Horror From Below Read online

  “Are there any places in the Pacific, say around the West Coast, where such conditions could exist?” she said.

  He bit his lower lip. “I suppose. I mean, I’d have to do some digging around on my father’s old laptop to find out for sure.”

  “How long would that take you?” She rolled her eyes, glancing back at the door to the hallway. “I mean, I know you’re incredibly busy here, shaping young minds.”

  “I can get right on it after the conference ends on Sunday night.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “And then I can drop by the precinct and hand-deliver the information to you personally, Detective.”

  She pulled her head back. “Emailing is a much better way for us to continue communicating about this.”

  “If that’s what makes you happy.”

  “Happy? I’m a detective dealing with killers and psychopaths—what’ll make me happy is reducing my intake of TUMS by having the data I need to complete my job.” Brant stood upright, tucking the evidence back into the manila folder. “I’ve got all I need for now, Mr. Archer. Please get me whatever you can find regarding my question about the Pacific.”

  “It’s Jim, and it’s been my pleasure,” he said, standing to offer his hand while a boyish grin came over him. “I appreciate all you do to keep our streets safe, and I’m thrilled to help in any way I can.”

  Brant gave him a stern look, unsure of whether he was being serious or sarcastic. “Will you be here all weekend signing books?” she said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Signings were only going on today. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m giving lectures on the top-ten tips for killing the undead, and then I’m doing a seminar for newbie horror writers.” He waved his outstretched hand towards her. “You should come.”

  “I’m not a fan. I only know about your books from my coroner, who reads all that crap.”

  “And what about that headless body? Do you think that the real zombie apocalypse is on our doorstep?” he said with a slight grin. “Or was that some kind of bizarre murder victim?”

  “If the world’s coming to an end, I’m sure you’ll read all about it on Facebook from your legions of fans. In the meantime, keep this conversation between us. If I find out you are spreading any of this around to garner book sales or impress your hovering pixies, your world will be facing an apocalypse.”

  Archer scrunched his eyebrows together, impressed with her directness. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her as he passed through the exit, briefly pausing to inhale the air while noticing a scent of peach from her honey-tinted hair.

  ****

  As they walked down the red-carpeted hallway to the lobby, Emerson sidled up alongside Brant. “Hadden is more disturbed than I thought if she reads zombie books during her time away from the morgue.”

  “She’s different alright,” muttered Brant.

  “So, let me get this straight: you and Hadden got all that cryo-genetical stuff back there from Archer’s books?” said Halsey.

  “Hadden’s the horror buff who’s got signed copies of all of his books. I just recalled how Archer’s father was connected to the hospital board of trustees and the ripple his death sent though the medical community here. I looked up his obituary earlier. Archer’s father was the head researcher who worked on the ill-fated Lazarus Endeavor for the military a few years ago. His death was all over the news, but you monkeys only watch football, so you probably missed it.”

  “So, you’ve never seen his books until today?” said Halsey.

  Brant forcefully shoved open the lobby door. “As I said earlier, I’m not a fan. Just the two pages I read had me feeling nauseated from his shallow writing style.” She rolled her eyes. “He used these ridiculous expressions like, ‘she had indigo-denim eyes’ or ‘he strode down the hall like a chiseled Norse God’ and nonsense like that.” She rolled out the words in a dour voice, finally stopping on the sidewalk outside the hotel after noticing that the two men looked intrigued.

  She put her hands on her hips and let out a long exhale. “Alright, enough chatting about the horrors involving horror writers. I want both of you to canvas the homes and stores closest to the beach where we found the bodies and see if you can turn up anything further. Maybe residents heard something last night with regards to our first vic. Then I want you to see if there’s anything like this showing up along the coast from here to San Francisco and even down into Baja.” She turned to walk away, catching a glimpse of a life-size cardboard photo of Archer in the hotel window with the title: ‘Book Signing Tonight with Renowned Master of Zombie Disaster, James Archer.’ She squinted and ground her teeth. What a clown. A half-hour of my life gone forever.

  Brant looked at Emerson and Halsey, widening her eyes as she thrust her chin out towards the street. “Well, get going. I’m heading back to the precinct. Hopefully, by tomorrow, Hadden will have some autopsy results that can enlighten us about that Japanese sailor—which is another mystery that I’m not even sure how to unravel.”

  As she walked down the street, Brant stared up at the drab gray sky, reflecting on how the weather matched her mood. Is there a connection between the two bodies on the beach? They were in such close proximity to each other and both had wood splinters lodged in their bodies. But how could that sailor be so old?

  She had built her reputation on solving challenging homicides, but this one left her unsettled. As she got in her car and drove away, she felt better having her hands on something she could control. She wondered how she could get that feeling to persist.

  Chapter 3

  “You sure about this, Ziggy?” shouted Celeste as the two tan figures walked down the steep trail along Sunset Cliffs with their competition surf boards. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “This is the best time to be down here, not only ‘cause of the waves but because the local enforcers aren’t down at the beach, throwing their weight around,” said Ziggy, who stopped to look back up the trail to see if anyone was following them. Sunset Cliffs locals had a reputation for being fiercely territorial. They saw this region along the coast as their own and weren’t timid about physically assaulting outsiders to encourage them to surf elsewhere.

  “We could just drive further down and go to Garbage Beach instead—I like that area, despite the name. Some good sets there and we might even run into our friends.”

  Ziggy reached the bottom of the trail, planting his board in the sand and scanning the beach in either direction. As he’d hoped, the place had cleared out. For a moment, he felt like they were standing on a remote beach in Australia.

  “Paradise found,” he said, pulling Celeste in close by her waist as she giggled and let her board fall to the sand. “Especially with you here, babe.” Since moving to San Diego from Monterey two months ago, they had become acquainted with most of the surfing hot spots but had shied away from this area because of its reputation for turf wars among the competition surfers. Ziggy’s co-worker at the Volkswagen garage had assured him that the best time to venture to Sunset was an hour before dusk because everyone had already done the grueling hike out to head home for dinner. Celeste had closed her herbal tincture shop early to make dinner and meet Ziggy, but now their vehicles seemed miles away.

  He kissed her then returned his gaze to the tide. “Looks like a good southwest swell is on tap, like I promised.”

  Celeste looked back up the trail then out to the ocean. “Let’s just get in a couple of runs and go—I don’t like being down here all alone.”

  Ziggy grabbed his board, walking ahead. “Relax, babe. None of the local thugs are gonna make the hike down here at this hour just to bitch at us. That’s more likely to happen back in the parking lot when we return.” He stopped to flex his bicep while balling his fist. “And if that goes down, I’ll have to break someone’s beak.”

  “Yeah, now I feel better with that violent image in my head.” She reluctantly kicked off her flip-flops by the trailhead, then she grabbed her green-and-white board, following behind him.

  Twenty yards from the sea, Ziggy stopped and stared to his right. “Shit, maybe we won’t be so lucky after all.” He squinted, raising his hand up to deflect the sun as he stared at an approaching figure.

  “Looks like he’s drunk by the way he’s moving,” said Celeste.

  “More like stoned.”

  She narrowed her eyes, partially blinded by the sunlight. “Aw, shit, he’s wearing a uniform. I told you we shouldn’t have come here. We can’t swing getting a hefty fine.”

  Ziggy handed off his board. “Just stay here and I’ll talk to him.”

  She lowered their boards to the sand and walked towards the shoreline, feeling the cool water flit between her toes. Celeste gazed down the beach at Ziggy but had to avert her eyes from the blinding sun, which was approaching the horizon on the curved section of the beach where she was standing. She knelt down and sifted her hands through the sand, pulling out a few green pebbles and flinging them into the water. The waves drowned out any sounds around her as she reached forward for another handful of stones. As she picked up another clump, her eyes focused on a triangular-shaped piece of foam. She poked the tan object, noticing the decaying black edges before picking it up, causing gummy strands of red skin to fall away.

  “Ew.”

  She turned it around, and her eyes widened as she made out the shape of a human nose. Celeste shrieked and flung it into the ocean as she darted back a few feet. Hopping to her feet, she heard Ziggy screaming and turned to see him punching the other guy.

  “Shit, we need to get out of here.” She began running into the sun, towards the two silhouettes whose forms she could barely make out, then tripped over the surfboards. Sitting up, she shook her head and coughed then heard a crunching sound at her feet as someone gr
abbed her ankle. Celeste looked up and saw a shambling creature with a bony protrusion where the nose should be. Its eyes were detached from their sockets and wobbled like loose marbles as a thin spool of blood dripped from its purple lips. Celeste screamed, crabbing on all fours away from the enraged beast, but she was unable to break the grip on her ankle. It pawed at her leg then dove onto her, gnawing at her face as she shrieked in agony. Celeste turned on her side, crawling towards Ziggy, but saw him lying on his back. A spray of bright red blood spouted up from his femoral as the creature tore into his flesh. She felt a searing sensation on her neck, like her skeleton was being ripped from her body, then saw the hideous creature on top of her, chomping down on a section of her windpipe as she gurgled out her last breath.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Brant was at the downtown precinct around sunrise. She usually came in early to pore over her notes from the previous day and stare at the images and flow-charts of evidence tacked on the wall behind her desk. She was the only female detective in her precinct, and despite several rivals claiming her fortune was due to the mayor’s need for minority hires, she had worked her way up the ranks through gut-wrenching work on the streets as a uniformed police officer before making a name for herself as a detective.

  The rest of the second-floor building consisted of open space with numerous desks, filing cabinets, and computer monitors for the other detectives, who usually came in at 8 am. The chief of police, Edward Napalme III, had his office at the rear, at the opposite end from the elevator. She could hear Napalme inside, talking on the phone, his words interspersed with laughter. After a few minutes of constantly being interrupted by the chief’s cackling, she wandered over to his office. Brant was about to lean in and ask permission to close his door when he sat up in his leather chair and motioned her to come in.

  “Yeah, she just arrived.” He pointed to a chair on the other end of his desk and continued talking. “Oh, she’s got a steely exterior, but don’t let that scare you off. She’s my best detective.”

  Brant sat down, wondering why she was being complimented. She looked at Napalme, noticing his bear-like hands holding the phone, making it look like a child’s toy. His broad face was slightly red from laughter and from having an Irishman’s complexion that never held up well in the California sun.

  “Agreed—it has been too long, my old friend, and I think you’ll be impressed with our 21st century tech advancements here, not to mention what you can learn from shadowing Brant.” The chief winked at her and nodded. “Alright, Jimmy, you take care, and we’ll see you down here later.”

  Brant sat up rigid in the chair, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers.

  “That was my old pal, Jim Archer. I guess he already spoke with Hadden about her interest in his books. He also commented that he really enjoyed connecting with you yesterday during your exchange—said you were as professional as they come.”

  “Connecting, sir? More like flirting on his part. The guy’s a dilettante, not to mention a cradle-robber, by the looks of the women he spends time with.”

  “Well, Hadden thinks he might be of use on this one, given his unique background in horror writing and his parents’ medical research.”

  “You mean his pseudo-medical background. Archer writes about vampires and zombies. I don’t need a bored playboy with writer’s block following me around the city.”

  “Relax. He’s an old friend of mine, and he’s contributed a lot of donations to the police officers’ retirement fund over the years.”

  “Actual money or just signed photographs of himself?”

  Napalme chuckled. “I wouldn’t have accepted his offer to help if I thought he was going to be a hindrance. Jim’s a brilliant guy who thinks outside the box. He may be an asset on this one, especially given the nature of the crime scene you described.”

  Brant glanced out through the doorway and then back at the chief. “I’m not even sure he can fit inside that elevator and get up here with his big head.”

  “That’s enough. You had, what, ten minutes with the man. He’s sharp; just give him a chance. He’ll shadow you and see if he can contribute anything.”

  “But sir…” Brant was cut off by the outstretched hand of the chief as he interrupted.

  “Why don’t you head downstairs and see what Hadden has turned up with the autopsies. I want answers on this one—and fast. I don’t need the media finding out about mutilated corpses washing up on the beach.”

  Brant felt like the temperature around her was searing as she rolled her tongue around the inside of her cheek. “Yes, sir,” she said in a low voice, then she shot straight up from her seat and stomped down the hallway to the elevator. She slapped the button and stood still, resuming her arms-folded position while a vein throbbed in her neck. That fucking stooge, pulling his used-car salesman routine on my coroner to worm his way into this investigation. Maybe I could lock him in one of the cadaver rooms for a few hours so he gets a taste of real horror. Wonder if he’s ever even seen an actual dead body up close before or had to sift through the carnage of a bloody crime scene. She let out a labored exhale. The more I am around people, the more I like my cat.

  As the elevator doors opened, she passed between Emerson and Halsey.

  “Is it quitting time already?” said Halsey, watching her swoosh past him.

  “Where are you headed in such a hurry—another crime scene?” said Emerson.

  “There might be one after my new helper arrives.” She clawed out air quotes at the latter words.

  “Huh?” said Halsey, tilting his head as the doors closed.

  “Down to the morgue. I’ll be back up in thirty minutes to go over our checklist for today.”

  She descended five levels to the basement. The hallway ahead led to a set of steel double-doors, behind which the three city coroners worked their scientific analysis on the remains of the lifeless victims. Emily Hadden had been assigned to Brant’s team since the young coroner began working for the precinct four years ago, and the two women had developed a working friendship despite Brant’s guarded personality.

  Brant opened the swinging doors of the lab and strode over to the metal tables, where the mauled body of the first victim from the beach was laid out. Hadden had come in at 5 am to resume the autopsy and had just finished. She removed her face mask and peeled off her soiled nitrile gloves, tossing them in a metal pan by the side of the table.

  “Where’s my latte, girlfriend? You always bring me my early-morning foo-foo drinks,” said Hadden.

  “Is it still morning? I was hoping this day was nearly over already.” She folded her arms and stared directly at Hadden. “Besides, you can have your new BFF James Archer bring you one.”

  Hadden frowned, waving her hand up. “Wait a minute—he contacted me first. He said you had spoken with him yesterday and that he’d be happy to continue consulting on the case because of the parallels with his father’s research.” Hadden rushed around the table, squeezing Brant’s forearm while emitting a gleeful smile. “And did you know that he’s going to get me an autographed set of his new series?”

  Brant rolled her eyes. “That’s all it took to bribe you, isn’t it? You’re pathetic.”

  Hadden circled around Brant, smiling as she came back around to face her. “So, is he as cute in person as he is in the magazine photos?”

  “If you mean cute in a playground, immature kind of way, then yes, but he’s more like a man-child who wears expensive hair gel.”

  “Oh, Lindsey, you met the guy for a few minutes and already found a flaw to shove him into the undesirable category, like every other dude you see on the street. Girl, you gotta go easier on men—especially handsome, wealthy men like him.”

  “You’re forgetting other adjectives like pompous and narcissistic. I’m surprised he didn’t have us all wear mirrors around our necks during my questioning.” Brant leaned over the corpse and examined the neck region again. “On to more pertinent matters—what did you find out about the splinters in the first vic’s hands?”

  Hadden sighed and retraced her steps back to the other side of the examination table. “Well, they match up with the fragments found in the neck region of the headless sailor, and all the splinters originated from the wooden oar on the beach. I’d say this gentleman here used the oar as a blunt-force object against the sailor after he got bit.” Hadden looked up at Brant. “I am certain that these two were engaged in a struggle that resulted in the sailor being decapitated after he inflicted a mortal wound upon the other vic. The sailor’s DNA shows up in the bite marks around our vic’s neck, and it tests positive for the DNA haplogroup associated with Japanese males, which is the same haplogroup as the first vic.”