Claim the Night

Surely her uneasiness had nothing to do with that haunting when she was a child, no matter how it felt. How could it? It had been so long ago.

No, of course that had nothing to do with it. She was just feeling uneasy because it had been so long since she’d felt such a powerful attraction. She didn’t want that now, didn’t have time for it.

All in all, though, it had been one heck of a night. And at last her eyes fluttered closed.

The Medical Examiner, Steve Crepo, sent Terri home a little early when he heard the reason for her obvious fatigue. Her usual shift ran from ten to eight four days a week, with a brief lunch break. “You should have just called in and explained,” he told her.

“I’m the newbie. Besides, honestly, I didn’t want to spend all day thinking about last night.”

He nodded understandingly over his half-rimmed eyeglasses. A little plump and balding, he had a kindly face which belied the strict way he ran the M.E.’s office. He did have the somewhat disconcerting habit of treating the cadavers as if they might still be alive, and referring to them by name rather than number. It was almost as if he saw himself running a surgical suite rather than a morgue.

In one way Terri liked that about him. In another she found it discomfiting, because his idiosyncrasy had already begun to chip away that carefully trained distance she had been taught to place between herself and the dead. She found herself on guard, for fear she might lose objectivity.

Although there were inevitably cases where objectivity went out the window, terrible cases, mostly those involving small children. Then anger and horror often overrode all self-protective mechanisms.

“I understand,” he told her now. “But remember, if you’re overtired, you can make mistakes. We can’t have that.”

“No, sir.”

He smiled. “So go home and rest up. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

She showered and changed back into street clothes before leaving, washing the smell of death out of her very pores. That odor clung and sometimes she wasn’t sure that even three shampooings got it all out of her hair.

Outside the sun hadn’t quite yet set, and that for some reason made her think of Jude Messenger. A man confined to the hours of darkness, who had nevertheless managed to cobble together a useful life, and even, apparently, some very loyal friends, to judge by Chloe.

Remembering Chloe’s promise to accompany her to look at mug shots, and feeling an oddly strong compulsion to follow through even though she was exhausted, she got off the bus near Jude’s office and rang the bell.

Chloe’s voice greeted her. “Messenger Investigations.”

“Hi, Chloe, it’s Terri Black.”

“Hey, Terri. Come on in.”

She walked down the now-familiar dark hallway as Chloe opened the door and leaned out.

“How are you doing?” Chloe asked.

“I’m tired but fine. I guess we should go to the precinct and look at mug shots, but I can barely see straight.”

Chloe laughed, inviting her in, then closing the door behind them. “I slept most of the day,” she volunteered. “Jude’s not going with us. Says he’ll get to it later. Did you want to see him, too?”

Terri hesitated. “I guess. I never really thanked him.”

“He’s not real big on the gratitude thing. Sort of like the Lone Ranger, you know? ‘Who was that masked man?’”

Terri laughed. “You make him sound like a superhero.”

Chloe started to giggle again, but at that moment her eyes widened a shade. “Hi, Jude. Sleep well?”

Theresa turned to find Jude Messenger standing in the doorway of his office, a study in chiaroscuro, all black and white from his hair to his boots. His eyes were dark again, and she realized the last of the daylight had vanished, leaving only the low light of a couple of small lamps. Her heart thumped, and she felt that magnetic pull once more. How could she have forgotten how good a man could look? Especially in black slacks and a very nicely tailored black shirt.

“Like the dead,” he answered, sounding almost sarcastic. “Didn’t I tell you to stop trying to turn me into Superman?”

Chloe sniffed. “I’m just saying I like the kinds of things you do. They make me feel good about our business.”

He gave a little shake of his head, as if he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument with Chloe. “Did Garner show up?”

“Not yet. Was he supposed to?”

“Around sunset.”

“Well, he’s not that late then.”

Jude crossed the room, pulled a wooden chair away from the wall and straddled it, facing the two women from a few feet away. He folded his arms across its back. “I need to take care of that guy so Dr. Black here doesn’t have to worry about him. And I have that other case. I was hoping Garner would show up first.”

“He’ll probably be here any minute. Why? Is he working for us now? You usually groan when you hear his name.”

“I may groan again before too long.”

Those dark eyes settled on Theresa, and she felt her skin prickle. Awareness? Or something else? She couldn’t tell.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Black?”

“Just call me Terri. I’m fine, thank you. And I doubt you need to do anything about Sam.” Although she had to admit she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of that, given that she had stabbed him. He might well be the kind to want to get even. How would she know? She’d certainly looked at enough women on the autopsy table who had misjudged a man’s thirst for vengeance.

“Yes, I do.” His tone brooked no argument. “What’s his full name again?”

“Samuel Carlisle,” Chloe answered promptly. She pulled out a drawer in her desk and retrieved a file. “Everything I could find on him from what Terri told me.”

Theresa was amazed. She hadn’t expected Chloe to go to all that trouble. After all, even the police had only wanted the basics.

But Jude opened the file and began reading, and apparently it was more than just name and address. “Hmm,” he said finally.

“Hmm?” Theresa asked.

Those dark eyes lifted to her again. Hunter’s eyes, she thought, wondering why she almost felt like a mouse staring down a hawk.

“Hmm,” he repeated.

“That means ‘not good,’” Chloe interpreted.

“Not good how?”

Jude tossed the file and it landed on Chloe’s desk. “I’m going to have a very interesting talk with Samuel Carlisle.”

“Why?” Her heart fluttered a little, because she didn’t like the dark tone in his voice.

“Because he needs one.”