As rubbernecking was a way of life in the area, helping to create traffic calamities every time there was an incident, I accepted his comment at face value. Unless something in the case indicated the standard city car accidents were relevant, I’d eliminate them. I made a note on the whiteboard I hadn’t pursued rubbernecker incidents to remind myself of another angle to pursue if the cases went cold on me. “What happened next?”
“Someone ran a red light in Times Square and hit a bunch of pedestrians. I heard later their brake lines had been cut. One of my co-workers, Rachelle, was crossing the street to meet me for a show. She died a few hours later. I went to the hospital, but I didn’t get to see her, not while she was still alive. She died while they were operating on her.” Alec sighed. “I didn’t get a case number for that one. Too many witnesses, too little time, I guess.”
Times Square had been out of my league and on the wrong island before my transfer, but I could imagine the nightmare of trying to get statements from everyone who’d witnessed it. Some would have stayed, some would have tried to help the victims, and some would have bailed without a second look back, concerned more about their schedules than becoming involved with a police investigation. I gave credit where credit was due; most New Yorkers would check to make sure there were enough helpers on hand before bailing.
Alec gave me the date of the incident, which I recorded to look up later. “After that?”
“Someone with a grudge started shooting at drivers on Broadway during rush hour. There were several car accidents and quite a few deaths. I didn’t know anyone, but my car got totaled. I sprained my ankle.” Alec checked his phone, and he gave me the insurance information from the incident along with the date and time. “After that, something broke off a building not far from my work and flattened a car. I got hit with some rock debris from the accident. Not sure what the deal with that was, but since I got cut, I got a case number.”
With startling efficiency, Alec referenced his phone and continued going through the list of ways he’d witnessed people die.
One driver had managed to flip his car off a bridge during a crash. Another had been slammed into the median. One pedestrian, who’d decided to jog along with traffic on the George Washington, had gotten hit and tossed into the water. In what I could only think of as a freak accident, someone had gotten killed through being strangled by his jumper cables. Alec had no idea how somebody could get one part plugged in, get spun around, and have the other end wrap around his throat, but he’d fallen and gotten hanged as a result.
Alec had, upon coming across the scene, tried to rescue the man, but CPR couldn’t save a corpse.
That case had led to his first therapy session.
To my horror, his brush with the steamroller yesterday hadn’t been his first; a supposed mechanical malfunction in the braking system had resulted in someone being crushed against the side of a building. After the steamroller had punched through the wall, it had killed three more people inside.
A co-worker’s cousin had been one of the victims.
A freak crane accident dropping a slab of concrete had crushed someone near him, close enough he’d been covered with rock dust and blood.
The mental images from that incident would haunt me for a while.
While I’d been told he’d witnessed twenty killings, I uncovered that the number was well over fifty when he exposed the incidents he hadn’t gotten case numbers for. He took all the deaths seriously, recording everything he could about each event in case someone asked him what he’d witnessed. Not only had he recorded everything, he’d detailed the scenes, dutifully took pictures, and made comments about each one, who he’d known that was no longer around, and his relationship with the victims.
My heart hurt for him, and I asked for a copy of the file, which he sent to my email without question.
As it would take me several hours to work through it, I asked him to wait, visited the chiefs’ office, and requested he be put up in the same hotel with me just in case, mentioning he’d witnessed more murders than anticipated. Both sighed and promised it would be taken care of.
By the time I returned to my office, I dreaded the next few weeks of my life, which would be rather complicated.
Add in I’d been asked by an archangel to investigate the poor man, I worried about what the future would hold.
ChapterFive
My future held chaos,but not in the form of witnessed murders. Instead, I got a rain of frogs. The frogs, conjured by an idiot of a practitioner, would make the rest of my night interesting, as the incident took place in the hallway outside of my hotel room. An hour earlier, I had enjoyed the upgrade to a nice suite on the top floor so I could be next door to one Alec Mortan.
Now, I regretted everything, beginning with having told the Chiefs Quinn I’d be fine without constant monitoring and supervision. I also regretted having opted for late-evening room service.
Conjured frog slime did a great job of killing my appetite.
Alec regarded the frogs with a puzzled expression, nudging one of the amphibians with the toe of his shoe.
The frog attempted to bite him, but it failed to get a hold of him.
The practitioner, drugged or high as far as I could tell, sat in a sea of slime and giggled, his bloodshot eyes focusing on something new every other moment.
Great. Just what I needed: a drunk druggie hallucinating to go along with his conjuring act. Once I added in the swaying and some other symptoms, I suspected he taken a potent mix of narcotics, alcohol, and who-knew-what before playing with magic.
I inhaled, counted until ten, and exhaled. “Alec, if you don’t mind, please go into my room.”
Careful not to step on any of the hopping frogs, the man obeyed. “Any other time, I’d be flattered, Detective McMarin.” He sighed, nudging a frog out of the way before easing by me. “I’m sorry to have caused you all this trouble.”
Poor guy. “You’re no trouble,” I assured him. “I’d just rather be between you and that practitioner right now. He appears to be rather unstable.”
“Does it make me less of a man to admit I’d rather have you between me and him right now?”
