Death Song Read online

From the chair across the room, Jim looked up abruptly at a whisper of sound from the bed. Laying down the book he'd been reading, he rose to his feet and moved to Blair's side. For a moment, the younger man lay perfectly still, then his body twitched. An odd, contorted expression flickered across his face and a whispered denial passed his lips.

  "No..."

  Guessing that he was reliving the attack in his mind, Jim reached out and gently placed his hand on the anthropologist's shoulder in reassurance.

  "No!" gasped Blair, louder this time. His eyes flashed open and his body jerked again.

  "Blair..." Jim spoke his friend's name softly, watching as the younger man's eyes widened and filled with recognition that chased away the fear.

  "Jim..." Blair stared up at him, his body tense, his eyes searching the older man's face. When he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he immediately winced in pain. Jim squeezed his shoulder gently as he struggled to regain his control.

  "Bad choice," Blair finally muttered, opening his eyes and breathing gingerly. "What time is it?"

  "Almost two o'clock."

  Blair took a quick look out the window and saw only darkness outside. "Jim... I appreciate it... but you don't have to sit here all night. I know you somehow feel... responsible..."

  The Sentinel didn't answer, but his face tightened and Blair caught the brief flicker of guilt in his eyes.

  "You do... don't you? You said you thought that all of this was happening because of you..."

  "So far I'm the only common denominator we have. I've been doing some digging and I'm sure that someone is targeting people I know -- people I'm close to. What I don't know yet is who and why."

  "Jim, I know we said that it was too much for coincidence, but..."

  "Simon and I have a review session every Monday. He always lights up a cigar after we're done," Jim said grimly. "Someone watching me closely would know that."

  "Okay... but what about Cassie? You haven't worked a case with her directly in weeks."

  "No, but I have been helping her with that forensic evidence assessment for the last month. In fact I was on my way to meet her when the assault happened."

  "Well Jorgenson doesn't fit the theory. He's not even on the force anymore."

  "But I attended Carl's retirement party just last week. I went over to his apartment because I had a phone message that he wanted to see me. I talked to him. He's upstairs on six, still recuperating. He never called me. Whoever's behind this has been keeping pretty close tabs on me for at least a few weeks. They must know me pretty well by now."

  Jim paused and met Blair's gaze.

  "They'd know you're working with me on a regular basis."

  "And it would be a pretty safe assumption that I'd be with you when you went back to check Carl's place," Blair said softly, his eyes shifting away from Jim's again as his mind replayed the memory of the "accident".

  He caught sight of the piles of books that littered the small table near where Jim had been sitting. His eyes widened as he recognized them. It looked like Jim had brought in half of his anthropology research books.

  "If you're digging in those, you're going to have a long night ahead of you. I haven't even made it through..." his voice trailed off as other pieces connected in his mind. "The symbols... on the street..." He looked up at Jim in surprise.

  "You said you thought they were Hibani."

  "Yeah... I know what I said, but..." Blair started to object.

  "Chief, someone painted those on the street to get you out into the open." Jim crossed over to the table and pulled the forensics photos from the pile. "You're the expert, you tell me what they are," he said, handing them to Blair.

  Blair stared at the pictures for a long time. As his eyes shifted from one to another a confused frown filled his face.

  "Can't be," he muttered finally.

  "It's a tie to Peru," Jim said softly. "It's another tie to me... to my past... There were myths about the Hibani among the Chopec, but no one would speak of them."

  "Doesn't surprise me," Blair commented. "I've read most of those reported myths. I looked into it as part of my thesis work, but there wasn't enough to go on so I dropped it. Found out later it was a good thing I did. We're talking a closed society, Jim. A warrior society."

  "It has to track back to Peru. Something I did there, before the crash... someone I knew there..."

  "It's been what, eight... nine years? Why wait until now? And why the Hibani? You never had any contact with them. Jim, it doesn't make sense."

  "Maybe not," Jim acknowledged. "What if it's just someone who lived with them for a time?"

  "No way," Blair answered firmly. "To know this language... there's less than a dozen lines of Hibani script that have even been discovered and translated. If this was the real thing, then it would mean that there's a Hibani warrior here in Cascade." Blair paused for a moment before continuing, his face pale. "When I said it's a closed society, I mean closed. Once you're in you never leave it and the only way to be accepted is to prove your worth through a series of killings. Not strangers, either -- they usually demand the death of a blood relative or a close friend."

  Jim fell silent for a long time and then shook his head.

  "I can't help feeling that there's something in this that would give us a clue as to what's going on." He sighed in frustration, staring down at the photos of the odd graffiti. "Any chance you can translate it?"

  "I can try.There's nothing in those that's going to help though," he said, nodding to the books Jim had been searching. "I can check through some of my old thesis materials. See what I might have hung onto. If not, I can do some digging at the University."

  "You need something, just make a list," Jim said firmly. "I'll get someone to pick it up. Otherwise it sounds sedentary enough."

  "Jim, you know I don't like anyone doing my research for me," Blair argued. "Besides you said I'm out of here today."

  "With the provision that you take it easy," Jim countered. "Doctor's orders. And mine."

  Blair stared up at Jim for a moment, eyeing his friend evenly.

  "Jim, what happened... it's not your fault."

  The Sentinel stared back, his face unreadable for few moments, then he grabbed his jacket off the chair. "Get some rest..." he ordered softly, moving to the door and closing it behind him after turning off the lights.

  Uneasy, Blair lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness.

  Jim awoke at six after a restless few hours of sleep. He went through his morning routine mechanically, his mind already working, pushed by the urgent feeling that whoever was doing this was on a schedule and that with the start of another day, someone else he knew could be in danger.

  Precisely at seven the phone rang and Jim reached for it, a slight smile crossing his face.

  "It's a fine morning, Jimmy," reported a gravelly voice from the other end.

  "Looks like it."

  "And do you know where I'm supposed to be this morning?" the voice asked softly, rambling on before Jim could answer. "I'm supposed to be off fishing... tickling the little fishies with my best hand-tied flys. But where am I? Cooling my heels outside of a hospital room. Babysitting. I take it it's you I have to thank for this?"

  "I'm afraid so, Dutch," Jim answered. "Sorry to ruin your day off. I needed someone I could trust."

  "Ah, and now it's flattery," Dutch Hansen answered. "You're going to owe me for this one, Jimmy."

  "Normally I'd say this would make us even. But in this case you're right. You know what's going on?"

  "I know someone tried to make a hood decoration out of Sandburg yesterday. And I hear that some nasty things have been happening to some good people that you know," Hansen answered. "You think someone's going to take another shot at the kid?"

  "There hasn't been a second attempt on any of the others," Jim replied, uncertain how to put into words the feeling that Blair was still in some kind of danger. "Like you said, this'll probably turn out to be just a simple babysi
tting job."

  "Simple's what I like best. Don't worry Jimmy. I like Sandburg. He's a good kid. Still think he needs a haircut, but I won't hold that against him." Hansen's voice slipped out of the bantering tone and shifted to all business. "He had a quiet night after you left... no visitors. Doc was in to see him a few minutes ago. They're going to spring him about nine. What's the plan from that point?"

  "He's got some research to do for me. And he's supposed to be taking it easy. I'll stop by before he's released and try to talk some sense into him. Take him back to the loft and keep him there. Don't let him con you into letting him go to the University either. He wants something, you get on the horn and get someone else to pick it up."

  "Jimmy I've had experts try to con me," Hansen chuckled. "You must think I'm getting old, you tellin' me how to do my job."

  "I just know him better than you do," Jim replied smiling at the thought of anyone getting around the older cop. "Sandburg can be very persuasive when he wants something. Why do you think I asked for you?"

  "He'd run circles around some of those young pups the department's got now," Hansen agreed with another chuckle and then his voice grew serious again. "Don't worry Jimmy, I'll take care of him for you."

  "Thanks, Dutch."

  Jim heard the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps and looked up across the precariously stacked piles of folders on his desk to see Henry Brown headed his way.

  "Cassie just sent up the results on the abandoned car," the detective explained, handing off a slim sheaf of papers.

  "She find anything?" Jim asked eagerly, scanning the sheets.

  "Nothing. Wiped clean. Sorry Jim."

  Ellison acknowledged the sympathetic comment with a terse nod. A black and white had found the hit and run vehicle a few hours after the attack, abandoned in an alley on the city's west side. He knew that Cassie's people had done their usual thorough job, and he wasn't surprised that they hadn't found anything that would lead them to the assailant. Whoever was behind the assaults on his friends was very good. He -- or she -- wouldn't make the simple mistake of leaving evidence behind. Not unless it was something they were supposed to find.

  Brown leaned against the corner of Jim's desk, his eyes focused on the empty chair that Blair usually occupied.

  "So, how's Sandburg?"

  Jim glanced up and saw the genuine concern in the detective's face. "They released him from the hospital this morning. He's back at the loft with enough bruises to keep him down for a while"

  Brown raised his eyes to meet Jim's and the Sentinel saw a small smile flicker across the other man's face. "You want to bet on that?"

  An answering grin started to form on Jim's face. "Nah. I know a losing hand when I see one. That's why I made other arrangements. Dutch Hansen's keeping an eye on him for me."

  A deep chuckle erupted from the detective. "Dutch? Oh, I bet Hair-Boy loved that!"

  Recalling the look of consternation on his young partner's face when the Sentinel had announced who was going to be "minding" him for the day, Jim's own smile broadened, gentle humor lighting the light blue eyes, the lines of tension across the furrowed brow relaxing a bit.

  "He was overjoyed," Jim responded, not even bothering to try to hide his amusement.

  "Yeah, right." Brown stood and glanced back at the empty seat before meeting Jim's gaze. "Tell the kid I was asking about him. And tell him that this doesn't get him out of next week's poker game. I'm still down a bundle from the last time. He promised me a chance to get some of my money back."

  "Haven't learned your lesson yet?" Jim laughed. His normally laid-back roommate had turned out to be a surprisingly aggressive and experienced card player -- much to the dismay of the detectives from Major Crimes who had thought he'd be an easy mark.

  "Just remind him. Thursday night at my place. And tell him to leave his marked cards at home."

  Brown gave Jim a final grin and headed off across the bullpen to his own desk. The smile on the Sentinel's face faded as he placed the forensic report into the case folder, but the warm feeling of gratitude that his co-worker's comments had evoked remained. Brown wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last of the department's personnel to inquire about his partner's well being. The ugly circumstances aside, it was heartwarming to see the tangible evidence of Blair's acceptance.

  Thoughts of his young partner made Jim realize that he hadn't heard from the anthropologist or Hansen for a while. Glancing at his watch, the Sentinel was startled to see that it was almost noon. Frowning, he picked up the telephone, speed dialing the loft. An annoying busy signal pulsed across the line and the lines of worry on the detective's face deepened. He disconnected and tried Blair's cell phone, only to get the message that the number was out of service. He punched in the loft number again, frustrated and becoming more concerned when he got the busy signal once more.

  He was about to dial the operator and have them break through when Rafe called across the bullpen.

  "Hey, Jim. Pick up line 4."

  Nervously, Jim hit the button. His anxiety changed to relieved annoyance when he heard Hansen's voice on the other end.

  "I've been trying to reach you," Jim admonished. "What's going on with the phones?"

  "Sorry about that, Jimmy." Hansen's tone was ruefully apologetic. "The kid's been downloading files to his computer and I didn't realize that his cell was dead. I found it stuffed in the bottom of his backpack. Hard to believe that a grad student doesn't understand the workings of an on/off switch."

  "When he's doing research everything else goes out the window -- including his instincts for self-preservation. I should have warned you. I assume you 'discussed' that breach of procedure with him?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jim was grinning widely. He'd fought this battle with his partner too many times in the past to be surprised by it. Maybe Dutch would have better luck.

  "I yelled and he nodded," Hansen growled.

  "In one ear and out the other. I understand."

  "Yeah. When I realized we were out of touch I got my own cell out of the unit. Don't worry, Jimmy. I'm parked out front and I kept an eye on the place the whole time."

  "I trust you, Dutch. That's the reason I asked for you," Jim reassured the older cop. "How's he doing?"

  "Moving at about one-quarter light speed," Hansen grumbled. "I don't know how you put up with it. Doesn't the kid ever slow down?"

  "I haven't seen it happen yet," Jim responded, shaking his head. "Look, I'll pick up some lunch and stop by to have a talk with him. Something from Jacobsen's deli okay with you?"

  "I'd kill for a corned beef on rye."

  "Well, don't shoot before you check out the delivery boy," Jim chuckled. "See you in about a half-hour."

  Wheeling the truck onto Prospect, Jim reached out to steady the carryout containers, watching the street for a place to park. The empty space in front of his building would have been a lucky find at any other time, but now it set off alarm bells in his head.

  Don't worry, Jimmy. I'm parked out front... Hansen's words reverberated in the Sentinel's mind. Jim pulled the truck to the curb and leaped out of it, quickly scanning the area for the black and white before throwing open the doors of the building and dashing inside. Gun in hand, he took the stairs two at a time, casting open his senses and 'feeling' for the presence of his Guide and the older cop.

  At the top of the stairs he paused, forcing himself to play things out by the book. His raging emotions made his senses unreliable and he struggled to control the internal dials as his Guide had taught him. His focus improved, but his range felt limited. Okay. Cop mode, then.

  Gingerly he pushed open the door and eyed the hallway leading to the apartment. It was empty of life, but a discarded cell phone lay on the carpeted floor. Back to the wall, Jim eased his way down the corridor, his eyes fixed on the freshly scrawled graffiti that marked the entrance to the loft.

  Seeing that the apartment door was ajar, the Sentinel swallowed convulsively against the sudden tightness
in his throat. Sensitive fingertips resting on the door for a moment, Jim tried to read what he'd find inside, but the thudding of his own heartbeat blocked out any other sounds. Taking a deep breath, he nudged the door open, slipping soundlessly inside, gun raised. He let out a little of the air he was holding in when he realized that nothing seemed amiss -- he'd expected to find the place trashed as it had been after Lash had broken in. Stepping beyond the kitchen, Jim took a quick look around. There were papers strewn across every surface and open cartons of books littering the living room, but he recognized the chaos as his young partner's research style, not the work of an intruder.

  But there was still the symbol painted on the door and no sign of the younger man, or Hansen. Maybe there was trouble and Dutch pulled him out of here... maybe that's why the squad's missing... but why wouldn't he have...

  The sound of rustling of paper and the faint strains of tribal music made him wheel toward Blair's room. Facing the double doors he raised his gun...

  And immediately released the trigger as his Guide bounced through, eyes closed, head nodding to the sounds coming through the headset of his walkman.

  "Sandburg!"

  Jim's startled hiss stopped the younger man in his tracks. Blue eyes flew open in surprise and he took an awkward step back, raising his hands in a warding off gesture.

  "Hey, man... what's...?"

  Jim crossed the distance between them in a single step, grabbing his Guide by the shoulder and pulling him close.

  "Oww... Jim, come on..."

  Mindful of his Guide's injuries, the Sentinel eased his grip and looked down into the younger man's confused face. "Where's Dutch?" he demanded.

  "He's right..." Blair's voice faded off as he glanced into the empty living room. Finding no trace of the older cop, the Observer realized that Jim still held his gun cocked and ready. He looked up ito meet his partner's worried gaze, seeking answers. "He was right here just a few minutes ago. He told me that you were coming. I've been camped out in my room downloading files from the Library's reference computer since we got back... Maybe he stepped outside for some air..."