"The Astronomy Murders" II
"The Astronomy Murders" Part II
III. At four-thirty, Dr Burnley pulled into his driveway. His house was an unexceptional two-story structure with aluminum siding and a car port on one side. The backyard faced woods and he often sat out there with the newspaper on sunny days.
Already parked under a tree was an old Ford Fairlane which looked as if it had been used to batter barns down. A beefy middle-aged man in a tan suit and a felt cap climbed out, tucking a sheaf of papers and folders under one arm. He came up to Burnley amiably enough.
"Hiya, Samuel Simek here," said the man. "Here's my drivers license, my PI license. Mr Bane sent me."
Burnley took his time examining the IDs. "weren't you suppoosed to have a young woman with you?"
"What? No. Me and my cousin have always been the whole staff of our agency. We ain't never had a woman work with us."
"That was a trick question, Mr Simek. I'm sorry, I'm understandably a bit nervous and wanted to confirm that you are who you say you are."
"Hah, that's a good one. These papers are camoflauge. In case anyone's watching, they'll think I'm here on some other kind of business. Here, take one and pretend to read it."
Obligingly, the astronomer studied a few sheets of paper, returned them to Simek and nodded his head vigorously. He handed them back, and the PI suggested they go into the house. Once inside with the door closed behind them, the detective put a finger to his lips for silence and moved quickly through the house.
While Burnley waited uneasily by the door, Simek went through every room, opening every closet and looking under or behind furniture. He went down in the basement laundry room and and up into a crawlspace attic too small to stand upright in.
When he finally returned to Burnley, Simek took his hand away from the butt of his revolver holstered on his belt. A relieved grin spread across the battered face.
"I declare this house free of intruders," he announced. "All the windows and the back door are locked as well."
"Thank you, sir," said Burnley.
My partner, Artie, is already in place in your back yard. He's down behind some pine trees with his binoculars. Artie is reliable as the sun coming down, you can count on him."
"I must say I feel moe at ease," the astronomer admitted. "But let me ask about this man Bane. Do you think he can handle someone like the infamous Samhain?"
"Hah! My friend, let me assure you that Jeremy Bane is the most dangerous person you will ever meet in life. He was born in reflexes more than twice as fast as normal and he has been in fights all his life. I'd bet money on him against anything that lives. Everything you've heard about him is only scratching the surface."
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear, Mr Simek."
"I'm going back to my car down by the road, where I can see your yard. I got my thermos and my sandwiches. Every ninety minutes, I'm gonna call you to confirm you're okay and of course you can summon us instantly if you hear anything at all."
"I have your cell number. Thank you so much," Burnley said.
"Doing our job since 1978," Simek replied with a grin. He left the house and returned to his car. It was getting dark outside. The PI made a wide circle of the area and drove back from a different direction. He pulled over to the side of the road in a position from where he could watch the house. Sam Simek took a pair of vintage binoculars from the glove compartment, turned on his portable radio to a National Public Radio station and listened to people discussing the decline of ostrich farming. He settled back to wait.
Inside his home, Dr Burnley removed his coat and yanked off his tie, kicked off his loafers and put on ancient slippers. With classical music playing on the stereo, he hummed along as he heated up what was left of the previous day's lamb with mint sauce. He ate leisurely at the kitchen table, sipping wine and trying to lose himself in the music and food.
Being honest with himself, Burnley admitted he was stressed out beyond anything he had experienced before. At least he had taken measures to protect himself. Two seasons detectives, both armed, stood guard outside and the famous Jeremy Bane was getting involved. Like many native New Yorkers, he had heard wild rumors about this Dire Wolf for years. Clearing away the table, he left the dirty dishes in the sink.
Leaving the porch light on, he checked the front and back door as well as the windows before beginning to relax a bit. Burnley trudged upstairs in better spirits than he had been the past few days.
Down in the basement, in a gloom only broken by a single tiny nightlight, the door of the clothes dryer popped open. Sam had glanced at the appliance when prowling the house but it was obviously too small to hold anyone more than five years old. Nevertheless, a man crawled out now and dropped down onto the cold stone floor.
Dressed all in black, a tall thin figure flopped about with arms and legs that were broken at unnatural angles. In a minute, one arm snapped back into place, then both legs. The immortal killer forced his other arm back into its socket and got to his feet.
Samhain grinned to himself in the murk.
His abnormal healing ability enabled him to ignore stab wounds and bullet holes, to survive being hit by cars or trapped in burning buildings and to seem completely unscatched immediately. But he still felt pain. Breaking his own limbs to be able to fit inside that dryer had certainly not been enjoyable.
"The demands my little hobby makes of me," he chuckled. He swung around and loped up the stairs out of the basement.
Burnley had hung his clothes over a chair in his bedroom and worn his robe and slippers to the bathroom. Since the death of his wife three years earlier, her clothing and belongings had gradually been donated. Photos and memories were enough for him. He turned on the hot water in the tub, sprinkled in bath salts and hung his robe on a hook by the door.
A shower would be quicker but he felt achy and sore. Soaking would be more satisfying. With a deep sigh, he eased into water that was on the brink of being unbearably hot and settled back. Resting his head on a hard rubber cushion, Burnley closed his eyes a second before a powerful black-gloved hand shoved his head under the water and held it there.
IV.
At ten o'clock, Sam Simek called to report. He loved his new cell phone, these gadgets made surveillance so much easier it wasn't even funny. "Hi, Mr Bane. Nothing to report so far. His kitchen light went on sixteen minutes ago. The bathroom light upstairs is also on. Nothing moving outside that I can see."
"Where's Artie?" came Bane's voice.
"Behind the house. Sitting next to some trees."
"Sam, there was another murder last night. In Troy. A man specializing in plate tectonics was suffocated under a ton of dirt. Earth scientist, killed by dirt."
"Sure sounds like the pattern!"
"That's what the cops think," Bane said. "But I'm not so sure. A geologist is not an astronomer, it seems to be stretching terms too far. Even if Earth IS one of the planets, I suspect that the murder was not part of the real sequence."
"It was a decoy?" asked Sam. "So everyone doesn't expect another killing right away?"
"That's my guess. Sam, I'm on my way to join you guys now. I want you to call Dr Burnley. If he doesn't answer, have Artie go in the back, to investigate while you watch."
"Understood. Stand by, sir." Sam let Burnley's phone ring for a full minute before calling Bane back. "No answer. Mr Bane, I'm sending Artie in while I watch the outside."
"Tell him to have his gun in hand with the safety off. But you also follow him out of arm's reach. Be more careful than you usually are, Sam. I don't want to lose you two."
"Ah, we're tough old birds. We'll report right away." Sam met his cousin at the rear of the house, where they found the rear door had a standard Schlage lock which their assortment of keys could handle. Wearing thin cotton gloves they always carried, the two investigators stepped inside.
"Dr Burnley? Hello? Are you all right?" Artie called out but received no answer. Beside him, Sam took out a snub-nosed .32 Colt revolver he had relied upon for many years. Slowly and watchfully, they made their way through the silent house.
Light came out through the open bathroom door. The cousins found Dr Burnley in the filled tub, completely underwater, eyes and mouth open. The body wasn't floating, which meant the lungs had filled wih water. Artie started to reach toward the corpse anyway. He didn't seriously intend to try mouth-to-mouth or CPR under those circumstance but he had to fight an inclination to try.
"We need to get out of here," Sam told him.
"Yeah. The boss should be here in a second." As they retraced their steps back out of the house, both men kept checking to make certain that they hadn't dropped anything or left any trace of their presence on the scene. On the back porch, after locking the door again, the cousins started briskly back through the yard.
"Well, our story is simple. We called the victim, got no answer and waited here for the Wolf to arrive. He's in charge."
"Yeah, not much to trip up on with that yarn," said Artie.
As they reached their car, they saw Bane pull up and leaped from behind the wheel as if he had been shot from a catapult. "I've called Klein. He's on the way with his troops. Let's have a quick report."
Sam and Artie described what they had found in a brief summary, then started again in greater detail. Bane listened, asked a few questions, then agreed they should keep to their simple story.
"Mr Bane, we let you down on this one," Sam said. "We'll return our fee. Burnley got it right under our noses."
"I won't accept it. You guys haven't failed, Samhain has been outsmarting everyone from the Mandate to Scotland Yard to the KGB for decades. That lunatic has a lot to answer for."
Glumly, the three of them stood around for ten minutes until blinding red and blue lights from three cop cars came speeding up the dark road. From the lead vehicle, Harold Klein stepped out, wearing the same raincoat that had seen its best days long ago.
The inspector marched right up to the Dire Wolf and barely restrained himself from grabbing a handful of lapels. "Awright, you! Let's hear it. Talk to me."
"Inspector Klein, these two operatives are working for me on the Samhain case. Arthur Rose and Samuel Simek, they've been licensed PIs in business for fifteen years. Dr Burnley met with them this afternoon. He agreed to allow them to watch his house. They phoned him every ninety minutes for a status check. He had their cell numbers if he saw or heard anything even a little out of the ordinary."
When the Dire Wolf paused, Klein almost sputtered in his impatience. "Are you trying to be dramatic? Go on."
"At ten o'clock, Burnley did not answer. He still has not responded. Artie and Sam wanted to break a window and get in to see if he was okay. But I was already on my way here and I told them to call you instead."
All very true, thought Bane. It was what had been left out that really mattered.
"Yeah? I bet there's more to it than that though. Dammit, Putnam and Sutton, get that door open. You got keys for most locks. You two detectives, Rosie and Simek, stick around near this officer here and keep yer mouths shut. I don't want you working on alibis."
Getting in, Klein studied the death scene and turned off the water. He looked around, fixing every detail in his mind, then straightened up. "Officer Putnam, you stay outside the door. I gotta call the medical examiner and the wagon." He dug around in his raincoat pocket and came up with a flip phone that had numerous scratches and a cracked screen.
After the calls had been made, the inspector moved back out in the yard to fix a chilly stare on Bane. "You got something to say?"
"That man came to me for protection, Klein. I promised him he would be safe. You understand how I feel."
"Yeah, your professional pride is hurt," the inspector scoffed. "You got any ideas how this Samhain freak got out after the killing? Or for that matter, how'd he get in here in the first place?"
"If he IS out of the house," Bane said.
"I thought of that, believe me. Sutton is making a circuit of the house now, looking in every closet and under every bed. He's got his service revolver in his hand. But I don't expect him to find anything, truth be told."
"No." The Dire Wolf folded his arms and lowered his head. "Samhain is done here. You can see the motif, inspector. Neptune was Burnley's area of special expertise. In mythology, Nepture was the god of the sea, so Burnley was drowned. What a sick mind. Klein, these men never did anything to Samhain. They never even met him. To him, they are only pieces in his little game."
"Tell me some more, Bane," Klein demanded. "Come out with it. You're holding a lot back."
The Dire Wolf gazed down at the shorter older man. "Fine. I think Samhain has a special healing ability that normal Humans don't. He recovers from mortal injuries in minutes and he doesn't age at a normal rate. I've tracked his first recorded murder was to 1921."
"Are you drunk or just crazy?" snorted Klein.
"No one has ever uncovered his real name or nationalty. I guess he's American, born around 1895 or so, but he could easily be older than that. He's been killing this way for at least seventy years. It's always a cluster of murders with some symbolic link between the victims. They have the same last name as US Presidents or they're all left-handed redheads, that sort of thing." The Dire Wolf turned away to gaze at where Sam and Artie were loitering near Officer Putnam.
"Samhain makes other serial killers like Seneca or Dr Sabbath look cub scouts," he said as if to himself. "He IS the Boogeyman that childre have nightmares about."
"Dammit, Bane, stop! You're scaring me."
"I'm scared, too. He's the only enemy I get worried about tackling. He might be the one monster I cam't handle. The man has seventy years of experience and there's no way to kill him."
"This stuff CAN'T be true. It's fantasy. You must be confusing him with other killers, that's all there is to it."
"I wish," said Bane in a steady voice. "There's no mistake. Come to my building tomorrow and I'll show you a stack of evidence. Mark Drum fought him in 1939. Andrew Steel thought he destroyed Samhain in 1965. And Michael Hawk actually brought him into custody in 1976. And yet, Samhain always escaped or came back somehow, more vicious and more devious each time."
"Whatever, whatever. I can't worry about that right now." Klein jabbed a stubby finger at the Dire Wolf. "We're at a murder scene. I need to take a statement from you and a statement from each of your helpers over there. Separately. So you can't give each other hints. In a few minutes, City employees will crawling all over this property, measuring and taking samples and snapping pictures like it's D-Day. The medical examiner will show up and he'll check Burnley out down to the dirt under his little toenail."
Bane was staring past the flashing lights of the police cars up at the house. "I know you take your job seriously, inspector. You're an honest cop and a hard-working one. I want you to start thinking about where the next killing will be. So far, Samhain has used Mercury, Mars, Earth and now Nepture as his themes. Five planets left."
"Five more murders?" snarled the inspector. "Not on my watch, by God."
The Dire Wolf swung back back to face the man. "All right. Have your sergeant get out his notebook and I'll start dictating my statement. The two detectives working for me will cooperate, too."
"You know, I could hold you as a material witness, Bane. A night in a holding cell. But going by that look in your eyes, I don't think there's any chance you'd leave town right now."
"No," said Bane. "Samhain is out there. This is where I was meant to be."
V.
It was past two-thirty when Bane finally drove down the ramp into the tiny garage beneath his building. The steel panel slid down automatically behind him and clicked into place. As he got out from behind the wheel, Bane was dismayed to realize he felt tired. This was rare for him, but then the events of that evening had taken their toll. He had lost clients before, every PI had, but it was never something to easily dismiss.
The Dire Wolf walked slowly through the garage, flicking off the lights behind him. He went along the narrow walkways with the Vault to his left and the arsenal to his right, past open shelves holding members' belongings in storage. Up steep concrete steps, he emerged through a panel in the rear of the walk-in closet next to the front door.
Feeling sick at heart, Bane headed for the kitchen at the rear of the hall. He poked around in the refrigerator. There was a big container of lasagna that Cindy had made the day before. He heated it in the microwave and devoured it all with two pieces of buttered Italian bread, topping it with a glass of milk. He wished Cindy could have been around for this case. The Teachers of Tel Shai insisted on testing and refreshers at the most inconvenient times.
Bane barely did the dishes, not really paying attention. It was so unusual for him to be worn down this way. Heading up to his rooms on the third floor, he kicked off his boots, stripped down and pulled a single flannel sheet over him. He fell asleep with the bedside lamp still lit.
The doorbell rang, which set off a buzzer in his room. Bane jerked upright, confused to see bright sunlight slanting in through the windows. The clock on his nightstand read 11:43 AM. Bane almost fell out of bed as he thumbed a button on the intercom, "Hello. I'll be right there."
He could not remember the last time this had happened to him. Frantic, he pulled on a fresh turtleneck and slacks, jammed his feet into boots and started running down the stairs. As he moved, he brushed back his hair with his fingers.
When he checked the monitor by the front door, he confirmed it was only Inspector Klein. Bane realized he had hurried downstairs without the Trom armor, his gun, even his silver daggers. It's a good thing he didn't let in some Snake man assassin or hired gun, he thought with immense self-reproach.
As Klein entered, he fixed a critical eye on Bane. "You've looked better."
"I guess I got behind on sleep lately," the Dire Wolf sheepishly admitted. "Come in, lieutenant."
"I came here to check out the files you said you had on this Samhain," said Klein. "You got it handy?"
"Yeah. Come over here in my office." On the desk was a stack of manila folders and a book that he had been studying the previous day. "Let's dig in, inspector, there's a lot of material to cover."
After that, they were mostly silent as they both sorted through the assorted notes. A few times they muttered comments. Bane had pulled files on Samhain from a wide variety of sources. There were yellowed newspaper clippings from the 1930s, there were Kenneth Dred's own neatly typed accounts of encounters he and his colleagues had had with the immortal killer. Photostat pages of old books and magazine articles about unsolved crimes, transcripts of court records and police files, as well as an unpublished manuscript of a book about Samhain from 1968, made for a lot of reading.
Two hours of wading through that gruesome material was hard for anyone to take. Klein hit his limit when he arranged a collection of a dozen mug shots on the desk in front of him. Photos from 1931 Miami, 1944 San Diego, 1956 Chicago, 1961 Selma, 1964 Dallas, 1972 Boston, right up to the most recent one from 1989 Tucson. The hair styles were different but there was no doubt it was the same face with the same mocking smile staring up at him in each picture.
The inspector suddenly shoved his chair back and stood up, having trouble catching his breath. Bane rose as well and came around to stand beside him. "I think we could use a break," the Dire Wolf said. "Come on, I'll make some coffee."
In the kitchen at the rear of the ground floor, Klein nosed around while the coffee brewed and then gratefully drained a cup. He asked for a refill, which he sipped more sedately.
Since caffeine was the last thing he needed, Bane worked on a tall tumbler of ice water. He was watching the inspector thoughtfully. "It's a jolt when the pieces fall together."
"Yep, exactly what I was thinking," Klein said. "I'd read about some of these murders. Unsolved cold cases have a fascinaton for cops. But I never ever made the connection between them all. Now I see the big picture."
Putting the water pitcher back in the refrigerator, Bane said nothing. He felt Klein might be having a moment of revelation.
"You know, I was remembering when I worked with Michael Hawk a few times," Klein said. "Hell of a guy. A real straight arrow. He thought the world of you, Bane."
"I'm glad to hear that," the Dire Wolf said simply. "Mike helped me get my PI license and taught me the basics of the trade but I'll never be anywhere near the the investigator he was."
"The point is, if Hawk trusted you, maybe I should give you a chance, too." Klein set his cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I've been thinking about this."
Pulling out a chair at the round kitchen table, Bane sat down facing the man. He said nothing, waiting.
"Bane, this is off the record. I'm speaking unofficially. Against normal human lawbreakers, police methods work fine. It's a system of laws that people have agreed on so society can function more or less. But with these monsters from outside the system, Samhain or Golgora or the Slaughterman, regular tactics don't work. You can't send dogcatchers after freakin' sabretooth tigers."
"That's where I've been trying to help," Bane said. "It's what I was meant to be doing."
Getting up with a slight wince, Klein went over to rinse out his cup in the sink. "I might get in hot water for letting you operate without trying to rein you in. Maybe endanger my pension, maybe risk getting up on charges myself. But I've decided this city needs a Dire Wolf once in a while."
Bane rose and said only, "Thanks."
Getting back to the topic, Klein said, "You know, this freak is not a serial killer in the classic sense. There's no sex involved. He doesn't keep trophies. He doesn't feel compulsion to repeat himself. It's a sick game to him. Each series of killings is like a little play he puts on to show how clever he is."
"That's what I think, too," Bane agreed. "There are still five planets left. By now, every astronomer has to be a nervous wreck. Samhain has already worked out his next attack. He'll pick an astronomer and plan a death involving the ancient god that the planet is named after. We've got that to work with."
Klein headed out of the kitchen, scratching his head absently. "In theory, my territory is midtown to lower Manhattan. But lately my captain has been loaning me out for any crimes that seem weird. I guess I'm being seen as a sort of specialist."
"My hunch is that Samhain will finish off as many victims as he can while in the city," Bane said. "He has a definite grudge against me since I kept him from completing the Compass Murders a few years ago."
The inspector paused and gave Bane a quizzical look. "Really? You were involved in the Compass Murders?"
"Yeah," Bane said as he led Klein through the hall. "First time we met, I shoved him in front of a subway train on Seventh Avenue. You'd think he'd get the hint but he was back in action right away."
Stopping by the front door, the Dire Wolf frowned. "I don't think he'll attack me personally. Samhain seems to enjoy being chased by FBI profilers. But he knows where I work and these killings may be a red flag he's waving to catch my attention."
"Feh. You're after him. The NYPD and the FBI are after him. He sure doesn't make friends." The inspector opened the door and let himself out. His parting words were "Keep me updated, Bane."
"Sure." The Dire Wolf allowed the faintest flicker of a smile across his face.
VI.
He went back up to the second floor, made his bed and slung the belt with the dart gun over one shoulder. Pulling back his sleeves, he strapped the leather sheaths to his forearms with their hilts out. The silver-bladed throwing knives had been crafted ages ago and had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin to be potent against malevolent forces.
Kenneth Dred had given the young Dire Wolf those daggers at their first meeeting. If he had to give up everything else he owned in the world, Bane would have held on to those two blades. He had worn them so long that he felt off-balance without them.
Heading back down to the kitchen, he scrambled three eggs and ate them on wheat toast in a few gulps. His enhanced metabolism left him constantly ravenous. The meeting with Klein had gone so much better than he expected. He had hoped the sly old cop would warm up a little and see Bane as an ally. A liaison with the Homicide Department was always valuable.
Bane went to his office and dropped down behind his desk. He phoned Sam and Artie. They had been released from questioning soon after he had been.
"I don't have anything for you guys right this minute," he said. "But things will be happening soon. I want you both to remain available around the clock for the next few days. At your usual rates, with a bonus if you have to get within sight of the enemy. How does that sound?"
"Fine, Mr Bane," came Artie's voice. "Sorry again about last night. We took pride in never letting you down before."
"Don't worry about it. We're dealing with a top predator this time. I'll contact you as soon as I have anything to work with."
Next, Bane called Wilber Schlegel, his most reliable researcher. Retired and devoted to exploring the Internet, the man owed an immense debt to Bane. When Schlegel's teenage daughter had been abducted by a vicious rapist, it turned out the Dire Wolf had already been on the sadist's trail. Within ninety minutes, the daughter had been home unviolated and the rapist had never been seen again.
Ever since, Schlegel had been eager to use his expertise to help Bane. Much more skilled at online searches than the Dire Wolf, Schlegel had developed many contacts with retired police officers and amateur sleuths, and he had found real satisfaction in preventing crime.
"Hi, Wilber? Yeah, it's me. I'd like some information if you can round it up for me. I'm sure you heard about the astronomers who were killed. Right. One in California, one in Canada, one upstate and one last night right in this area. Yes. A man named Peter Burnley, drowned in his own bathtub."
"I was just reading about that," came Schlegel's voice.
"I'm trying to make sense of the sequence. Here is what I need you to look for, Wilber. The next victim will be an astronomer or an expert on some astronomy subject, I should be more be more exact. He will specialize in one of the following planets: Venus, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto or Saturn. I think that's the list, there are nine altogether, right?"
"Yeah," said Schlegel. "'My Very Easy Method Just Shows Us Nine Planets' is how I learned them back in school."
"Fine," Bane said. "Search the Metropolitan area first but widen the focus if it seems necessary. Can you get me their home addresses, too? Great. You also come through, Wilbur. Thanks again." The Dire Wolf closed the connection. He got up and stretched, then started moving around restlessly.
He was relieved that Wilbur Schlegel had proven to be such a good researcher. Aside from Schlegel's debt to Bane, the man had become interested in the Midnight War for its own sake. Helping to protect the public had given Schlegel a real feeling of purpose.
Sitting around waiting would be intolerable. One drawback to his enhanced reflexes was a metabolism that burned calories always kept him jumpy. He went up to the seventh floor gym. In the shower room there were ten lockers in a row. Only his and Cindy's were still in use. It seemed ridiculous that such a fortune had been spent setting up this building for the KDF team and now only two people lived here.
But it was too soon to think about assembling a new team. That night in Necropolis during the Final Halloween still preyed on him. So many of his friends had been lost in those few hours....
Right now he just wanted to burn off steam. Bane stripped down and changed into a white T-shirt and blue shorts, white socks and sneakers. He kept the Link ready in a pocket of the shorts and hurried over to the nearest of the row of treadmills.
The next forty minutes were spent running at forty-five degree angle. When he was done, a film of sweat covered his body but his breathing had hardly increased. Bane made a circuit of the Nautilus machine, using high reps with lower weight at the moment. At one point, he caught himself sitting at the leg raise machine lost in thought over these Astronomy Murders and had to roust himself. Picking up a cloth and a spray bottle, he wiped down the apparatus and moved on.
Finally, he moved over to the corner where a square of exercise mats was laid out. Feet together, hands at his side, Bane bowed to Teacher Chael and began his DohRa. This started as a series of poses and stances that morphed into punches and blocks and kicks. Soon he was whipping rapidly in circles, fighting imaginary opponents. The sequence reversed itself until he was again holding various stances as he cooled down. Finally, he bowed again with genuine gratitude to the Kumundu Teacher so far away.
During the DohRa, every muscle had been stretched and tested while memory of the techniques had been reinforced. He felt great. Bane went back to the locker room and took a steaming hot shower that he turned cooler before towling down. His abilities did not come for free. Being the Dire Wolf meant training and practicing the needed skills as well as staying conditioned.
Dressed again, he folded up the soggy shorts and shirt to drop off at the laundry room for later. He was still remembering Samhain not that long ago, trying to figure how that maniac thought and what his next move would be. In the back of his mind, he was glad that Inspector Klein seemed to be coming around to regard him as a colleague rather than a suspect. It was always easier to track criminals without having to fight the police at the same time.
Down in his office again, he was startled to see it was already three-thirty. Still no calls. Bane went to the front door and got the mail from the reinforced steel drop. It looked like slim pickings. At his desk, he skimmed through bills and legal notices before putting them aside for the moment. When the office phone rang, he snatched at it as if he was trying to grab a rattler before it could strike.
" Yeah, Bane here. Hi, Wilbur, what have you got? Three names. Wait, I need a pen. Okay. Let me write everything down. Uh-huh. Thanks. Yeah, I've got it." He listened at his best researcher went into too much detail as usual. "I think I've got everything, call me right away if you find anything else. Wilbur, you may have helped catch the most notorious serial killer of modern times."
Bane studied the information over and over, fixing it in his memory. Which one would Samhain strike at next? Why? It was so hard to second guess a lunatic like that.
First on the list was Dr John Philmore, fifty-three. The note said he had written some controversial papers on the cloud composition of Venus, including new trace elements not known before. Bane couldn't imagine how anyone found that interesting, let alone controversial. Philmore was going to Germany for a series of seminars. Then, the seventy-year-old was Jules DeMontfort, a specialist in Saturn's largest moons, and whose whimsical ideas about a supposed original tenth planet had stirred controversy. The third was was Carlton Dietz, who had proven mathematically that Jupiter's gravity well had protected Earth from so many comet strikes that life might not have survived otherwise. Dietz was confined to a wheelchair but had been a prolific author.
Bane turned the possibilities over and tried to consider all possible angles. It would be convenient if Samhain were committing these murders in some obvious order... alphabetically or in order from the Sun or something. But no such luck.
Finally, he phoned Artie and Sam and asked them to come over. During the fifteen minutes he had before they arrived, he wrote down all the names and addresses and phone numbers on index cards. When the cousins arrived, he sat them down and explained why he had settled on the three most likely victims.
"Sam, I'm assigning you DeMontfort. Here's his data. Artie, you take Quinn. Introduce yourselves, give them situation straight without sweetening it and ask them if they've noticed anything suspicious." Bane studied the two older men. "Tail them at a reasonable distance. Don't worry too much about being spotted, Samhain wouldn't be deterred by a detective in the area."
Sam Simek rubbed his unshaven chin and didn't try to hide his unhappiness. "The third guy, the Jupiter expert? You're taking him for himself?"
"That's right," said the Dire Wolf. "Maybe Samhain intended to follow a monthly timetable but he broke schedule last night. He might strike at any time. He might want to complete the sequence and get it over with. You two are good, but I want to stress again that you need to be careful. I'd feel better if you brought some backup with you."
"Umm, well, there are two kids who are trying to get intern spots with us. Just outta college. I bet they'd like to come along and provide extra eyes."
"Bring them," Bane said. "I'll pay their fees and your expenses. Okay, let's get going. Keep in touch." He escorted Sam and Artie to the door and went back to his office, then started to pace.
He had seldom felt doubts before. Usually, he had complete confidence in his ability to tackle anything and everything. But Samhain worried him. Bane wished that Michael Hawk was still around. That man had been a world-class investigator who could spot a single discrepancy in any alibi or rattle off a dozen conclusions from a piece of string at a crime scene.
Bane admitted he was no genius as a detective. His specialty was fighting. When the stalking and chases and killing started, the Dire Wolf was his natural element.
Before leaving the building, Bane opened a locked cabinet in his office where he kept some of the more esoteric weaponry. He ejected the clip of anesthetic darts from his CO2-powered gun and inserted a magazine of seven resonance caps. These were low-powered concussion grenades, designed to knock a man down with cracked ribs or the breath knocked out of him but hopefully with no permanent damage.
They were still risky to use on people, but then the resonance caps had not been intended for Human targets. Bane had developed them for the creatures of the night who were too tough and too resilient to be stopped by anesthetic darts. He figured if any monster qualified for the resonance caps, Samhaim did.
As always, Bane was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes. The matched silver-bladed daggers were sheathed on his forearms with the hilts out. In his jacket and slacks were concealed a dozen tiny gadgets, ranging from two pencil-sized thermal flares to the oxygen membrane to a flexible hacksaw blade in his right lapel.
Feeling not only ready but downright eager to confront this century-old serial killer, Bane marched down to the garage beneath the building and get in the Buick Regal. Before he stowed his vehicles down here, he always stopped to fill the gas tank, check the oil and tires and make sure the equipment in the trunk was ready. He rolled up the steep concrete ramp that exited in the dead-end alley and pulled out onto the traffic on Lexington Avenue.
At a red light, Bane thumbed a preset number on the Link which he had placed in its niche on the dashboard. The Trom device patched into the regular phone network and a second later, he heard a man's voice say, "Hello? Yes?"
"Is this James Hutchinson? I need to see Mr Dietz immediately. This is urgent."
"He already has an appointment with a police detective in fifteen minutes," said the astronomer's assistant.
"Fine. I'm working on the same case," Bane said to the Link without having to raise his voice. "This is about the death of Peter Burnley last night. My name is Jeremy Bane--"
"Wait, WHAT?" came the man's voice. "There must be some mix-up. That's the name the police detective provided?"
VII.
Bane's skin crawled and he felt a cold thump in the pit of his stomach. "Listen. This is a matter of life or death. Get Dietz out of that house immediately. You are both in mortal danger! Do you understand?"
His only answer was a click and the silence of a disconnected line. The Dire Wolf knew not to redial. He floored the accelerator and sped up the width of Fifth Avenue, missing a few collisions by inches and hearing angry horns honking behind him.
Soon he found the address he had been given and slammed on the brakes to leave his car right in front of a FINE FOR PARKING sign.
Vaulting out from behind the wheel, feeling a cab slide past him within skinning distance, Bane was only thinking of one thing. He sprinted headlong
for the front door. It was a narrow yellow brick building with the name DIETZ FAMILY over the front door. Without breaking stride, Bane whirled and blasted a straight side kick that cracked the lock and slammed the door open.
Inside the front hall, with its mahogany cabinets and framed prints on the wall, a man sprawled on the polished hardwood floor. His head had been twisted completely around so that his dead face was staring down between his own shoulder blades.
The staring eyes and protruding tongue meant that searching for a pulse would be a waste of time.
On a stand near the door was an old-fashioned rotary phone. Bane picked up the receiver and called the number at Homicide South down on 20th Street. "Klein? This is Bane! He's striking right now. Get up to Dietz's home, 677 111th Street." Leaving the phone off the hook, he stalking deeper into the house.
The main parlor showed more of Dietz' wealth on display. The room had gleaming hardwood floors with a splendid Persian rug stretching its length. The handcrafted furniture was simple and understated. There was an elaborate stere system taking up much of a one wall and a baby grand piano under the French windows.
Carlton Dietz in his wheelchair was tied up with duct tape in the middle of that room. A strip of the tape covered his mouth as well. Dietz was a substantial man with a round belly and not much hair. His round moonface was purple with congested blood as he tried to cry out through the tape.
The astronomer's wheelchair itself had been immobilized, tied to the heavy couch with clothesline. Water dripped off Dietz, plopping audibly onto the floor. He had been drenched.
As Bane rushed into the living room, his deadliest enemy tossed a plastic bucket aside. Samhain was elegant in a Royal blue suit with a powder blue shirt and narrow black tie, polished dress shoes and even a neat handkerchief folded in the breast pocket. The man was quite handsome in almost a movie star way, with a full head of perfectly styled black hair and clean-cut features. His eyes were dark blue and his perfect teeth flashed in an easy grin.
"What, YOU again?" Samhain asked. "Of course, you're thinking the same about me. Excuse me a second."
As he spoke, the unkillable killer flung an extension cord toward the helpless Dietz. The ends had been stripped to bare wire. Bane had never reacted faster. He leaped across the room in a blur, slapped the cord far to one side and lunged straight for Samhain.
But even as he had thrown that cord, the murderer's other hand dove inside his suit jacket and came out with a small flat .25 Beretta. Before the Dire Wolf could reach him, Samhain fired three times and caught his enemy right over the heart. The flexible Trom armor under his clothes saved his life as it had many times before. Caught in mid-step and off-balance, Bane staggered to one side but managed to stay on his feet.
His own weapon whipped up and coughed twice. The low chuff of its compressed gas mechanism was lost in the sharp detonation of two resonance caps exploding. Samhain took a hit high on the chest and against his left shoulder. He was struck down by the blasts but even as he fell, the immortal killer snapped off one more shot. The small-caliber bullet tore across Bane's right cheek, slicing open a furrow and going on to smash a window behind him.
The Dire Wolf didn't seem to even notice. He took aim as his enemy was rising and fired a resonance cap that blew the gun out of Samhain's grip. Bones in the killer's hand snapped and the fingers bent in ways they were not meant to. For a second, even Samhain was occupied with pain and shock. His defenses were down. Bane got in close and unleashed a barrage of left-hand hooking punches back and forth to the torso and face that sounded like drumming. As Samhain swayed, the Dire Wolf threw a vicious uppercut that started down by his own knees.
Samhain's jaws were slammed shut, his head swung far back and he fell like a corpse. Even so, Bane did not let up. He knew what he was dealing with. As the killer struggled to rise, the Dire Wolf fired another resonance cap full into his face at point-blank range. Even after that, with one side of his face caved in and an eye protruding half out of its socket, Samhain did not die. He rolled over to get his hands under him and started to push himself up.
"There has got to be a limit to your healing factor," Bane growled. He holstered his gun and drew both silver daggers from their sheaths. As Samhain got to his knees, Bane knocked him down with a kick and knelt to sink one of the daggers to the hilt in the monster's heart, pinning him down to the hardwood. The Dire Wolf put his full weight on that knife, then raised the other one and drove it into Samhain's throat.
Even then, the furious blue eyes remained open and followed his movements. Samhain's arms and legs continued to flex and resist. Bane kept the man down by kneeling on him. The effects of the ensorcelled silver were fatal to most creatures of the night, but Samhain seemed resistant to even their effect.
Surprised to find himself panting, Bane said, "I had to cut Seneca's head off to finally get rid of him. Maybe you need to be buried in a dozen different places."
He glanced up to find Inspector Klein and a uniformed officer staring from the doorway. From their bulging eyes and gaping mouths, they were obviously stunned by what they had just witnessed.
"If you want to take this bird prisoner, you're welcome to him," Bane said.
"I, uh, I think you can let up on him a little. That has to be Samhain, right? Miller, get that man over there untied and see how he is."
Bane straightened up but did not get off the man. He remained tense and ready to fight.
Coming closer, Inspector Klein bent over with a grunt and picked up the frayed cord with its exposed ends, then glanced over at the soaking wet Dietz. "He was going to electrocute this guy," he said and it was not a question.
"You got it," said the Dire Wolf. "Dietz is the world's top authority on Jupiter. The Jupiter of Roman mythology was based on Zeus from Greek myths... and both of them used the thunderbolt as their weapon. Samhain was sticking to his theme. Klein, you have handcuffs on you?"
The inspector reluctantly unclipped cuffs from the rear of his belt and handed them over. "Bane, get real. He's got a knife in his chest and another one in his throat. He's not going anywhere."
"You might think so." Leaning over toward the piano, Bane handcuffed his enemy's left wrist to the leg of that instrument. There was blood all over the front of his black turtleneck and his own facial wound was dripping. He did not seem to be aware of his wound.
The Dire Wolf said, "Watch closely," and tugged his daggers out of Samhain's body, then jumped up to his feet before they could stop him.
"Hey, hey, careful with the evidence," Klein began but the words stuck in his throat as he saw Samhain cough, spit some blood on the floor and sit up. He tried to rise but being cuffed to the piano restricted him. The immortal killer wiped his face with his free hand. There was not a scratch on it.
"God watch over us," whispered the officer.
"That's going to be some report you make, inspector," Bane said. "I don't know how you're going to word it."
"You idiots!" screamed Samhain as if he had not been hurt in the slightest. "Do you know how many times I've been arrested? You can't hold me. I'll be killing your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. I am a force of nature and I cannot be stopped!"
Klein shook himself visibly and got back to business. "Whatever. Listen, you are under arrest for murder and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the inspector and the uniformed cop were focused on approaching their defiant prisoner, Bane quietly walked over to the bathroom across the hall. Using hot water and liquid soap, he scrubbed his daggers free of blood and sheathed them. He had no intention of surrendering them. Those blades had been a gift from Kenneth Dred when they had first met.
With no wounds remaining on Samhain, Bane didn't think a case could be made for confiscating the daggers anyway. Klein and the officer had seen the knives in the killer, but there was no physical evidence to support that. Samhain's healthy unbroken skin would contradict their claims. Besides, he figured Department 21 Black would claim jurisdiction for Samhain's crimes in other states and would quietly instruct the NYPD to never mention the case again. This happened a lot with Midnight War events.
Klein had watched Bane without saying anything. In the past few days, his worldview had been shaken to its basic foundations. He was not certain at that moment just what he believed.
By then, Dietz had been untied and his gag removed. Klein asked, "Are you all right, sir? Do you wish to make a statement?"
"Yes! Yes. That maniac was ready to murder me. If that man in black hadn't stopped him, I'd be dead right now. I'll press charges, I'll testify, whatever you want."
Samhain cackled and kept struggling to get loose. The cop stayed well out of reach with one hand on his service revolver.
"He's wanted for multiple homicides," Klein told the intended victim. "He should definitely get the death penalty."
From where he stood, the Dire Wolf said, "That'll be quite a trick."
5/6/2000 - Rev 3/9/2018
III. At four-thirty, Dr Burnley pulled into his driveway. His house was an unexceptional two-story structure with aluminum siding and a car port on one side. The backyard faced woods and he often sat out there with the newspaper on sunny days.
Already parked under a tree was an old Ford Fairlane which looked as if it had been used to batter barns down. A beefy middle-aged man in a tan suit and a felt cap climbed out, tucking a sheaf of papers and folders under one arm. He came up to Burnley amiably enough.
"Hiya, Samuel Simek here," said the man. "Here's my drivers license, my PI license. Mr Bane sent me."
Burnley took his time examining the IDs. "weren't you suppoosed to have a young woman with you?"
"What? No. Me and my cousin have always been the whole staff of our agency. We ain't never had a woman work with us."
"That was a trick question, Mr Simek. I'm sorry, I'm understandably a bit nervous and wanted to confirm that you are who you say you are."
"Hah, that's a good one. These papers are camoflauge. In case anyone's watching, they'll think I'm here on some other kind of business. Here, take one and pretend to read it."
Obligingly, the astronomer studied a few sheets of paper, returned them to Simek and nodded his head vigorously. He handed them back, and the PI suggested they go into the house. Once inside with the door closed behind them, the detective put a finger to his lips for silence and moved quickly through the house.
While Burnley waited uneasily by the door, Simek went through every room, opening every closet and looking under or behind furniture. He went down in the basement laundry room and and up into a crawlspace attic too small to stand upright in.
When he finally returned to Burnley, Simek took his hand away from the butt of his revolver holstered on his belt. A relieved grin spread across the battered face.
"I declare this house free of intruders," he announced. "All the windows and the back door are locked as well."
"Thank you, sir," said Burnley.
My partner, Artie, is already in place in your back yard. He's down behind some pine trees with his binoculars. Artie is reliable as the sun coming down, you can count on him."
"I must say I feel moe at ease," the astronomer admitted. "But let me ask about this man Bane. Do you think he can handle someone like the infamous Samhain?"
"Hah! My friend, let me assure you that Jeremy Bane is the most dangerous person you will ever meet in life. He was born in reflexes more than twice as fast as normal and he has been in fights all his life. I'd bet money on him against anything that lives. Everything you've heard about him is only scratching the surface."
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear, Mr Simek."
"I'm going back to my car down by the road, where I can see your yard. I got my thermos and my sandwiches. Every ninety minutes, I'm gonna call you to confirm you're okay and of course you can summon us instantly if you hear anything at all."
"I have your cell number. Thank you so much," Burnley said.
"Doing our job since 1978," Simek replied with a grin. He left the house and returned to his car. It was getting dark outside. The PI made a wide circle of the area and drove back from a different direction. He pulled over to the side of the road in a position from where he could watch the house. Sam Simek took a pair of vintage binoculars from the glove compartment, turned on his portable radio to a National Public Radio station and listened to people discussing the decline of ostrich farming. He settled back to wait.
Inside his home, Dr Burnley removed his coat and yanked off his tie, kicked off his loafers and put on ancient slippers. With classical music playing on the stereo, he hummed along as he heated up what was left of the previous day's lamb with mint sauce. He ate leisurely at the kitchen table, sipping wine and trying to lose himself in the music and food.
Being honest with himself, Burnley admitted he was stressed out beyond anything he had experienced before. At least he had taken measures to protect himself. Two seasons detectives, both armed, stood guard outside and the famous Jeremy Bane was getting involved. Like many native New Yorkers, he had heard wild rumors about this Dire Wolf for years. Clearing away the table, he left the dirty dishes in the sink.
Leaving the porch light on, he checked the front and back door as well as the windows before beginning to relax a bit. Burnley trudged upstairs in better spirits than he had been the past few days.
Down in the basement, in a gloom only broken by a single tiny nightlight, the door of the clothes dryer popped open. Sam had glanced at the appliance when prowling the house but it was obviously too small to hold anyone more than five years old. Nevertheless, a man crawled out now and dropped down onto the cold stone floor.
Dressed all in black, a tall thin figure flopped about with arms and legs that were broken at unnatural angles. In a minute, one arm snapped back into place, then both legs. The immortal killer forced his other arm back into its socket and got to his feet.
Samhain grinned to himself in the murk.
His abnormal healing ability enabled him to ignore stab wounds and bullet holes, to survive being hit by cars or trapped in burning buildings and to seem completely unscatched immediately. But he still felt pain. Breaking his own limbs to be able to fit inside that dryer had certainly not been enjoyable.
"The demands my little hobby makes of me," he chuckled. He swung around and loped up the stairs out of the basement.
Burnley had hung his clothes over a chair in his bedroom and worn his robe and slippers to the bathroom. Since the death of his wife three years earlier, her clothing and belongings had gradually been donated. Photos and memories were enough for him. He turned on the hot water in the tub, sprinkled in bath salts and hung his robe on a hook by the door.
A shower would be quicker but he felt achy and sore. Soaking would be more satisfying. With a deep sigh, he eased into water that was on the brink of being unbearably hot and settled back. Resting his head on a hard rubber cushion, Burnley closed his eyes a second before a powerful black-gloved hand shoved his head under the water and held it there.
IV.
At ten o'clock, Sam Simek called to report. He loved his new cell phone, these gadgets made surveillance so much easier it wasn't even funny. "Hi, Mr Bane. Nothing to report so far. His kitchen light went on sixteen minutes ago. The bathroom light upstairs is also on. Nothing moving outside that I can see."
"Where's Artie?" came Bane's voice.
"Behind the house. Sitting next to some trees."
"Sam, there was another murder last night. In Troy. A man specializing in plate tectonics was suffocated under a ton of dirt. Earth scientist, killed by dirt."
"Sure sounds like the pattern!"
"That's what the cops think," Bane said. "But I'm not so sure. A geologist is not an astronomer, it seems to be stretching terms too far. Even if Earth IS one of the planets, I suspect that the murder was not part of the real sequence."
"It was a decoy?" asked Sam. "So everyone doesn't expect another killing right away?"
"That's my guess. Sam, I'm on my way to join you guys now. I want you to call Dr Burnley. If he doesn't answer, have Artie go in the back, to investigate while you watch."
"Understood. Stand by, sir." Sam let Burnley's phone ring for a full minute before calling Bane back. "No answer. Mr Bane, I'm sending Artie in while I watch the outside."
"Tell him to have his gun in hand with the safety off. But you also follow him out of arm's reach. Be more careful than you usually are, Sam. I don't want to lose you two."
"Ah, we're tough old birds. We'll report right away." Sam met his cousin at the rear of the house, where they found the rear door had a standard Schlage lock which their assortment of keys could handle. Wearing thin cotton gloves they always carried, the two investigators stepped inside.
"Dr Burnley? Hello? Are you all right?" Artie called out but received no answer. Beside him, Sam took out a snub-nosed .32 Colt revolver he had relied upon for many years. Slowly and watchfully, they made their way through the silent house.
Light came out through the open bathroom door. The cousins found Dr Burnley in the filled tub, completely underwater, eyes and mouth open. The body wasn't floating, which meant the lungs had filled wih water. Artie started to reach toward the corpse anyway. He didn't seriously intend to try mouth-to-mouth or CPR under those circumstance but he had to fight an inclination to try.
"We need to get out of here," Sam told him.
"Yeah. The boss should be here in a second." As they retraced their steps back out of the house, both men kept checking to make certain that they hadn't dropped anything or left any trace of their presence on the scene. On the back porch, after locking the door again, the cousins started briskly back through the yard.
"Well, our story is simple. We called the victim, got no answer and waited here for the Wolf to arrive. He's in charge."
"Yeah, not much to trip up on with that yarn," said Artie.
As they reached their car, they saw Bane pull up and leaped from behind the wheel as if he had been shot from a catapult. "I've called Klein. He's on the way with his troops. Let's have a quick report."
Sam and Artie described what they had found in a brief summary, then started again in greater detail. Bane listened, asked a few questions, then agreed they should keep to their simple story.
"Mr Bane, we let you down on this one," Sam said. "We'll return our fee. Burnley got it right under our noses."
"I won't accept it. You guys haven't failed, Samhain has been outsmarting everyone from the Mandate to Scotland Yard to the KGB for decades. That lunatic has a lot to answer for."
Glumly, the three of them stood around for ten minutes until blinding red and blue lights from three cop cars came speeding up the dark road. From the lead vehicle, Harold Klein stepped out, wearing the same raincoat that had seen its best days long ago.
The inspector marched right up to the Dire Wolf and barely restrained himself from grabbing a handful of lapels. "Awright, you! Let's hear it. Talk to me."
"Inspector Klein, these two operatives are working for me on the Samhain case. Arthur Rose and Samuel Simek, they've been licensed PIs in business for fifteen years. Dr Burnley met with them this afternoon. He agreed to allow them to watch his house. They phoned him every ninety minutes for a status check. He had their cell numbers if he saw or heard anything even a little out of the ordinary."
When the Dire Wolf paused, Klein almost sputtered in his impatience. "Are you trying to be dramatic? Go on."
"At ten o'clock, Burnley did not answer. He still has not responded. Artie and Sam wanted to break a window and get in to see if he was okay. But I was already on my way here and I told them to call you instead."
All very true, thought Bane. It was what had been left out that really mattered.
"Yeah? I bet there's more to it than that though. Dammit, Putnam and Sutton, get that door open. You got keys for most locks. You two detectives, Rosie and Simek, stick around near this officer here and keep yer mouths shut. I don't want you working on alibis."
Getting in, Klein studied the death scene and turned off the water. He looked around, fixing every detail in his mind, then straightened up. "Officer Putnam, you stay outside the door. I gotta call the medical examiner and the wagon." He dug around in his raincoat pocket and came up with a flip phone that had numerous scratches and a cracked screen.
After the calls had been made, the inspector moved back out in the yard to fix a chilly stare on Bane. "You got something to say?"
"That man came to me for protection, Klein. I promised him he would be safe. You understand how I feel."
"Yeah, your professional pride is hurt," the inspector scoffed. "You got any ideas how this Samhain freak got out after the killing? Or for that matter, how'd he get in here in the first place?"
"If he IS out of the house," Bane said.
"I thought of that, believe me. Sutton is making a circuit of the house now, looking in every closet and under every bed. He's got his service revolver in his hand. But I don't expect him to find anything, truth be told."
"No." The Dire Wolf folded his arms and lowered his head. "Samhain is done here. You can see the motif, inspector. Neptune was Burnley's area of special expertise. In mythology, Nepture was the god of the sea, so Burnley was drowned. What a sick mind. Klein, these men never did anything to Samhain. They never even met him. To him, they are only pieces in his little game."
"Tell me some more, Bane," Klein demanded. "Come out with it. You're holding a lot back."
The Dire Wolf gazed down at the shorter older man. "Fine. I think Samhain has a special healing ability that normal Humans don't. He recovers from mortal injuries in minutes and he doesn't age at a normal rate. I've tracked his first recorded murder was to 1921."
"Are you drunk or just crazy?" snorted Klein.
"No one has ever uncovered his real name or nationalty. I guess he's American, born around 1895 or so, but he could easily be older than that. He's been killing this way for at least seventy years. It's always a cluster of murders with some symbolic link between the victims. They have the same last name as US Presidents or they're all left-handed redheads, that sort of thing." The Dire Wolf turned away to gaze at where Sam and Artie were loitering near Officer Putnam.
"Samhain makes other serial killers like Seneca or Dr Sabbath look cub scouts," he said as if to himself. "He IS the Boogeyman that childre have nightmares about."
"Dammit, Bane, stop! You're scaring me."
"I'm scared, too. He's the only enemy I get worried about tackling. He might be the one monster I cam't handle. The man has seventy years of experience and there's no way to kill him."
"This stuff CAN'T be true. It's fantasy. You must be confusing him with other killers, that's all there is to it."
"I wish," said Bane in a steady voice. "There's no mistake. Come to my building tomorrow and I'll show you a stack of evidence. Mark Drum fought him in 1939. Andrew Steel thought he destroyed Samhain in 1965. And Michael Hawk actually brought him into custody in 1976. And yet, Samhain always escaped or came back somehow, more vicious and more devious each time."
"Whatever, whatever. I can't worry about that right now." Klein jabbed a stubby finger at the Dire Wolf. "We're at a murder scene. I need to take a statement from you and a statement from each of your helpers over there. Separately. So you can't give each other hints. In a few minutes, City employees will crawling all over this property, measuring and taking samples and snapping pictures like it's D-Day. The medical examiner will show up and he'll check Burnley out down to the dirt under his little toenail."
Bane was staring past the flashing lights of the police cars up at the house. "I know you take your job seriously, inspector. You're an honest cop and a hard-working one. I want you to start thinking about where the next killing will be. So far, Samhain has used Mercury, Mars, Earth and now Nepture as his themes. Five planets left."
"Five more murders?" snarled the inspector. "Not on my watch, by God."
The Dire Wolf swung back back to face the man. "All right. Have your sergeant get out his notebook and I'll start dictating my statement. The two detectives working for me will cooperate, too."
"You know, I could hold you as a material witness, Bane. A night in a holding cell. But going by that look in your eyes, I don't think there's any chance you'd leave town right now."
"No," said Bane. "Samhain is out there. This is where I was meant to be."
V.
It was past two-thirty when Bane finally drove down the ramp into the tiny garage beneath his building. The steel panel slid down automatically behind him and clicked into place. As he got out from behind the wheel, Bane was dismayed to realize he felt tired. This was rare for him, but then the events of that evening had taken their toll. He had lost clients before, every PI had, but it was never something to easily dismiss.
The Dire Wolf walked slowly through the garage, flicking off the lights behind him. He went along the narrow walkways with the Vault to his left and the arsenal to his right, past open shelves holding members' belongings in storage. Up steep concrete steps, he emerged through a panel in the rear of the walk-in closet next to the front door.
Feeling sick at heart, Bane headed for the kitchen at the rear of the hall. He poked around in the refrigerator. There was a big container of lasagna that Cindy had made the day before. He heated it in the microwave and devoured it all with two pieces of buttered Italian bread, topping it with a glass of milk. He wished Cindy could have been around for this case. The Teachers of Tel Shai insisted on testing and refreshers at the most inconvenient times.
Bane barely did the dishes, not really paying attention. It was so unusual for him to be worn down this way. Heading up to his rooms on the third floor, he kicked off his boots, stripped down and pulled a single flannel sheet over him. He fell asleep with the bedside lamp still lit.
The doorbell rang, which set off a buzzer in his room. Bane jerked upright, confused to see bright sunlight slanting in through the windows. The clock on his nightstand read 11:43 AM. Bane almost fell out of bed as he thumbed a button on the intercom, "Hello. I'll be right there."
He could not remember the last time this had happened to him. Frantic, he pulled on a fresh turtleneck and slacks, jammed his feet into boots and started running down the stairs. As he moved, he brushed back his hair with his fingers.
When he checked the monitor by the front door, he confirmed it was only Inspector Klein. Bane realized he had hurried downstairs without the Trom armor, his gun, even his silver daggers. It's a good thing he didn't let in some Snake man assassin or hired gun, he thought with immense self-reproach.
As Klein entered, he fixed a critical eye on Bane. "You've looked better."
"I guess I got behind on sleep lately," the Dire Wolf sheepishly admitted. "Come in, lieutenant."
"I came here to check out the files you said you had on this Samhain," said Klein. "You got it handy?"
"Yeah. Come over here in my office." On the desk was a stack of manila folders and a book that he had been studying the previous day. "Let's dig in, inspector, there's a lot of material to cover."
After that, they were mostly silent as they both sorted through the assorted notes. A few times they muttered comments. Bane had pulled files on Samhain from a wide variety of sources. There were yellowed newspaper clippings from the 1930s, there were Kenneth Dred's own neatly typed accounts of encounters he and his colleagues had had with the immortal killer. Photostat pages of old books and magazine articles about unsolved crimes, transcripts of court records and police files, as well as an unpublished manuscript of a book about Samhain from 1968, made for a lot of reading.
Two hours of wading through that gruesome material was hard for anyone to take. Klein hit his limit when he arranged a collection of a dozen mug shots on the desk in front of him. Photos from 1931 Miami, 1944 San Diego, 1956 Chicago, 1961 Selma, 1964 Dallas, 1972 Boston, right up to the most recent one from 1989 Tucson. The hair styles were different but there was no doubt it was the same face with the same mocking smile staring up at him in each picture.
The inspector suddenly shoved his chair back and stood up, having trouble catching his breath. Bane rose as well and came around to stand beside him. "I think we could use a break," the Dire Wolf said. "Come on, I'll make some coffee."
In the kitchen at the rear of the ground floor, Klein nosed around while the coffee brewed and then gratefully drained a cup. He asked for a refill, which he sipped more sedately.
Since caffeine was the last thing he needed, Bane worked on a tall tumbler of ice water. He was watching the inspector thoughtfully. "It's a jolt when the pieces fall together."
"Yep, exactly what I was thinking," Klein said. "I'd read about some of these murders. Unsolved cold cases have a fascinaton for cops. But I never ever made the connection between them all. Now I see the big picture."
Putting the water pitcher back in the refrigerator, Bane said nothing. He felt Klein might be having a moment of revelation.
"You know, I was remembering when I worked with Michael Hawk a few times," Klein said. "Hell of a guy. A real straight arrow. He thought the world of you, Bane."
"I'm glad to hear that," the Dire Wolf said simply. "Mike helped me get my PI license and taught me the basics of the trade but I'll never be anywhere near the the investigator he was."
"The point is, if Hawk trusted you, maybe I should give you a chance, too." Klein set his cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I've been thinking about this."
Pulling out a chair at the round kitchen table, Bane sat down facing the man. He said nothing, waiting.
"Bane, this is off the record. I'm speaking unofficially. Against normal human lawbreakers, police methods work fine. It's a system of laws that people have agreed on so society can function more or less. But with these monsters from outside the system, Samhain or Golgora or the Slaughterman, regular tactics don't work. You can't send dogcatchers after freakin' sabretooth tigers."
"That's where I've been trying to help," Bane said. "It's what I was meant to be doing."
Getting up with a slight wince, Klein went over to rinse out his cup in the sink. "I might get in hot water for letting you operate without trying to rein you in. Maybe endanger my pension, maybe risk getting up on charges myself. But I've decided this city needs a Dire Wolf once in a while."
Bane rose and said only, "Thanks."
Getting back to the topic, Klein said, "You know, this freak is not a serial killer in the classic sense. There's no sex involved. He doesn't keep trophies. He doesn't feel compulsion to repeat himself. It's a sick game to him. Each series of killings is like a little play he puts on to show how clever he is."
"That's what I think, too," Bane agreed. "There are still five planets left. By now, every astronomer has to be a nervous wreck. Samhain has already worked out his next attack. He'll pick an astronomer and plan a death involving the ancient god that the planet is named after. We've got that to work with."
Klein headed out of the kitchen, scratching his head absently. "In theory, my territory is midtown to lower Manhattan. But lately my captain has been loaning me out for any crimes that seem weird. I guess I'm being seen as a sort of specialist."
"My hunch is that Samhain will finish off as many victims as he can while in the city," Bane said. "He has a definite grudge against me since I kept him from completing the Compass Murders a few years ago."
The inspector paused and gave Bane a quizzical look. "Really? You were involved in the Compass Murders?"
"Yeah," Bane said as he led Klein through the hall. "First time we met, I shoved him in front of a subway train on Seventh Avenue. You'd think he'd get the hint but he was back in action right away."
Stopping by the front door, the Dire Wolf frowned. "I don't think he'll attack me personally. Samhain seems to enjoy being chased by FBI profilers. But he knows where I work and these killings may be a red flag he's waving to catch my attention."
"Feh. You're after him. The NYPD and the FBI are after him. He sure doesn't make friends." The inspector opened the door and let himself out. His parting words were "Keep me updated, Bane."
"Sure." The Dire Wolf allowed the faintest flicker of a smile across his face.
VI.
He went back up to the second floor, made his bed and slung the belt with the dart gun over one shoulder. Pulling back his sleeves, he strapped the leather sheaths to his forearms with their hilts out. The silver-bladed throwing knives had been crafted ages ago and had been ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin to be potent against malevolent forces.
Kenneth Dred had given the young Dire Wolf those daggers at their first meeeting. If he had to give up everything else he owned in the world, Bane would have held on to those two blades. He had worn them so long that he felt off-balance without them.
Heading back down to the kitchen, he scrambled three eggs and ate them on wheat toast in a few gulps. His enhanced metabolism left him constantly ravenous. The meeting with Klein had gone so much better than he expected. He had hoped the sly old cop would warm up a little and see Bane as an ally. A liaison with the Homicide Department was always valuable.
Bane went to his office and dropped down behind his desk. He phoned Sam and Artie. They had been released from questioning soon after he had been.
"I don't have anything for you guys right this minute," he said. "But things will be happening soon. I want you both to remain available around the clock for the next few days. At your usual rates, with a bonus if you have to get within sight of the enemy. How does that sound?"
"Fine, Mr Bane," came Artie's voice. "Sorry again about last night. We took pride in never letting you down before."
"Don't worry about it. We're dealing with a top predator this time. I'll contact you as soon as I have anything to work with."
Next, Bane called Wilber Schlegel, his most reliable researcher. Retired and devoted to exploring the Internet, the man owed an immense debt to Bane. When Schlegel's teenage daughter had been abducted by a vicious rapist, it turned out the Dire Wolf had already been on the sadist's trail. Within ninety minutes, the daughter had been home unviolated and the rapist had never been seen again.
Ever since, Schlegel had been eager to use his expertise to help Bane. Much more skilled at online searches than the Dire Wolf, Schlegel had developed many contacts with retired police officers and amateur sleuths, and he had found real satisfaction in preventing crime.
"Hi, Wilber? Yeah, it's me. I'd like some information if you can round it up for me. I'm sure you heard about the astronomers who were killed. Right. One in California, one in Canada, one upstate and one last night right in this area. Yes. A man named Peter Burnley, drowned in his own bathtub."
"I was just reading about that," came Schlegel's voice.
"I'm trying to make sense of the sequence. Here is what I need you to look for, Wilber. The next victim will be an astronomer or an expert on some astronomy subject, I should be more be more exact. He will specialize in one of the following planets: Venus, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto or Saturn. I think that's the list, there are nine altogether, right?"
"Yeah," said Schlegel. "'My Very Easy Method Just Shows Us Nine Planets' is how I learned them back in school."
"Fine," Bane said. "Search the Metropolitan area first but widen the focus if it seems necessary. Can you get me their home addresses, too? Great. You also come through, Wilbur. Thanks again." The Dire Wolf closed the connection. He got up and stretched, then started moving around restlessly.
He was relieved that Wilbur Schlegel had proven to be such a good researcher. Aside from Schlegel's debt to Bane, the man had become interested in the Midnight War for its own sake. Helping to protect the public had given Schlegel a real feeling of purpose.
Sitting around waiting would be intolerable. One drawback to his enhanced reflexes was a metabolism that burned calories always kept him jumpy. He went up to the seventh floor gym. In the shower room there were ten lockers in a row. Only his and Cindy's were still in use. It seemed ridiculous that such a fortune had been spent setting up this building for the KDF team and now only two people lived here.
But it was too soon to think about assembling a new team. That night in Necropolis during the Final Halloween still preyed on him. So many of his friends had been lost in those few hours....
Right now he just wanted to burn off steam. Bane stripped down and changed into a white T-shirt and blue shorts, white socks and sneakers. He kept the Link ready in a pocket of the shorts and hurried over to the nearest of the row of treadmills.
The next forty minutes were spent running at forty-five degree angle. When he was done, a film of sweat covered his body but his breathing had hardly increased. Bane made a circuit of the Nautilus machine, using high reps with lower weight at the moment. At one point, he caught himself sitting at the leg raise machine lost in thought over these Astronomy Murders and had to roust himself. Picking up a cloth and a spray bottle, he wiped down the apparatus and moved on.
Finally, he moved over to the corner where a square of exercise mats was laid out. Feet together, hands at his side, Bane bowed to Teacher Chael and began his DohRa. This started as a series of poses and stances that morphed into punches and blocks and kicks. Soon he was whipping rapidly in circles, fighting imaginary opponents. The sequence reversed itself until he was again holding various stances as he cooled down. Finally, he bowed again with genuine gratitude to the Kumundu Teacher so far away.
During the DohRa, every muscle had been stretched and tested while memory of the techniques had been reinforced. He felt great. Bane went back to the locker room and took a steaming hot shower that he turned cooler before towling down. His abilities did not come for free. Being the Dire Wolf meant training and practicing the needed skills as well as staying conditioned.
Dressed again, he folded up the soggy shorts and shirt to drop off at the laundry room for later. He was still remembering Samhain not that long ago, trying to figure how that maniac thought and what his next move would be. In the back of his mind, he was glad that Inspector Klein seemed to be coming around to regard him as a colleague rather than a suspect. It was always easier to track criminals without having to fight the police at the same time.
Down in his office again, he was startled to see it was already three-thirty. Still no calls. Bane went to the front door and got the mail from the reinforced steel drop. It looked like slim pickings. At his desk, he skimmed through bills and legal notices before putting them aside for the moment. When the office phone rang, he snatched at it as if he was trying to grab a rattler before it could strike.
" Yeah, Bane here. Hi, Wilbur, what have you got? Three names. Wait, I need a pen. Okay. Let me write everything down. Uh-huh. Thanks. Yeah, I've got it." He listened at his best researcher went into too much detail as usual. "I think I've got everything, call me right away if you find anything else. Wilbur, you may have helped catch the most notorious serial killer of modern times."
Bane studied the information over and over, fixing it in his memory. Which one would Samhain strike at next? Why? It was so hard to second guess a lunatic like that.
First on the list was Dr John Philmore, fifty-three. The note said he had written some controversial papers on the cloud composition of Venus, including new trace elements not known before. Bane couldn't imagine how anyone found that interesting, let alone controversial. Philmore was going to Germany for a series of seminars. Then, the seventy-year-old was Jules DeMontfort, a specialist in Saturn's largest moons, and whose whimsical ideas about a supposed original tenth planet had stirred controversy. The third was was Carlton Dietz, who had proven mathematically that Jupiter's gravity well had protected Earth from so many comet strikes that life might not have survived otherwise. Dietz was confined to a wheelchair but had been a prolific author.
Bane turned the possibilities over and tried to consider all possible angles. It would be convenient if Samhain were committing these murders in some obvious order... alphabetically or in order from the Sun or something. But no such luck.
Finally, he phoned Artie and Sam and asked them to come over. During the fifteen minutes he had before they arrived, he wrote down all the names and addresses and phone numbers on index cards. When the cousins arrived, he sat them down and explained why he had settled on the three most likely victims.
"Sam, I'm assigning you DeMontfort. Here's his data. Artie, you take Quinn. Introduce yourselves, give them situation straight without sweetening it and ask them if they've noticed anything suspicious." Bane studied the two older men. "Tail them at a reasonable distance. Don't worry too much about being spotted, Samhain wouldn't be deterred by a detective in the area."
Sam Simek rubbed his unshaven chin and didn't try to hide his unhappiness. "The third guy, the Jupiter expert? You're taking him for himself?"
"That's right," said the Dire Wolf. "Maybe Samhain intended to follow a monthly timetable but he broke schedule last night. He might strike at any time. He might want to complete the sequence and get it over with. You two are good, but I want to stress again that you need to be careful. I'd feel better if you brought some backup with you."
"Umm, well, there are two kids who are trying to get intern spots with us. Just outta college. I bet they'd like to come along and provide extra eyes."
"Bring them," Bane said. "I'll pay their fees and your expenses. Okay, let's get going. Keep in touch." He escorted Sam and Artie to the door and went back to his office, then started to pace.
He had seldom felt doubts before. Usually, he had complete confidence in his ability to tackle anything and everything. But Samhain worried him. Bane wished that Michael Hawk was still around. That man had been a world-class investigator who could spot a single discrepancy in any alibi or rattle off a dozen conclusions from a piece of string at a crime scene.
Bane admitted he was no genius as a detective. His specialty was fighting. When the stalking and chases and killing started, the Dire Wolf was his natural element.
Before leaving the building, Bane opened a locked cabinet in his office where he kept some of the more esoteric weaponry. He ejected the clip of anesthetic darts from his CO2-powered gun and inserted a magazine of seven resonance caps. These were low-powered concussion grenades, designed to knock a man down with cracked ribs or the breath knocked out of him but hopefully with no permanent damage.
They were still risky to use on people, but then the resonance caps had not been intended for Human targets. Bane had developed them for the creatures of the night who were too tough and too resilient to be stopped by anesthetic darts. He figured if any monster qualified for the resonance caps, Samhaim did.
As always, Bane was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes. The matched silver-bladed daggers were sheathed on his forearms with the hilts out. In his jacket and slacks were concealed a dozen tiny gadgets, ranging from two pencil-sized thermal flares to the oxygen membrane to a flexible hacksaw blade in his right lapel.
Feeling not only ready but downright eager to confront this century-old serial killer, Bane marched down to the garage beneath the building and get in the Buick Regal. Before he stowed his vehicles down here, he always stopped to fill the gas tank, check the oil and tires and make sure the equipment in the trunk was ready. He rolled up the steep concrete ramp that exited in the dead-end alley and pulled out onto the traffic on Lexington Avenue.
At a red light, Bane thumbed a preset number on the Link which he had placed in its niche on the dashboard. The Trom device patched into the regular phone network and a second later, he heard a man's voice say, "Hello? Yes?"
"Is this James Hutchinson? I need to see Mr Dietz immediately. This is urgent."
"He already has an appointment with a police detective in fifteen minutes," said the astronomer's assistant.
"Fine. I'm working on the same case," Bane said to the Link without having to raise his voice. "This is about the death of Peter Burnley last night. My name is Jeremy Bane--"
"Wait, WHAT?" came the man's voice. "There must be some mix-up. That's the name the police detective provided?"
VII.
Bane's skin crawled and he felt a cold thump in the pit of his stomach. "Listen. This is a matter of life or death. Get Dietz out of that house immediately. You are both in mortal danger! Do you understand?"
His only answer was a click and the silence of a disconnected line. The Dire Wolf knew not to redial. He floored the accelerator and sped up the width of Fifth Avenue, missing a few collisions by inches and hearing angry horns honking behind him.
Soon he found the address he had been given and slammed on the brakes to leave his car right in front of a FINE FOR PARKING sign.
Vaulting out from behind the wheel, feeling a cab slide past him within skinning distance, Bane was only thinking of one thing. He sprinted headlong
for the front door. It was a narrow yellow brick building with the name DIETZ FAMILY over the front door. Without breaking stride, Bane whirled and blasted a straight side kick that cracked the lock and slammed the door open.
Inside the front hall, with its mahogany cabinets and framed prints on the wall, a man sprawled on the polished hardwood floor. His head had been twisted completely around so that his dead face was staring down between his own shoulder blades.
The staring eyes and protruding tongue meant that searching for a pulse would be a waste of time.
On a stand near the door was an old-fashioned rotary phone. Bane picked up the receiver and called the number at Homicide South down on 20th Street. "Klein? This is Bane! He's striking right now. Get up to Dietz's home, 677 111th Street." Leaving the phone off the hook, he stalking deeper into the house.
The main parlor showed more of Dietz' wealth on display. The room had gleaming hardwood floors with a splendid Persian rug stretching its length. The handcrafted furniture was simple and understated. There was an elaborate stere system taking up much of a one wall and a baby grand piano under the French windows.
Carlton Dietz in his wheelchair was tied up with duct tape in the middle of that room. A strip of the tape covered his mouth as well. Dietz was a substantial man with a round belly and not much hair. His round moonface was purple with congested blood as he tried to cry out through the tape.
The astronomer's wheelchair itself had been immobilized, tied to the heavy couch with clothesline. Water dripped off Dietz, plopping audibly onto the floor. He had been drenched.
As Bane rushed into the living room, his deadliest enemy tossed a plastic bucket aside. Samhain was elegant in a Royal blue suit with a powder blue shirt and narrow black tie, polished dress shoes and even a neat handkerchief folded in the breast pocket. The man was quite handsome in almost a movie star way, with a full head of perfectly styled black hair and clean-cut features. His eyes were dark blue and his perfect teeth flashed in an easy grin.
"What, YOU again?" Samhain asked. "Of course, you're thinking the same about me. Excuse me a second."
As he spoke, the unkillable killer flung an extension cord toward the helpless Dietz. The ends had been stripped to bare wire. Bane had never reacted faster. He leaped across the room in a blur, slapped the cord far to one side and lunged straight for Samhain.
But even as he had thrown that cord, the murderer's other hand dove inside his suit jacket and came out with a small flat .25 Beretta. Before the Dire Wolf could reach him, Samhain fired three times and caught his enemy right over the heart. The flexible Trom armor under his clothes saved his life as it had many times before. Caught in mid-step and off-balance, Bane staggered to one side but managed to stay on his feet.
His own weapon whipped up and coughed twice. The low chuff of its compressed gas mechanism was lost in the sharp detonation of two resonance caps exploding. Samhain took a hit high on the chest and against his left shoulder. He was struck down by the blasts but even as he fell, the immortal killer snapped off one more shot. The small-caliber bullet tore across Bane's right cheek, slicing open a furrow and going on to smash a window behind him.
The Dire Wolf didn't seem to even notice. He took aim as his enemy was rising and fired a resonance cap that blew the gun out of Samhain's grip. Bones in the killer's hand snapped and the fingers bent in ways they were not meant to. For a second, even Samhain was occupied with pain and shock. His defenses were down. Bane got in close and unleashed a barrage of left-hand hooking punches back and forth to the torso and face that sounded like drumming. As Samhain swayed, the Dire Wolf threw a vicious uppercut that started down by his own knees.
Samhain's jaws were slammed shut, his head swung far back and he fell like a corpse. Even so, Bane did not let up. He knew what he was dealing with. As the killer struggled to rise, the Dire Wolf fired another resonance cap full into his face at point-blank range. Even after that, with one side of his face caved in and an eye protruding half out of its socket, Samhain did not die. He rolled over to get his hands under him and started to push himself up.
"There has got to be a limit to your healing factor," Bane growled. He holstered his gun and drew both silver daggers from their sheaths. As Samhain got to his knees, Bane knocked him down with a kick and knelt to sink one of the daggers to the hilt in the monster's heart, pinning him down to the hardwood. The Dire Wolf put his full weight on that knife, then raised the other one and drove it into Samhain's throat.
Even then, the furious blue eyes remained open and followed his movements. Samhain's arms and legs continued to flex and resist. Bane kept the man down by kneeling on him. The effects of the ensorcelled silver were fatal to most creatures of the night, but Samhain seemed resistant to even their effect.
Surprised to find himself panting, Bane said, "I had to cut Seneca's head off to finally get rid of him. Maybe you need to be buried in a dozen different places."
He glanced up to find Inspector Klein and a uniformed officer staring from the doorway. From their bulging eyes and gaping mouths, they were obviously stunned by what they had just witnessed.
"If you want to take this bird prisoner, you're welcome to him," Bane said.
"I, uh, I think you can let up on him a little. That has to be Samhain, right? Miller, get that man over there untied and see how he is."
Bane straightened up but did not get off the man. He remained tense and ready to fight.
Coming closer, Inspector Klein bent over with a grunt and picked up the frayed cord with its exposed ends, then glanced over at the soaking wet Dietz. "He was going to electrocute this guy," he said and it was not a question.
"You got it," said the Dire Wolf. "Dietz is the world's top authority on Jupiter. The Jupiter of Roman mythology was based on Zeus from Greek myths... and both of them used the thunderbolt as their weapon. Samhain was sticking to his theme. Klein, you have handcuffs on you?"
The inspector reluctantly unclipped cuffs from the rear of his belt and handed them over. "Bane, get real. He's got a knife in his chest and another one in his throat. He's not going anywhere."
"You might think so." Leaning over toward the piano, Bane handcuffed his enemy's left wrist to the leg of that instrument. There was blood all over the front of his black turtleneck and his own facial wound was dripping. He did not seem to be aware of his wound.
The Dire Wolf said, "Watch closely," and tugged his daggers out of Samhain's body, then jumped up to his feet before they could stop him.
"Hey, hey, careful with the evidence," Klein began but the words stuck in his throat as he saw Samhain cough, spit some blood on the floor and sit up. He tried to rise but being cuffed to the piano restricted him. The immortal killer wiped his face with his free hand. There was not a scratch on it.
"God watch over us," whispered the officer.
"That's going to be some report you make, inspector," Bane said. "I don't know how you're going to word it."
"You idiots!" screamed Samhain as if he had not been hurt in the slightest. "Do you know how many times I've been arrested? You can't hold me. I'll be killing your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. I am a force of nature and I cannot be stopped!"
Klein shook himself visibly and got back to business. "Whatever. Listen, you are under arrest for murder and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the inspector and the uniformed cop were focused on approaching their defiant prisoner, Bane quietly walked over to the bathroom across the hall. Using hot water and liquid soap, he scrubbed his daggers free of blood and sheathed them. He had no intention of surrendering them. Those blades had been a gift from Kenneth Dred when they had first met.
With no wounds remaining on Samhain, Bane didn't think a case could be made for confiscating the daggers anyway. Klein and the officer had seen the knives in the killer, but there was no physical evidence to support that. Samhain's healthy unbroken skin would contradict their claims. Besides, he figured Department 21 Black would claim jurisdiction for Samhain's crimes in other states and would quietly instruct the NYPD to never mention the case again. This happened a lot with Midnight War events.
Klein had watched Bane without saying anything. In the past few days, his worldview had been shaken to its basic foundations. He was not certain at that moment just what he believed.
By then, Dietz had been untied and his gag removed. Klein asked, "Are you all right, sir? Do you wish to make a statement?"
"Yes! Yes. That maniac was ready to murder me. If that man in black hadn't stopped him, I'd be dead right now. I'll press charges, I'll testify, whatever you want."
Samhain cackled and kept struggling to get loose. The cop stayed well out of reach with one hand on his service revolver.
"He's wanted for multiple homicides," Klein told the intended victim. "He should definitely get the death penalty."
From where he stood, the Dire Wolf said, "That'll be quite a trick."
5/6/2000 - Rev 3/9/2018