Page 26 of Sullied Saints

Dirk’s eyes narrow, like somehow Needler is in on the whole thing, that he already knows. But I know that’s not true. Needler wouldn't be involved in something like what happened at the laundromat, or whatever sick game Cassandra is playing. He may have been a brutal killer, but he had standards, rules.

I step closer. "We caught the laundromat killer. It’s not Cassandra. But he says she's been teaching him."

"Does that sound right to you? Is she training up the next psycho to take her place?" Dirk demands, fists loosening somewhat in Tristan’s coveralls.

Tristan's gaze turns thoughtful, and to me, mildly concerning. Back to Dirk, the line between his brows softens. "There's blood on your cuff, detective."

And indeed, there's a dark red spot by his wrist, where the sleeve has been shoved back enough to reveal the lowest three of the scars given to him by Cassandra.

Abruptly, Dirk steps back, releasing Tristan, though he stays against the wall, not bothering to straighten his clothes. I touch Dirk’s shoulder, but he pulls away, turning and storming past security and out the door. When Tristan tilts his head to me, I’m suddenly reminded of where I am, and indeed one of the security details grabs my arm, with the intention of dragging me away from the serial killer.

I tug away, snapping, “I got it.”

They re-lock the cell, and I face Needler from the safe side of the glass as he shrugs his clothes back to rights. I press my fingers to my temple. Fucking Dirk.

"Shouldn't be on this case," Tristan comments.

"Shut up for once, would you?"

He does, but only for a beat. "So, you two are fucking now?"

I glare at him. Raising his hands, Tristan says, "Hey, I don't mind sharing. Something tells me he might, though."

"He's not jealous," I snap, then realise I've engaged. And admitted it. I pinch the bridge of my nose, the emerging pain in my head not helped by Tristan’s grin. "We shouldn't discuss our personal lives."

Laughing. "Sure, but you want to know about my childhood?"

"I want to know about your sister. And why she's enlisting men from their mother’s basements to kill for her."

Tristan spreads his hands. "If someone would explain things to me in a slightly calmer manner…"

I do, quickly running through the new development. The day is wearing on me already, and I need to go and find Dirk; make sure he's not back in there breaking more of that greaseball's body parts.

"There's more to this," Tristan tells me.

"More to the laundromat man?" I ask.

"It's likely."

***

It doesn't take much searching before I find a concerned-looking Chloe, and I can figure, Dirk too. She's outside the small storage space that leads through to the usually heavily locked door of the evidence room. I can hear the clattering within as I walk up to her. "Has Tawill found him yet?" I ask because I know she will. He'll need to be reprimanded for assaulting a suspect. I owe him at least making sure he doesn't get himself fired today.

"No," Chloe says. "What happened?"

"I'll explain later. Try to put Tawill off if she comes this way."

"Okay," she says uncertainly, and I can appreciate that I’ve just given her the herculean task of facing off Tawill, who probably seems like a dragon to Chloe.

Walking through the storage foyer, I find him among the three rows of steel multi-tiered shelves. The shelves stacked almost to capacity with labelled cardboard boxes ranging from the decades-old cold cases to the newer, crisper variety. Of this later kind, Dirk is stacking several, and I don't need a close look at the labels to know they're Cocooner case files and evidence. I close the steel door behind me, locking it.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I round the first tier. He's found another stack of files, adding it to the pile.

"I'm finding Cocooner," Dirk tells me without breaking his stride, like that makes all his actions reasonable.

"Really?" I ask wryly.

Now he spares me a glance. "I'm a detective, aren't I?"

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