crowd parted and she stopped in front of a grizzled uniformed cop who held up a hand. He was thick and broad, and seemed bored. His eyes constantly roved just like a cop’s always did when in a difficult situation.
“You’ll have to stop right there, miss.” His Brooklyn accent was thick enough to cut.
“Would you let Detective McGilley know that Annja Creed is here? He asked me to come. I’m a consultant.” Annja pulled her NYPD ID from her pocket. Bart McGilley, the police detective she was here to see, had arranged for the ID after she’d helped on a few cases involving stolen artifacts. She didn’t often use it.
The cop suddenly smiled as he looked at her. “Hey, I know you.” He pointed a thick forefinger at Annja. “You’re on that TV show. The monster thing.”
Annja smiled politely and nodded. Chasing History’s Monsters, the cable television show she cohosted, had a big fan base. A few of the gawkers gathered around her began to talk and whisper her name, and suddenly the focus shifted from the crime scene to Annja, which made her uncomfortable.
Bart wouldn’t be happy about it either. Now that Annja had been recognized, chances were good that whatever story was unfolding here would get more airplay. Of course, Doug Morrell, the show’s producer, would love the free advertising.
The cop lifted the tape. “You come right ahead, Ms. Creed. Detective McGilley is waiting for you upstairs.”
Annja ducked under the tape and stood waiting on the other side. An officer there took her name for the first-responder’s report. One of the camcorders swung in her direction and bathed her in light. She ignored it and stared at the building ahead of her.
Seven stories tall, the apartment building looked like most of the other buildings in the area. New York was known for its towering skyline along Manhattan, but most of the buildings were seven floors or less because no elevators had to be installed. Many of the windows on the fourth floor glowed with golden light now and Annja was willing to wager that was going to be her destination.
The cold wind raced around Annja and made her put her hands in the duster pockets.
The cop squeezed the handitalker clipped to his left shoulder. “This is Sergeant Vasari outside. I got Annja Creed here for Detective McGilley.” He listened for a moment, then turned his attention to Annja. “You can go on in, Ms. Creed. They’re waiting for you.”
Annja nodded.
“You might want to watch yourself up there.” Vasari grimaced. “Heard this one was messy.”
Great, Annja thought. Then she headed toward the building.
* * *
A FORENSICS GUY was waiting for Annja when she reached the fourth-floor landing. He was young and dark complexioned, hair messy in a current style and wore a lab coverall. “Annja Creed?”
“I am.” Annja started to pull out the ID again.
The crime-scene tech held up a hand and grinned. “No need. I know you.”
Annja put the ID away. “You’ve seen the show?”
“Not yet, but I’ve seen the ads out on Times Square. You ask me, the video doesn’t do you justice.”
Annja smiled. “Thank you.”
“Are you flirting with my consultant, Kai?” Down the hallway, Detective Bart McGilley stood outside an apartment door. Six feet two and broad-shouldered, Bart was an imposing figure. He wore a dark blue suit coat and matching turtleneck under a charcoal gray duster. His kept his black hair cut short and his chin chiseled, but he had a five-o’clock shadow now.
“No, Detective McGilley, I am not.” Kai winked at Annja. He held up a pair of pull-on pale blue disposable footies. “I’m diligently working to keep our crime scene secure while trying to maintain the public trust and present a polite demeanor.”
Taking the booties, Annja quickly pulled them on, then added the disposable gloves. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Kai’s face turned serious and all humor left his eyes. “All kidding aside, what you’re gonna see is pretty bad.”
“I’ll be all right. Thank you.” Annja couldn’t remember all the violence she’d seen since she’d inherited Joan of Arc’s sword and changed her life. She didn’t regret taking up the sword, though. She’d gotten to help a lot of people, but more than that she’d gotten to see a lot of things that had been lost to history forever. The deaths were going to happen, and she’d stopped more from taking place. The trade-off was worth it.
Skirting the bloody footprints and the evidence markers beside them, she walked down the hallway to join Bart. They’d been friends for years and she’d enjoyed his company. He was one of the few people who wasn’t an archaeologist or a television fanboy who could listen to her for hours. She returned the favor when he needed a sounding board about a case.
“Did I get you out of bed?” Bart asked.
The smell of death lingered in the apartment behind Bart, an odor that Annja had grown far too familiar with. She breathed more shallowly.
“I was up working.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Authenticating a couple of Mayan pieces for a collector.”
“Sounds boring. Everybody’s got a Mayan piece tucked away somewhere.”
“I was also binge watching Dr. Who on Netflix.”
A small smile twisted Bart’s lips and Annja was glad to lighten his mood. He took his work seriously, and he didn’t take too much time off from it. That was one of the things they had in common.
“Where are you in the Whoinverse?”
“Still missing David Tennant.”
“Aren’t we all.” Bart’s eyes narrowed as they neared the door. “I wish you didn’t have to see this. The ME’s office is backlogged tonight, so they couldn’t make it out here to get the body, otherwise I’d have the deceased moved before I called you in. But I want to proceed with this as soon as I can because I don’t want whoever did this to get away.”
“It’ll be okay.”
Bart hesitated just a second, then turned and ushered her into apartment 4F. The door around the lock had been broken. Pieces of the locking mechanism hung shattered. Other pieces had fallen onto the floor.
* * *
THE ROOM HELD crime-scene techs and Detective Joe Broadhurst, Bart’s current partner, and there was precious little room left over. Broadhurst was in his midforties, thin and fit. He had dark hair and dark eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee that—just for a moment—made Annja think of Garin Braden.
“Professor Creed.” Broadhurst smiled politely and nodded at Annja.
“Detective Broadhurst.”
“I would say it’s good to see you. Instead, I’m just going to apologize I’m
