Page 31 of Viktor

“Do you have it now?”

“Yes. I’m in the process of evaluating it.” Waverly shook her head, losing her patience. “Look. Anyone can find me on social media. There are lots of sickos out there. What happened in Miami is no different than any other time. But I don’t have any idea why the shooter had a picture of me. Or how he got the picture. How would I possibly know that?”

“I’d like to see the painting if you don’t mind.” The detective slid the papers back into the sleeve.

“Of course.” Waverly reached for the elevator buttons. “My office is upstairs.”

“Detective. If you’d indulge me for a minute. Could you tell me if there was anything else unusual about the shooter?” Viktor asked, his voice smooth and direct.

Waverly’s eyes widened in astonishment as the detective smiled at him. What the hell?

“We’ve already established that he’s a white male in his twenties. No ID on him. He had several knives on his person as well as the assault weapon.”

“Any unusual marks? Tattoos? Scars?”

“He had a tattoo of a goat. Multiple scars on his body. Pock marks.”

“A goat? Like the white, fluffy kind?” Viktor inquired, his voice sickeningly sweet.

“No. More like the scary kind. It had long horns. Like some kind of a devil. It’s possible he was in a gang, but we haven’t completed our investigation yet.”

“Interesting.” Viktor turned to Waverly and raised an eyebrow. “Where was it on his body?”

The detective released an audible sigh and pursed her lips. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.” Viktor smiled at her.

“It was inside his cheek.”

Waverly scrunched her nose in disgust. “Oh my God. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s not the first unusual place a perp has decided to put ink. You have no idea.”

“Detective,” Viktor continued. “I have some friends, of the occult persuasion if you will, and they probably should know about this. PCAP. I’m sure you know about them. They handle unusual circumstances.”

“I don’t believe in that paranormal shit. Crimes are crimes,” she spat out.

The elevator opened and Waverly looked to the detective. “After you.”

As they stepped inside, Waverly heard an unfamiliar male voice call out to them.

“Excuse me, ma’am. We’ve got something down here we want you to look at.” A uniformed officer stood waiting.

“I’ll be up in ten minutes,” the detective said, her tone flat as she exited the elevator.

“We’ll be in my office. Take a right through the watercolors and then another right,” Waverly told her. “I’m at the end of the hallway. Big red doors.”

She turned to Viktor, her eyes locked on his, her body tense with anger, waiting until the doors fully closed to speak. “What the hell was that?”

“I was right,” he replied. “Those boots look amazing.”

“Viktor, tell me what is going on?” Waverly demanded.

“We’re going up to your office.” A loud ding sounded. “And we’re here. After you. Please.”

Waverly didn’t think twice as she strode out of the elevator and through the exhibit, the tapping of her heels echoing throughout the marble floored hallways. She didn’t look back, her rage teetering on an explosion.

“I want the truth, Viktor. No more bullshit. Do you hear me?” Waverly turned toward her office and set her face and fingers to the security scan. The door slid open, and she made a beeline for her desk. “Why does she think we left before the shooter shot me? Why does my boss think we left for that matter? I was shot. You know it and I know it.” His smartass smile only fueled her anger. “I want to know how I got to Miami. Like in the snap of the fingers.”