Page 4 of Edge of Control

This case would be no different.

“The FBI is likely going to have to get involved,” Officer Caleb said. “And if this shit leaks out to the media, it’ll be a circus.”

I bristled at the mention of the FBI. I’d worked with them in the past. Dick-measuring contests mixed with bureaucratic tape never made for a happy ending.

“Let’s keep this tight for as long as we can,” I said.

“I’ll try, but you know that’s going to be difficult.”

“I know.” I crouched down, getting eye level with the victim. “Forensics already got everything they needed?”

“They did. Wrapped up just before you got here.”

The victim’s empty brown gaze was fixed to the wall, blood leaking into the whites of his eyes. I looked under the bed and spotted nothing but dust and discarded sneakers. There was a backpack sitting on a cluttered desk against a window overlooking a dingy alleyway. There was a warehouse next door, with no clear vantage point into the victim’s bedroom. I walked to the closet and opened the creaky door.

A camera sat poised on a shelf, peeking out from between two shirts. “Did you see this?”

Officer Caleb came over and gave a curious “hmm,” answering my question.

“It looks like it’s pointed directly at the bed.” I picked it up and turned it on. The camera was wiped clean except for one photo. The timestamp had it taken yesterday, which must have been when the victim was still alive. It was a photo of a note, neatly written in a feathery kind of font. The note had been placed on the same messy desk against the window. On it was written:

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Marielle

I wasn’t a big poetry guy. Hell, I wasn’t a big education guy at all. I’d bombed my way through school, barely scratching by to get my high school diploma. I enjoyed science, but that was about it. English and history were at the bottom of my list of interests. Caleb didn’t appear to be an expert in poems, either, judging by the stumped look on his face. No matter. All it took was a quick Google search to pull up the reference.

“It’s from ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allen Poe,” I said, leaning against the wall as I read over the poem and was launched back to my high school literature class. I glanced up at the black feathers and realized what kind of bird they were from without needing any results from forensics.

“Think it’s a coincidence that he was a Poe fan and died with feathers in his back?”

I pursed my lips, arched a brow, scoffed. “No. I don’t. There’s also a change in the poem. The name Lenore is switched to Marielle.”

I air-dropped a copy of the photo to myself before placing the camera back where I’d found it. I searched through the rest of the room but didn’t find anything else of note. It felt like I was an actor in some kind of play. But this was the dress rehearsal. I didn’t know my lines yet, hadn’t memorized the blocking. Could Caleb tell just how far out of my league this was? I straightened my back and tried to give off an air of expertise.

The sun began to set. A floor lamp turned on automatically, casting the room in a washed-out orange glow. I saw movement from the corner of my eye and, for a flicker of a second, thought it might have been a wing fluttering by itself. The sputter of the A/C vent directly above the bed eased my worry that the dead body was about to take flight.

“I think we’ve found what we can here,” I said, removing the gloves and shoe coverings as I stood by the door to the bedroom. “I’m going to do some digging on his past and see if we’ve got any connections to the previous murder, besides the obvious.”

“I’ll hit you up once I get all the forensics in.”

“Thank you.” I reached for Caleb’s hand and shook it. The man had warm, friendly features. Something almost all police officers lost after years working the streets. Caleb must have been relatively new. “Hey, uh, if you’re down, maybe we can grab a drink? Discuss the case some more?”

I cocked my head. Interesting. I didn’t normally find myself getting picked up while standing only a few feetaway from a blood-soaked crime scene, but I guessed there was a first time for everything.

“I can’t tonight. If anything does come up about the case, then feel free to call me.”

Maybe it was a little colder than I would have liked, but I didn’t enjoy playing games with people. Especially not when it came to sex and relationships. I kept it simple. Get in, get off, leave. Done and done. It was what kept me from getting hurt in the past, and I wanted to continue with that philosophy for the foreseeable future.

“Right, gotcha. Will do.”

I gave the officer a handshake and went on my way. The night wasn’t over yet, and there was a killer to hunt.

Chapter 2

Jace Holloway

Night had fallenon the city that never sleeps.

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