Nocturnal

Late to the Party

Amy Zou held her Sig Sauer in her left hand, a walkie-talkie in her right.

Rich Verde stood next to her. She stared at the eviscerated body on the embalming table.

This was why she did what she did, because monsters were real. The one on the table, the creatures in the room behind her … Amy could only imagine those things reaching for one of her twins.

A feeling of hopelessness filled her, dragged down her every thought. She’d spent nearly thirty years with this secret. Thirty years. Jesus, how time slipped by. Three decades of her life, and now it might all be over — if it was, many more people were going to die.

Verde clinked the barrel of his gun against the creature’s shark teeth, tink-tink-tink.

“You are one ugly motherfucker,” he said to the corpse. “How many people did you kill with your pearly whites?”

How many indeed. “It’s not just the misshapen ones,” Amy said. “You see the guy out there with the crowbar?”

Verde looked at her. “Crowbar?” He thought, then nodded as realization kicked in. “Liam McCoy?”

“Yes,” Amy said. “Looks like we can take him out of the whereabouts unknown column.”

Fifteen years ago, McCoy had been a suspect in four child murders. He’d gone missing before Amy could close in on him. He wasn’t missing anymore. Justice had been served.

She walked back into the gun room. Verde followed. He holstered his Sig and picked up a five-seven, feeling the weight. No point in worrying about prints; they already knew who owned these weapons.

“What about Clauser?” Verde said. “And that fuck-stick, Chang. Maybe firing them isn’t enough.”

She watched Rich eject the magazine, which was loaded. He popped the magazine back into the weapon.

“They were just doing their jobs,” she said. They had been doing what they were sworn to do, following the letter of the law — just as Amy had done thirty years earlier. “What do you want to do, Rich, shoot them?”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who’s always talking about the greater good. At least put a BOLO out on their asses, bring them in. Maybe a few days in county will set them straight.”

She couldn’t do that. Their careers were already over — did she need to publicly humiliate them as well?

Her walkie-talkie squawked: “Chief?” Sean Robertson’s voice. He was up on the ground floor, making sure everyone — including cops — stayed out.

She lifted and answered without looking away from the shark-toothed nightmare. “I’m here.”

“You sure you two are okay down there?”

“We’re fine,” she said. “Just secure the grounds and make sure no one enters the house.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She paused, then thumbed the transmit button again. “Sean?”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Make a department-wide broadcast. Bryan Clauser and Pookie Chang are no longer employed by the SFPD. Make sure everyone knows — they’re civilians.”

Verde held up his hand to get her attention. He mouthed the words: And Smith.

John Smith. The man was afraid of his own shadow. As soon as Pookie and Bryan were out of the way, John would go back to his computer room.

She shook her head and lowered the walkie-talkie.

Verde clearly wanted to argue with her, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m going to see Erickson,” she said. “Can you and Sean finish up here? Seal the house. No one gets in. We’ll figure out what to do about all this crap later.”

“You got it,” Verde said. “You know you can count on me.”

“I know I can, Rich. I know.”

She walked out of the weapons room. She took one more look at a collection of nightmares that had once hunted the people of San Francisco, then headed upstairs.