"Amazing analysis. There is no right or wrong answer here because each person interprets this book differently. But I love the way you're thinking. Yes. Mikail is right. The answer was like 'you are wrong to have your own mind. And you are wrong to demand to know what you did wrong. You are not entitled to a voice'
.
Anyone else?"
The day went by in a flurry, for it seemed he ran late for everything. His final lecture went overtime as well, and when he glanced at his watch, he wanted to cry, even as students hurled questions at him. It was as though they didn't want to leave, because it took about five minutes for most of them to clear out of the room. Anderson gathered his things from his desk, while he answered a few questions from the students who oftentimes wanted to speak with him. Except this day, there were quite a few more than normal.
Not wanting to push their questions aside, he answered as many as he could. Finally he told them if they wished to discuss anything further, they should meet him for his office hours. Then he was out the door. But the fact he was all but racing from the building didn't seem to stop anyone from trying to speak with him in the hallways. One student went so far as to jog beside him halfway across the large courtyard before getting winded and having to stop before he passed out. After a quick glance to ensure the kid was all right, Anderson darted home. He tossed his keys into a bowl by the door, plugged in his cell phone to charge, then darted up the stairs two at a time. He stripped on his way and tossed the dirty clothes onto the arms of a large chair by the window in the bedroom.
He took the fastest shower he had ever taken. He felt sweaty from all the rushing he'd been doing and needed the shower to cool his body down before meeting with his father. Finally dressed, he took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror. Anderson was dressed in a sleek pair of black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt. He attached the chain his father had given him for his graduation from university and slipped on his Rolex before dumping some aftershave into his palms. He rubbed his hands together, lathered his neck, and gave himself a corny gun-salute in the mirror before jetting down the stairs.
Pushing his feet into his shoes, he unplugged his cell, grabbed his car keys from the bowl beside the door, and began whistling as he made his way to his car. Backing out from the driveway, he turned the car towards his father's place. He really didn't want to tackle the traffic but there was no way to get to his father's without it. Side roads were basically non-existent because of tolls. Moaning when he got stuck behind a large bus, Anderson reached forward to flip on the radio then the air conditioner. A cool whoosh of air caressed his face gently while he picked up his cell phone and dialed his father. He might as well tell Jazmon he would be late.
The phone rang over and over but no one picked up, which was rather strange. Ever since his mother died, every other Friday was dinner night. It was strange his father didn't answer. He hung up and called back once, twice, until the traffic moved a little better for about two blocks, only to gridlock again. Anderson slammed a fist into the steering wheel and swore. He always complained about how bad the traffic was, but he'd never once thought of moving until that very moment. There had to be a better way. Side streets were out of the question since there were no real side streets in New York anyway; they all looked like the street he was on. He had to get to his father. Something was not right. His mind began racing about the possibilities.
Maybe Dad was in the shower.
Maybe Dad stepped out for a second.
Maybe…
But when the guard allowed Anderson into the parking lot and he pulled up behind his father's car, the bad feeling still hadn't gone away. If anything, it had worsened.
"Hey, Andy!" the guard called when he walked back toward the doors leading to the elevators.
"Hi, Mike," Anderson called but didn't stop to speak like he normally would. There was urgency about the way he moved quickly, like a spirit through the doors, and jabbed his finger impatiently against the button leading from the parking lot to his father's floor. When he was finally there, his eyes widened to see the front door to the large apartment standing wide open. Now he was certain something wasn't right. His father would never leave the door open, not even if he was expecting his son to arrive. He held his breath as he walked up to the front door and stepped into the lobby. The floor was clean, the way his father would normally keep it, but still that dread washed through him. His heart began slamming against his chest, his palms sweating.
Easy, Andy. You're exaggerating again.
But that voice quickly turned into panic when he moved further into the house and almost stepped into a large puddle of blood.
"Dad!" he screamed. All thoughts of being careful or rational left his mind as he began tearing through the house. The fact he should back out and call the cops didn't remotely enter his head. All he could think was there was blood on the floor in the foyer and his father wasn't answering his phone. When he finally found his father in the bedroom, Anderson's world collapsed in on him, threatening to destroy him completely. There was writing on the wall across from the bed. The room was neat—put together—which struck Anderson because his father was never a neat person. The bedroom bore the brunt of his paperwork and files.
"
Dad,
" the word was a strangled cry the second time he said it. He didn't recognize his voice.
With shaking hands and tears streaming down his face, he picked up his phone again.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I need the police; I just found my father, Judge Williams, dead…"
That was the last thing Anderson remembered doing before he stumbled out of the apartment and fell to his knees, panting for air. It was as though no matter how much air he took in, his body craved more. His throat burned terribly as his body heaved and for the first time in a long while, he vomited. Even though he'd skipped lunch and barely had anything for breakfast, he still threw up. Finally his body simply dry heaved painfully. He lost all track of time and when the sirens stopped and someone began asking him what happened, he turned dazed eyes to look at who was speaking to him. It was a uniformed cop.
Of all the days to be late, why did it have to be this one? He was normally on time but the day had gotten away from him. He'd spent too much time doing other things and he'd forgotten about his dinner plans. He normally would allow his students to go a little early so he could make it on time. Guilt washed over him so strongly his knees wobbled uncontrollably. He felt like a fool and a coward.
Anderson swallowed and leaned against a low wall with his arms folded over his chest, "I don't know," he spoke softly to himself. His voice shook. "We were supposed to have dinner tonight. I knew something was wrong when he didn't pick up the phone. Then I get here and his door… my dad never leaves his door open. He's a judge, for crying out loud! He knows better!"
When Anderson inhaled, he felt his body tremble. Tears threatened to pour down his face again and he turned his head from the cop. "He knew better…" Anderson whispered weakly.
* * * *
A feeling of accomplishment washed over Leo as he added his signature to the file and began reading it over. Though he knew the feeling only lasted until another case fell atop the already high pile of unsolved ones he had on his desk, he had every intention of relishing the feeling for as long as it lasted. With a deep breath, he closed that file, dropped it into a red basket by his desk, and reached for another.
Suddenly there was an outbreak of chaos and Leo Sung Kim looked up from the file he'd been fussing over. Someone shouted his nickname across the room. His partner, Daniel Fergis, was running toward him, waving a white piece of paper in the air.
"Whoa! Hold your horses. What's going on?" Leo asked.
"Kim, I don't know how to say this to you."
"Come on. It's me you're talking to. And besides, you look like someone kicked your cat. Tell me."
Daniel hesitated for a moment, rubbed a hand over his face before meeting Leo's gaze. There was a kind of sadness in his eyes that almost broke Leo's heart. He gripped Daniel's shoulders and shook.
"Judge Williams is dead."
"What'd you mean, he's dead?"
"I'll explain as we go."
Daniel grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and Leo reached for his gun and badge from his desk and did the same with his jacket. They bolted out the door and toward their car. It seemed strange to Leo Jazmon Williams was dead. The man was always so much larger than life—such a strong champion for justice. Still, he remained quiet.
The siren blared and the car surged through the traffic from the center of New York City. He stared out the window, watching the objects outside blaze by the car in a flurry of confused
swoosh.
"You've been quiet," Daniel pointed out.
"I just don't know what to say right now."
"I knew this would hit you more than it would the rest of us. You knew the guy. I grabbed the case because of it, but you have to focus on the case and not your relationship."
Leo turned from the view to look at his partner. Daniel's brown hair lay against his head perfectly, his muscular jawline stood rigidly as though he was grinding his teeth. "You saying I'll let my personal feelings taint the case?" Leo questioned.
"I'm saying you're human."
Leo turned his attention back to the view outside the car. They swerved in and out of traffic until they pulled up before the large condos. From the outside it looked like an old relic. But once they walked through the front doors, it had the air of a modern upscale building. They took the elevator up the stairs and he found the room by the two uniforms stationed outside. He pushed his coat out of the way to show them the badge attached to his belt then ducked under the yellow tape across the doorway. He checked to see Daniel had followed him in.
"Detective!"
Leo waved at Isha, their medical examiner, and hurried over.
"Okay, Isha, fill me in."
"Are you sure you should be here?" Isha Reyes questioned, hands on her hips and concern filling her brown eyes.
Leo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Of course I should be here. We have a homicide, right?"
Isha glanced at Daniel as though looking for permission but shrugged.
"We have a dead judge," she explained. "I could explain it to you but you should see for yourself."
Leo walked ahead of her in the direction she motioned and entered the room slowly. Instantly the stench of death assaulted his senses. The room was clean, almost too clean—except for the streaks of blood on the wall. Just beside the dresser were the words
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.
"What the hell does that even mean?" Daniel questioned from beside him.
"I think it's a quote Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Raven"."
"The
what
now?"
"It's a poem. I didn't understand it the first fifty times I read the damn thing." Leo replied before he hunched down beside Isha. "I could be wrong. Who knows?"
The judge was decapitated with the head sitting directly between the legs. "Tell me how does someone cut someone's head off and there isn't more blood?"
"I don't know. Maybe he did it in the bathtub?"
Daniel exited the room then quickly returned. "No. The bathroom is immaculate. There's a bit of blood in the hall but that still doesn't make up for it all. The guys are making sure they swab everything, especially the drains, to make sure we don't miss anything. Maybe the killer got blood on him or even sustained a cut in the process—he or she may have washed before leaving."
Leo questioned the officers about the rest of the house then returned to his position beside Isha, Leo, and the judge's body. He came to one startling conclusion. "Shit. This is not the primary crime scene then.
"He's been dead for less than five hours," Danish said retrieving her thermometer. I can't tell you anything more until I get him back to my table. But I'll put a rush on it."
"I'd appreciate that," Leo thanked her.
"There's something else I thought you would like to see," Isha said simply. "I sent a sample to the lab to get an official record of it but… well… follow me."
Leo followed obediently to the sunroom where sitting on a plate was a part of a plant. "I don't know what that is." Leo bent to eye the piece of plant.
"I know what it is but I just can't put my finger on it. I know growing up as a child my neighbor had a whole field of it behind her house after her husband walked out on her. Maybe it means something to your case."
"Have the forensic guys take a picture of it? It'd be good to have the image."
She nodded.
He excused himself and walked through the house himself, giving it a once over and scribbling down notes in his little notepad. When he was finished, he made his way back to the officers at the door.
"Who found the body?"
"His son." Isha's voice sounded sad. "The man's outside throwing up his stomach."
Shit. I forgot about Anderson.
Leo nodded before turning to address an officer. "Take me to him."
Silently, he followed the uniform out the building to a low wall where a rather large, African American male sat, back hunched and fingers laced tightly in his lap. He looked as though he was dressed for a night out but other than that, there was nothing else happy about him. Leo took the short walk, using the time to give Anderson the once-over and noted he wasn't covered in blood, which could be a good sign.
"Anderson Williams?"
The man looked up with a faraway gaze. It was as if he knew he heard a sound and his brain told him to react but that was all it was.
"Detective Leo Sung Kim. NYPD."
"Sung Kim… I should know that name."
"I'm sorry about your father but I need to ask you some questions."
"Sure."
"Where were you today?" Leo asked.