why is it a dagger now?”

“The emperor used it as a scepter and it was passed down through generations of emperors. Möngke Khan received it and, in his rule, he thought no one could ever surpass his greatness. He ordered that upon his death, the kris be broken. And it was. It remained in his house for a few years after his death but it was eventually stolen, sold, stolen again, lost, so forth and so forth.”

“How did you get it?” asked Mr. Trent.

“An alchemist named Paracelsus received it as payment for his work. The person he received it from did not know of its origin but Paracelsus did and he made it his mission, even though he couldn’t restore the six missing luks, to make it an indestructible weapon—a symbol of power and a token of his legacy. When he asked for my help, he had no idea that I desired it for my legacy as well.”

“So, how are you going to get it back?”

“I’m not quite sure yet. Now that we’ve had our history lesson for today, can we put this bloody computer together, already?”