Hour of Departure, chapter 2
Chapter Two: Murder and Mayhem
Connor MacLeod was rarely in New York these days. He'd been running guns and equipment to England since Austria was annexed in 1938 and was generally out of the country, so I was glad to feel his presence as I approached his door. He answered it less than two seconds after I knocked, and damn near skewered me with that katana of his. When he saw me, his eyes narrowed even further, but a little bit of the tension went out of his stance.
"Salisbury," he said flatly. "What do you want?"
"It's 'Delaney' at the moment," I told him. "Put your sword away. I'm here on business."
"Yours or mine?" he asked.
"Mine. We found a decapitated corpse in Central Park this morning."
"And?"
"And, all the Immortals who live locally have managed to coexist peacefully for the past five years. Unless someone suddenly developed a grudge against Andrew Marks, there's a stranger in town. A sloppy one."
"So you came to warn me."
"I owe you one. France, remember?"
"That I do," Connor said, his eyes warming a little. "Andrew Marks, you said?"
"Did you know him?"
"I did. His name was Andrei Federov. He was a White Guard, or something similar -- an imperial loyalist, anyway." He frowned. "He wasn't very old. I think he met his first death in 1917, during the revolution."
"And his final one in Central Park." I shook my head. "This is going to be a hassle."
"I don't envy you, that's for sure" Connor said. "Personally, I'd rather be worrying about overzealous submarine captains." He grinned. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"I'll have to take a raincheck," I said. "Federov's autopsy is scheduled for half an hour from now."
"Fun, fun," Connor said. "Have a good time, Salisbury."
"Watch out for submarines, Highlander," I said, and started up the sidewalk.
"Matthew!"
I turned around.
"Watch your head," he said.
***
Journal of Det. Patrick Flynn - summer of 1939:
Ten years ago, I shot a bank robber in a standoff on Madison Avenue. That would probably have been the end of it, except that I went to the morgue a few hours later for an autopsy on another case and ran right into the bastard as he made his way out the door.
While I stood there staring like a moron, he grinned at me, put his finger to his lips, and sauntered off down the sidewalk. When I found out that the corpse had vanished from the morgue, I thought for sure that I was losing my mind.
Three weeks later, I had a brand new tattoo and one assignment: to keep Immortal duels out of departmental homicide files. It wasn't difficult. None of the Immortals who lived locally were the headhunting types, and when they did fight, they generally cleaned up after themselves. The work was undemanding, and the extra pay came in handy.
Five years ago, Matthew of Salisbury applied to the NYPD under the alias of Matthew Delaney. The Watcher higher-ups assigned me to him the day he was hired, and I kept an eye on him as he breezed his way through the Academy and his first three years on patrol. When he made detective, I wasn't surprised. When I was partnered with him, I was -- especially when the Watchers told me not to bother with getting reassigned.
The first day we worked together I was sick with worry, but Matthew didn't notice a thing. He put me at my ease in about fifteen minutes without intending to do it, and within a month I'd had him over to my house for dinner. Inside of three months, my wife had taken to setting him up with girls from the neighborhood, and I trusted him as much as any partner I'd ever had.
It got tricky sometimes, following Matt around, especially when he went off on his own. The day Andrei Federov was killed, for example, he'd gone running off to talk to Connor MacLeod and, since he was running late for the autopsy, I'd had to beat a hasty retreat in order to make it back to the morgue before he did.
I'd just leaned back against the wall outside the M.E.'s office and pulled out my cigarettes when Matt arrived. He looked distracted, but he stopped to light my cigarette and one of his own before we went into the building.
"Where have you been?" I asked, as we went down the hallway to the autopsy room.
"I went and got myself something to eat," he drawled.
"And you didn't bring me anything back?"
"Do you really want to eat before an autopsy?"
"You got me there," I admitted. Of course, Matt hadn't eaten either, but I wasn't supposed to know that.
Dr. Emil Petrov, the medical examiner, looked up as we entered the room. The corpse was already stripped and laid out on the autopsy table with a sheet over him, and Petrov had a scalpel in one gloved hand.
"Gentlemen," he said. "You are late."
"I'm sorry, doctor," Matt said. "I needed to eat something before I came in here."
"You're a strange man, Delaney," Petrov said, and shrugged. "Ah, well. No matter. Now that you are here, I shall start."
"At least we didn't miss the show," Matt muttered darkly as we took up our places to either side of the table. Petrov flicked a quick glance at him through his glasses, but ignored the comment in favor of pulling the sheet down to reveal the corpse. Matt drew in a quick, sharp breath, and it was all I could do not to swear in surprise.
There was a neat, round hole right over Federov's heart.
***
chapter three
Author's Notes: Thanks to idontlikegravy for beta-help, and for letting me bounce ideas off of you. You rock.
Feedback? Always a good thing.