Jeffrey Stevens: The Shadow Pursuer

By Keshav Tadimeti

Jeffrey Stevens has always been eccentric. Renowned as one of the best detectives in the field, he works as a private eye for the New York City Police Department. He is famous for his unconventional investigative methods and many officers choose to stay away from him. But when the dead body of the retired CEO of a multi-billion dollar company is found with a note from the killer, Stevens is forced to work with the police officer David Edwards in order to solve the case.

Yet as he and Edwards pursue the killer, another body is found, though this time from a man who calls himself the Shadow Pursuer and is bent on exacting his revenge on an impregnable gang. And as the team pursues the killer and alleged vigilante, they come to find that no one can be trusted and that at the center of it all lie the darkest secrets of the police department.

Join Stevens and Edwards on a suspenseful adventure as they not only unearth the mystery behind both cases, but also the answers to what justice is and what it truly means to bear a secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483555072

Book preview

friend.

Chapter 1

It was a dark night. The cold air made the rain that much more piercing as it bounced off the ground. The trees swayed violently in perfect sync with the wind. The lights in the neighborhood were off and the street was vacant, as if all life was gone. A pair of headlights illuminated the dark road. A black Rolls Royce scintillated in the rain. The car pulled over and parked on the driveway in front of an expensive, three-story mansion. The man, Richard Steinbeck, locked the car and walked up to the porch, slowing only to adjust his dark raincoat. His silver Rolex watch glistened on his left wrist. His porch light was on as usual. He pulled out his house key from his pocket and cursed when he fumbled and it fell on the ground. He then picked up the key, unlocked the door, and entered, locking the front door behind him.

As he entered the living room, he took off his jacket and threw it onto a lavish chair that faced the window. He placed his key on the counter and filled a glass cup with Italian wine. After drinking half of it in one sip, he placed it down hard on the granite counter. He walked over and turned on a light in the living room. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of boots shuffling. He fearfully whipped his head around and looked behind suspiciously. Convinced no one was there, he turned back around, only to see a tall, pale man with a bald head sitting in the chair opposite to him. A dark coat covered the man’s body.

Where is it? he asked calmly, as if this was normal.

His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

What? I, I don’t know what you are asking— Steinbeck began, frightened.

Oh, you know very well. Now, tell me, the man asserted, as he rose, Where is it?

His looming figure composed a menacing shadow on the living room carpet.

I don’t know!

The man pulled out a gun and pointed it at Steinbeck.

Will you tell me, or will I have to get it out of you the hard way? he asked.

Steinbeck retreated, clearly frightened, shaking his head and holding his hands up. He tripped over a small stool beneath him and crawled back as the man approached. The man aimed the gun at Steinbeck’s knee and fired, the silencer lowering the sound to a faint disturbance. Steinbeck howled in pain and grasped his knee, facing the man with renewed fear and anger.

The man swapped the gun for a knife.

Let’s hope you remember, he said, Before you lose too much of yourself.

Chapter 2

A black Bentley pulled over onto the driveway of an average-size home. A man with a black coat walked, briefcase in hand, onto the porch. He found the brown, wooden door slightly ajar and entered suspiciously. He only managed to walk five steps before being confronted by two policemen with guns pointed at him.

Put your hands up and— one policeman began.

Relax, fellas, the man said, as he pulled out an identity badge, I’m on your side.

His badge identified him as a detective.

So tell me, what are we looking for? he asked, as he placed his briefcase down and put his badge back into his coat.

We got a call from the owner, a lady, that she was being robbed. Before she could say anymore, the line was cut, although a masculine voice could be heard, the policeman briefed.

Hmm… the detective began, placing his briefcase on the ground.

He then crouched down and examined the carpet. He looked around for a moment before murmuring something inaudible to himself. The two officers stared in confusion, clearly dumbfounded.

Did you notice the ruffles in the carpet, officers? the detective asked, Or the boot prints on that part of the floor? he continued, while pointing at the particular section of the wooden floor.

The officers shook their heads, still confused.

How will the ruffles in the carpet help us find the woman? the other officer asked.

Well, for starters, if you hadn’t trampled all over the floor, the detective began, Then you would have seen the faint boot prints that lead to the door right in front of you.

The officers looked at each other and back at the detective in surprise.

Now, don’t just stand there like idiots. Open the door and greet him with the gun! the detective exclaimed, clearly amused by the officers’ clueless expressions.

The officers approached the door and, with caution, opened it. They proceeded forward pointing their guns, only to find the room empty. One officer turned to the detective to object when the other yelped and fired at a figure who had jumped out to attack them. The bullet missed and the criminal tried to attack again, but the other officer charged forward and rammed his shoulder into the man’s abdomen, knocking him onto the floor. The two officers quickly detained the criminal in handcuffs. The detective walked into the room and glanced at the burglar, a man in a grey hoodie. His knife lay on the floor, next to his right foot.

You didn’t need to make that much of a commotion, boys, the detective said as he walked to the room’s closet and opened it up, revealing a bound and gagged lady.

He relieved the woman of her condition and helped her up.

I expect you two won’t hurt yourselves, right? he asked the two officers.

They nodded their heads in unison, dumbfounded.

This is New York City, fellas, he continued, as he left the room and picked up his briefcase, You can’t afford to be too stupid around here.

Chapter 3

The detective got into his Bentley and placed his briefcase in the seat next to him. He turned on the ignition and was about to pull out of the driveway when his radio buzzed and a voice crackled.

Attention, we’ve got a call about a murder on 129th Street and need some backup. Some officers have already secured the area, but we need a search team to report there and check it out. The folks might get a little jumpy if we don’t show up.

The transmission sputtered and then ended.

I think we may have something interesting, the detective joked to himself.

He floored the accelerator and nearly hit a Toyota Camry that was turning onto the street. The driver gave him an angry look, but was only met with a puff of exhaust.

After about four minutes of driving, the Bentley pulled onto 129th Street and raced forward. The detective slammed the brakes as he reached a house surrounded with caution tape and jumped out of the car, leaving it halfway between the street and driveway. He briskly walked with his briefcase into the house, which he noticed to be a mansion. Five policemen were present in the room. Three of them looked towards him, their eyes widening, before parting way for him to pass through. He saw them straighten up, as if they were caught off-guard. He passed by and saw a young police officer with dark brown hair look at him. The young man interrogated him with his expression, but received no reply. The detective, ignoring the questioning eyes, squatted down next to the body of a middle-aged man. He noted that the body had multiple cuts on the limbs. The right leg was stained with dried blood from a bullet wound, and the left arm was covered in slashes, staining the floor beside it. The carpet next to the right hand was crumpled, as if the man had tried to crawl away.

Who are you and what are you doing here? the young officer asked.

Lieutenant Edwards, the detective began, as he glanced at the young officer’s badge, I am a shadow of the man who took the light from my life.

He continued to scrutinize the body with a meticulous interest. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Edwards gave yet another questioning look at the man in front of him. The detective looked from the body to Edwards.

You did not ask what my name is. You only asked who I am. I am Jeffrey Stevens.

He pulled out his badge and showed it to Edwards. Edwards quickly examined it and nodded, signaling he had read it. Stevens slid a pair of gloves from his pockets onto his hands. He patted down the dead body and heard a crumpling sound. He continued patting down along the coat of the cadaver, identifying the source of the sound, and pulled out a sheet of paper from inside of it. It was neatly folded, as if intentionally placed there. He unfolded it and began reading. The officers around the room jolted in surprise and waited for Stevens to finish. Immediately, Stevens dropped the paper and rushed over to the chair in the living room. The cushion of the coach had an imprint, as if someone had sat there.

Edwards picked up the letter and read it:

Four murders like this will happen. Find the gem which lies under the throne of the queen, and give it to me. Your time is ticking. 1029

Officer Stevens— began Edwards.

Detective, Lieutenant. I’m a detective. And yes, he was referring to the couch. Stevens said as he walked over to the body. I saw a faint trail of blood leading from there to here. It must have been cleaned. That means that the body was brought here to make us forget about the evidence over there.

He squatted down and slipped his gloves into his coat. After getting up, he faced Edwards.

I will need to analyze this note more, he said, as he held it up. If I were you, I would thoroughly look for fingerprints and any other evidence. Although I doubt any evidence was left behind, I’d give it a shot.

He smiled, a fake one, and quickly slipped out of the mansion. As he left, another officer entered, not noticing his departure.

David, it’s good to see you’ve finally got a case to yourself! Too bad you’re going to need backup…It looks like this one might be way over our heads, the new officer said, as he came in.

Who was that? He doesn’t seem like a normal officer, Edwards asked.

I didn’t catch him. What’s his name?

He’s a detective. Stevens. Detective Stevens.

Stevens, you say? the officer asked, Very peculiar. However, we’re going to have to save that for another time. Anyway, tell me what you’ve got so far.

The remaining policemen in the room shifted uncomfortably. Even an officer as senior as Michael Brandt had been called to work on the case. And to add to that, the famed Jeffrey Stevens had been called to aid in the investigation. Something was going on that they were not being told.

Chapter 4

Detective Jeffrey Stevens walked out from his Bentley into the parking lot in front of an office building labeled William’s Car Insurance Company. It had been three days since he had been assigned to the murder case. The victim’s name was Richard Steinbeck, the retired CEO of the multi-billion dollar software company, Electro-Lite. The slashes and injuries on his body were most likely due to the criminal’s attempt to torture him in order to obtain some sort of information. The criminal’s intentions were clear: obtain an heirloom or prized possession of some sort from Steinbeck. However, whether he succeeded or not was unclear. Finding, let alone identifying, the criminal was proving hopeless. No witnesses were present to provide any assistance. However, one thing was certain: the killer did not think twice about murder.

Stevens entered the building and turned left into a long hallway. He reached an oak door, unlocked it, and walked in. His office was left the way it had been the last time he had come in. A rug with string edges covered much of the floor. A bookshelf piled with books was directly left of the entrance. Another one stood behind a wooden office desk that had a telephone, a cup of pens, and a stack of files piled to the right. Behind the desk, to the right of the bookshelf, lay a large window, showing the pond and park beside the parking lot. A swivel chair with a tall backrest stood behind the desk, and two stationary chairs stood in front for visitors.

Stevens walked in, placed his briefcase beside his desk, peeled off his long coat, and sat down. He took up his briefcase and pulled the note out. He reread it, scrutinized it for a while, and then slammed it onto the table, clearly frustrated.

Throne of the queen! Nonsense! Riddles from a criminal! Richard Steinbeck has no queen. His wife died fifteen years ago…Who would be the queen? he muttered in frustration.

He picked up the note, crinkling the bottom right corner, and reread the message, although he had already memorized it. When he placed it down again, he noticed a fold in the corner and flattened it out. In doing so, he saw a thin sheet flap out from the paper, as if like a carbon copy. Intrigued, he carefully separated the portion, revealing an entirely new sheet that had been attached by weak glue that was so perfectly spread that it had to have been industrially produced. The glue allowed the thin sheet to adhere to the original note, unnoticed. However, the glue was not present on the bottom right corner. It was as if someone had wanted the second sheet to be found.

Stevens closely analyzed the second sheet and found another note, in smaller print, in the corner of the page. He took out a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and meticulously analyzed the note. He read it twice before grabbing a sheet of paper from his pile of files, flipping it onto its backside, and taking notes, jotting down ideas as they came into his mind.

Your presence in this case does not go unnoticed, Detective. This note was planned for you and only you to read. Two men and two women will have faced death unless you deliver the gem to me. The Steinbeck’s have toiled with me for too long. This is your warning. You will not succeed in finding me. However, best of luck. 1029

Again, the numbers showed up. Ten twenty-nine? Stevens thought to himself. Unless, he thought.

That’s it! he exclaimed out loud in excitement after a moment of thinking. The due date is October 29.

He reread the note and chuckled.

You haven’t met Jeffrey Stevens, my friend, he muttered with amusement, I’m afraid it’s best of luck to you.

.     .     .

Uncle, are you sure about this? Edwards asked, clearly nervous, You know, he did seem like an awkward guy—

But, still a successful detective, nevertheless, Brandt chimed.

They were walking out of Brandt’s blue Lexus towards Detective Jeffrey Stevens’ office. They entered into the building and turned left into a long hallway.

But, Uncle, listen to me. It’s not practical, a police officer working with a private detective, Edwards argued.

It may not be practical, but he can show you a lot about evidence in general. He can greatly aid you on the case. But, if you don’t want to, I won’t force you to work with him. But, I insist you still talk to him, Brandt replied.

They stopped in front of an oak door.

Now, you might want to be prepared, he said, facing Edwards, You were right that he is a strange chap.

.     .     .

Brandt opened the door and walked in, with Edwards apprehensively trailing behind.

Great to see you, Mike, and greetings to you, my young friend, David Edwards, Stevens greeted, without looking up from his work.

Brandt and Edwards looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

Oh please, Mike, you have to be kidding me! Stevens laughed as he finally looked up. You think I would let you come in without me knowing? And you, my dear friend, Mr. Edwards, I know I’m different from others, but I didn’t think you’d openly insult me.

Brandt and Edwards looked at each other again, further befuddled.

Come, please have a seat, Stevens said, as he directed them to the two empty seats in front of him.

Brandt and Edwards hesitantly sat down.

So, you didn’t notice the video camera to the right of the entrance? Stevens asked.

Brandt and Edwards shook their heads.

How about the weird tiling that senses the pressure of your walking, so that I can tell how long I have until you come to my door?

They shook their heads again.

And if that’s the case, I assume you probably didn’t notice the voice recorder right in front of my door, right?

They nodded in unison.

See, David—can I call you David, Lieutenant Edwards? Stevens asked.

Edwards nodded, still dazed.

David, this is part of human psychology. You only notice the big things: the hallway, the long corridor, and the door. Maybe, if we’re lucky, the fact that the door’s black. However, you don’t notice the details at all…But, that’s not what you came here for, I suppose, Stevens commented.

Yes…yes Mr.—Edwards began.

Stevens. Just call me Stevens.

Yes Mr. …um… Stevens. We came to ask whether… he turned and faced Brandt and whispered, What are we here for again?

Stevens let out a laugh.

My, my, Mike. You brought him here to me? So he could learn from me, am I right?

I thought you could teach him the trade. He needs it and it would benefit the case very much. I hoped you would be willing to teach him, but it looks like he doesn’t seem to open to it, Brandt replied.

Stevens looked at Edwards and chuckled. He then looked back at Brandt.

What do you expect from me, Mike? I’m nothing. Just a shadow of what I used to be.

Not really, Brandt countered. You have the best case reputation of all the detectives, solving each case with close to no external help. You compile enough evidence to send the criminals straight to jail without the judge having to think twice. Your methods are…different… but most definitely successful.

He looked at Edwards.

If you learn from and work alongside him, you’ll advance and greatly benefit from it. Please, just give it a shot.

Okay, Uncle, I got it. I’ll try it, but if I find his methods too crazy, I’ll quit, Edwards acquiesced.

Finally, an answer we all like! Stevens exclaimed. However, we have some formalities to go through first. I have no contracts, but ah…let’s see…how do I put this? A… ritual—that’s the word—that you must complete before beginning as my apprentice.

He took out a box from his desk and opened it, revealing an ink stamp and a small knife. He also took out an old, wrinkled sheet of paper that was slightly yellow in color.

Like I said, David, I have no contracts, but I need your thumb print. You have two options: you can make the thumb print out of blood or ink. Just keep in mind, one runs thicker than the other, and this—not to sound all sentimental—symbolizes our teacher-apprentice relationship.

Edwards looked at Brandt, clearly surprised.

Jeff, you don’t need to do this. He’s just a— Brandt began.

A boy? Uncle, this is my decision. You’ve made too many for me, and it’s time I took on the initiative and made one for myself, Edwards interrupted.

He looked at the stamp, the knife, and then at Stevens.

Just as he reached for the stamp, he heard Stevens comment, This symbolizes our trust. It’s a question of whether or not you trust me.

His hand stopped midway and he looked up at Stevens, whose eyes intently followed him. Stevens adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair. Seconds, then minutes, ticked away as Edwards contemplated his decision. Right when Brandt was about to comment, he reached for the knife, slipped the blade across his right thumb, and slammed his finger against the old, wrinkled paper, staining it with a red thumbprint. Stevens immediately took out a Band-Aid and a disinfectant from his desk. He stood up, took the hand, rubbed the disinfectant on the thumb, and placed the Band-Aid on the cut. Edwards looked up at Stevens’ eyes, seeing a mixture of surprise and pride at the same time.

You’re different, David. Different. Then again, I like different. You are now my apprentice.

Chapter 5

Edwards smiled and thought of a positive comment like, ‘Glad to be your apprentice’ or ‘Looking forward to inspecting dead bodies your way’, but was interrupted when Brandt pushed his chair back.

Looks like my job here is done. Sorry guys, but I’d better get going.

He looked at Edwards.

I hope you can manage yourself, he remarked before leaving the room.

I hadn’t expected him to be your uncle, Stevens commented once Brandt left, But, it’s apparently a really small world. Anyway, let’s get down to business. You are not only my apprentice, but also a contact between me and the Twenty-Third Precinct.

The precinct? Aren’t you part of it though? Edwards asked.

Yes, but I am a private detective, merely hired to work on select cases. I’m left out of the police investigations and all the fun action. Considering the complexity of this case, I need someone to convey our evidence and point of view, and you fit the job, Stevens replied.

He then took out a pager, a swipe card, and a magnifying glass from his desk.

I’ve been keeping a spare one of these, he said as he gave Edwards the pager, who received it questioningly. You’re probably wondering why I’m so old schooled. Obviously there’s a good reason I still drive an old Bentley and use a pager: they’re efficient.

But, a pager? They’re old, almost out of commission—

But, they’re fast, Stevens rebutted. I can send you a message and it will not be tapped or have a delay. Also, when someone has all his data on one phone, he runs the risk of losing valuable information if the phone is gone. But, this pager: no. It is very easy to replace because only one number exists: mine. If you lose yours, I have spares. Also, they have another use… but I’ll get back to you on that later.

Edwards motioned to the swipe card, questioning its purpose as well.

I already have an identity card for the police service though, he said complainingly.

Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t an identity card. It’s different. With this, you can enter multiple buildings. It is a master keycard that only a few police carry with them for investigative purposes. It may look like an identity card, but it is actually a key card that can work for almost all doors with card swipe locks. You may want to be a little secretive about that. Stevens answered.

Edwards put the card and pager into his coat pocket and looked at the magnifying glass.

I suppose I need that for investigations, to look for evidence, right? he asked sarcastically.

Well, there’s more to that. It’s not so much the evidence, as it is the details. Like I was saying earlier, we tend to overlook details that are very important. It never hurts to have a closer look, you know, Stevens joked.

Closer look? We might have missed some details today, but not during the investigation. We’re actually pretty scrutinizing, to be frank with you, Edwards said, smiling.

Actually, sorry to make you feel bad, but you are quite wrong, my friend. You police look at the big picture, not the little details. And it is those little details that help solve cases, Stevens countered.

Edwards attempted to argue, but Stevens cut him off, waving his hand, showing that he was not yet done speaking.

Let me speak, David, and you’ll realize that I’m right. For example, in the Richard Steinbeck murder case, your precinct concluded that he was a multi-billionaire CEO who had a wife who died fifteen years ago, and that he was killed because the murderer wanted an heirloom. I know this because I read your case report. However, you overlooked the detail about the future victims. Four people are going to be killed, which implies that each of them must be related to Steinbeck, be it as an uncle, cousin, lawyer, banker, and so on. You also overlooked the fact that Mr. Steinbeck’s face was bruised, a little bit below his right eye. Considering the fact that most homicides related to personal matters involve facial damaging, perhaps that implies that the murder was personal in some way. Maybe the killer knew Steinbeck well. Either way, it also implies that the murderer is most likely right-handed. Finally, the cuts on Mr. Steinbeck were all precise and there were no jagged lines. Yes he was stabbed, but by a regular knife? No. He was stabbed by a sharp knife that can pierce the relatively thick boot—I assume you overlooked the stabbed right foot as well. Thus, the murderer’s knife is probably diamond-tipped or crafted to be an attacking knife, because the boot had two layers of leather, and the knife went in one direction, without any staggering of position.

Edwards stared at Stevens with his mouth gaping very wide in surprise.

H-how…How did you keep track of all of that? Tha-that was brilliant! he managed.

Oh, that’s only a tad bit deeper than the bird’s eye view. There’s a lot more that I didn’t mention, Stevens qualified.

Really? You’ve got to be kidding me, Edwards muttered.

Don’t worry, that’s what I need to help you do. And in order to do that, I have an idea in mind. Your daily assignment: report to my office at eight AM sharp. When you enter, you will tell me the details of this room: the things I have changed from the previous day. This will help you keep track of details and observe your surroundings, and soon, if you’re lucky, the process will become internalized and you’ll do it naturally, Stevens reassured.

Edwards nodded his head slowly and began to look around the room, taking in the current details.

David, Stevens began, getting Edwards’ attention. Let’s give it a shot: something to work off of. Now…hmm…Tell me anything peculiar that you’ve noticed about the room.

Edwards thought for a moment.

The desk is made of oak and is darker than most office desks I’ve seen. The window is about halfway open and is facing the pond with ducks. The carpet is dark brown in color and has strings on the ends and—

Oh, please, not the general stuff. Not that, Stevens interrupted, "I want details, not general descriptions. For example, the swivel chair backrest reaches almost halfway up the bookshelf; the pens form a circle in the cup, alternating in sequence black, red, blue, and green; and finally, the files on my desk are packed in an irregular pile, with the most recent cases on top, and the finished cases on bottom, marked with a date and check box for completion…These are just a few examples. But, no need to worry because you’ll become better at it."

Edwards nodded in acknowledgment and looked at his watch, which had just beeped nine o’clock AM.

I guess you better get going David, Stevens commented with a smile, Your next meeting is in fifteen minutes.

"How did you know?" Edwards asked.

Oh…right, because your phone vibrated just now and you shifted slightly in your seat, trying to ignore it. That too, smart phones, like the one you have, by default alert fifteen minutes before an event, Stevens answered.

Edwards stood up, surprised an amazed by the detective in front of him. Stevens also stood up and shook hands with him. Edwards made his way out of the office when he heard Stevens called out something.

The window is actually one-third the way open.

Chapter 6

He had been waiting for fifteen minutes. His target finally showed up, stepping out of a black Mercedes Benz. He watched as his target walked quickly into Chung Noodles, the Chinese restaurant, as if not to be seen. He followed silently into the restaurant after an exact seven minutes and sat at the table furthest away from his victim.

The target’s name was Wayne Goodman. However, that name was obsolete. The name that had more meaning was the Delivery Man. Under this name, Goodman was wanted in five different states and was on the criminal record list nationwide. He was a member of the notorious drug trafficking gang of New York, also known as the Tricksters. The gang had begun as a minor group of teenagers secretly, yet very incautiously, selling drugs. However, after several years had passed, each of the gang members having been convicted by the law multiple times, a new member joined and soon rose to a position of leadership for the gang. The member was a middle-aged man and soon organized the Tricksters to such a level that the New York Police Department struggled to gather information on them and stop their crimes. Finally, after eighteen years, a strict gang hierarchy was created; creating an underground company that did crime in a nearly undetectable way. The leader was known as the Riddler.

A waitress came up to Goodman’s table, asking about his order as if he were an ordinary customer. He gave his answer and she left. Another man joined him and sat down. The two men immediately began to converse, as if like two friends. The newcomer’s gang name was the Intervener. As far as the New York Police knew, he had a higher position than the Delivery Man, but to whom he reported to and what his original name was was unknown.

To any of the other customers in the restaurant, it seemed as if the men were old friends meeting after a long time. However, under their table, a deal was being made: Goodman was trading his briefcase with that of the Intervener. A waitress came with two exotic Chinese meals and placed them on the table in front of the two men. The meals let out a trail of steam, adding to the various aromas floating around in the restaurant.

The man in the corner drank up the last bit of his soup. It was steaming hot to begin with, the steam heating his face as he watched his victim intently. He drank from his cup of water, keeping a careful eye on Goodman while drinking. He made no noise as he drank, drawing no attention to himself. He was a shadow: only noticeable by the eye, but imperceptible by the other senses. He cleaned his face with a napkin and placed it beside the soup, crumpling it. He left the money at the table and departed without telling anyone else in the restaurant. He walked outside and the cool breeze chilled him. He stared up at the darkening sky. He immediately looked back down and walked straight along the road of the restaurant. He turned into an alley and found an empty bench waiting for him. He sat down, dusting the leaves from the old, wooden frame. He looked back up at the sky. The sun sunk into the depths of the horizon, awakening the coming horrors of the night.

.     .     .

The Delivery Man walked out of Chung Noodles in a happy mood. Generally, his assignments were very stressful, involving many problems in delivering the packages on time, without getting caught. He was in charge of the network of teenage adolescent boys who delivered the drugs. He needed more boys to work for him, but lately police security increased, suffocating any chance of new recruits.

He smiled. This agreement had gone quite well. His successor, the Intervener had given him a challenging mission. But, if he could execute it, he would get a big portion of the pay. He could possibly be promoted, his skills better utilized. Goodman shivered in excitement, almost feeling the taste of victory. He inhaled the city air and started to walk forward. He stared at the pompous cars parked in the valet parking.

Soon, he thought, one of those could be mine!

He had struggled since childhood. Everything he had earned and gotten were a result of hours of labor and work. He had worked everywhere in the city to help feed his family. One day, at the age of seventeen, after having lost his job at the grocery store, he stumbled upon a deserted alley when he heard something approach him. A man, of age twenty stood in front of him and smiled. Goodman had smiled then, not knowing what to expect. Before he could do anything he was in the drug trade, delivering drugs in such an efficient manner that he got the notorious name of the Delivery Man, earning a reputation as the best delivery boy. Now, twenty years later, he trained the recruits so they too could gain that hunger to be better than anyone else and stand alone at the top.

Goodman laughed silently and continued walking, preparing himself for the mission ahead of him. His customer was to meet him today to initiate the deal. Later, the delivery boys were to deliver the packages over a span of two weeks, each to the same address. The challenge was to alter the timings of each delivery so that the police could not expect any pattern. Goodman began thinking of ways to fool the police when suddenly a man in a black suit approached him. The man had a black top hat and the coat collars covered much of his face, only revealing his eyes and a portion of his nose.

Mr. Handle, I suppose, right? the man asked.

Yes? Goodman answered suspiciously.

How did the man know his false name?

Mr. Galahen told me to meet you tonight for our…arrangement, the man answered, pulling his coat closer to him as the wind grew stronger.

Yes, I know, Mr. Sawyer. Where do you want to sit down and discuss our agreement? Goodman asked.

The Intervener’s successor, Bach had used the name ‘Mr. Galahen’ as the man who was to conduct the deal with Mr. John Sawyer, apparently the man in front of him.

Right here, in this building, the man said as he directed to the building to the right of them. I reserved this so it would be convenient for us, as we both have later plans.

Of course, Mr. Sawyer. Anything is fine, as long as we have a little bit of privacy, Goodman answered.

The man opened the door to a dark room with an abandoned office desk and a hallway. The two men made their way down the hallway and into the door on the left, revealing a room lit by a bright light, with one desk and two chairs. The man directed Goodman to the stationary chair with a comfortable armrest as he locked the door, as to not let intruders in. He then seated himself in the old, creaky swivel chair on the other side of the table.

As Mr. Galahen has probably told you, we need to be able to deliver the packages without any suspicion from the police. Any ideas—

How do I know who you are, Mr. Goodman? Where is the proof that you are the man I am to be working with? the man interrupted.

How do you know my name? Mr. Galahen only told you my description, not my name! Goodman exclaimed.

I know it from your restaurant bill. As you know, I am very careful about my business. I have to be careful as to know who I am dealing with, so that I can keep my reputation, the man answered.

Goodman was shocked, but did not show his emotions, only showing a calm, serene face.

Alright sir, Goodman agreed, Please ask any questions that you may have, so that we can conduct this deal with both sides satisfied.

In that case, the man began, Why were you walking out of the hotel when you could have gotten into the car that you came here with? Who else is here besides you?

Goodman hesitated.

How does this man known so much about me? Who is he to ask Wayne Goodman himself?

He ran through a list of all events that had happened once he had exited of the restaurant. Suddenly, he gasped in shock as he realized what had happened. This whole time, the man had his hands under the desk, as if to record the conversation. He locked the door not so intruders could get in, but to keep the both of them from escaping.

This man’s part of a plan from the police or another gang! Goodman thought as he reached into his pocket.

He grasped the handle of a switchblade and leaped out of the chair, jumping across the table as he swung the now activated blade at the man. The man pushed backward with his legs, and slid behind to safety with the swivel chair. Goodman missed and caught himself from crashing off the table, landing in front of it so as if to corner the man.

So you had this set up all along, huh? Goodman growled.

Yes and no. I did have the location set up, the meeting area planned, and the attack formulated. However, I didn’t suspect that you would readily assume that I was your customer. That was a foolish move on your part, the man answered condescendingly.

I’ll wipe that smirk off your face. The police you work for will barely recognize you when I’m through with you! Goodman threatened as he prepared to attack again.

The man saw the movement of his opponent. Goodman was clearly only associated with street fighting, but not in any form of martial arts. Before Goodman could strike with his knife again, the man arched left, dodging the attack. He grabbed Goodman’s attacking hand, pulled it upward, then did a ridge hand strike with the ridge of his hand into Goodman’s solar plexus, striking him below his sternum in a vital pressure point. Before Goodman could cry out in pain, the man secured the attacking hand with both his hands and twisted it left until Goodman began to shout in pain, his wrist being twisted beyond its limit.

The knife dropped out of Goodman’s hand, clattering across the floor away from the two fighting men. The man noticed Goodman’s shoulder move, indicating another strike from the left hand, and ducked, letting his opponent only hit air. He then released Goodman’s right hand, spun and did a spinning back fist, ramming his fist into Goodman’s left temple. He then rapidly jabbed Goodman’s solar plexus and front-kicked him, sending him into the wall. Goodman slammed into the wall and clutched his stomach. He looked at the man, his eyes filled with anger and fear.

How can this man read so many of my movements? How could I let myself get caught in this mess?

He then charged at the man, his rage blinding him, yet filling him with renewed energy. He yelled as he threw a punch at the man, but was unsuccessful. The man blocked the punch and counter-attacked with a punch to the stomach. Goodman then threw a series of attacks, slowly fatiguing himself. His attack missed every time, blocked by the man’s fast reflexes. Finally, when Goodman’s fatigue weakened his punch, the man charged forward and elbowed him, taking out Goodman’s breath. He then did a heel-of-palm strike, striking Goodman’s chin with the base of his palm. Before Goodman could fall backwards, the man side-kicked him, knocking him into the wall once again. The Delivery Man crumpled and sat on the floor, nearly unconscious.

Who are you? he managed. Are you a policeman?

No. I plan do take out my vendetta. You can save yourself by giving me what I want, the man answered.

Why should I? You wouldn’t kill me! Goodman mocked.

The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at Goodman and cocked it, loading a bullet from the magazine.

I’ll shoot. I have no use for you. I’ll just go and interrogate someone else. Do you still wish to keep silent? he taunted.

Goodman gulped as sweat trickled down his face.

Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, he finally agreed.

"Where is Bach?" the man asked.

"Bach? How do you know about—"

Answer me! the man yelled as he threatened to shoot.

"I don’t know! I only have contact with him through the Intervener. I haven’t ever seen him! It’s a security policy for our gang!" Goodman exclaimed.

The man, unconvinced, pulled his finger closer to the trigger. Goodman gasped and began to panic, bracing himself for the bullet.

In that case, give me your phone! the man ordered.

Goodman hesitated then reached into his pocket and slid his phone across the floor. The man pocked it up and began looking through it. Once he decided that his victim was not lying, he took out a device from his coat, which attached to the phone’s charging point. While keeping the gun pointed, the man attached the device to the phone and placed a USB flash drive on the other end of the device in order to copy the phone’s memory. After two minutes, he detached the device, placed it into his coat, and tossed the phone back at Goodman, whose fatigue slowed his reaction, causing him to miss the phone and drop it. He ignored it and looked up at the man, worried more about the gun than the phone.

If you are not the police, then what are you? he asked.

The man aimed his gun again and Goodman screamed.

I was just asking! Please don’t shoot me! I-I won’t tell anyone about you…But, if you’re not a policeman…who are you?

The man laughed.

Wayne Goodman, I am the Shadow Pursuer.

Then he fired.

Chapter 7

Edwards walked towards William’s Car Insurance Company, trying to prepare himself and walk quickly at the same time. He was running late. He was supposed to leave from his house at 7:45 AM, but he woke up late and left at 7:52 AM. Now, he had a mere two seconds to get into Stevens’ building. He groaned as his watch beeped 8:00 AM and grudgingly walked inside. He turned left and walked into the newly familiar hallway. He tried to elongate his steps and decrease the pressure at which he put each foot down. He kept an eye on the camera that used motion sensors to follow him, and finally came to the black door, which was already open.

A cup of coffee I suppose? Stevens asked jokingly as Edwards walked into the room.

Edwards had tried to appear awake before leaving, but apparently Stevens had seen through it, as usual.

And I don’t believe you are forgetting something, am I David? he asked amusingly.

Oh right, Edwards said as he tried to recollect the details he had observed yesterday.

He thought for a minute then looked around the room. He saw the window, bookshelf, carpet, desk, chairs, and office layout. He processed what he saw and took a deep breath. Stevens leaned back in his chair, his pen up in his right hand and his face smiling in amusement.

Okay, so the window was opened about another half inch; the pens are now in the shape of an octagon in the cup; the carpet has been angled about…say fifteen degrees to the right; and the …uhh…right! The door was left open.

Stevens nodded as he heard the descriptions. When Edwards had finished, he gave a questioning look.

"Details, David, details. You are on the right track, but you were looking for moderate descriptions. I don’t want a moderately filtered description, I want a finely filtered one."

He got up from his chair and pointed to the bookshelf behind him. You forgot to mention the arrangement of the books. One is out of order and is backwards, showing the pages instead of the cover. Also, the books are all moved to the right about five inches. Also, he continued, as he walked around his desk to the entrance of his room and pointed at a pen lying on the stool there, you forgot about this. You had the right idea, but not the correct mindset.

He sat back in his chair and signaled for Edwards to do so as well.

"You are just listing details, in some string as if it is an assignment. What I want is for you to tell the details in a manner that you can describe what I did the day before. When a crime happens and details, evidence is left behind, you have to compile all of that to make a story out of what happened, not a list of details showing me the room layout."

For example, in the Richard Steinbeck case, there was little evidence left, but a lot of details to take in about the house and the room. It was clear that the killer was already waiting there because he was sitting in a chair. Also, it is clear that there was a sort of violent interrogation because Steinbeck was shot in the knee and had knife cuts all over his body. These sorts of things are clear, but what needed a little bit more observation to realize was the fact that the man had a gun. He didn’t intend to just torture Steinbeck: he was going to kill him. However, if you look at the pictures in his mansion, you can get an idea of his family: his wife is dead, he is dead, but his daughter is still alive. The killer gave a note to the police department, but knew I was on the case. He gave me this note, Stevens said as he held up the secret note the killer had given, Either he doesn’t know who Steinbeck’s daughter is, or he still has some more of his vendetta to take care of, but he intends to kill four other people to find this heirloom, probably to sell it in the black market. He doesn’t know where to look, but he intends for us to be on his tail, chasing him. From what we’re given, the only way to identify him is to look into the knife industry and start searching through some sort of customer index, if possible.

Edwards nodded in agreement, still trying to stop his head from spinning from all the information thrown at him. Then he took Stevens’ note and read it. He reread it and looked up.

How does this killer know you’re on the case? he asked.

From what I know, he’s infiltrated the police department. Someone must have told him that I’m going to be on this case, Stevens answered.

"But, how does he know you? I’d only heard rumors about you until a week ago, and I’m in the police department. If he’s an outsider, then how does he know who you are?" Edwards asked, clearly confused.

From what I know, it’s irrelevant. I’m not his target, and our priority is to find him. Once we do that, we can ask him how he knows me.

I still don’t see how. What are you holding back? For all we know, this criminal could be an international murderer. But, how can he know who you are? Edwards demanded. Are you hiding something? If you have even a slightest suspicion about who the killer is, it is a starting point for this case.

I don’t know who he is. How he knows me escapes me, Stevens said, quieter than before.

He got up from his chair and looked out the window. Before he could turn his face away, Edwards caught his eyes and saw a glimpse of what he thought looked like melancholy. He stared out of the window, Edwards watching in silence, until his phone rang. He turned around and picked it up.

Yes? he answered.

He nodded at Edwards to excuse the interruption.

I’m already on a case, he answered.

The receiver said something and Stevens scowled.

If you say so, he answered sarcastically and slammed the phone onto the operator.

Looks like I’ll be coming with you to the station. I have an appointment with Captain Landers, he said to Edwards.

Whose car? Edwards asked.

Mine, Stevens said as a malicious smile grew across his face.

They left the building and as they got close to the car Edwards commented, You know that you left the window open, right?

Stevens stopped and looked at Edwards.

Come on! he complained as he ran back inside and walked into his room.

His window was closed. He groaned, grudgingly locked his door, and walked out of the building.

You know, you could have just walked around the building and checked, Edwards laughed as Stevens returned.

Lieutenant Edwards, you made a grave mistake pulling a prank on me, Stevens taunted as they both got into his Bentley.

.     .     .

Both of them walked into the Twenty-Third New York Police Department Precinct and the first thing they noticed was the enormous rush of the policemen and policewomen who were all on the Steinbeck case. Two sergeants walked up to Edwards and saluted him.

So what are we working on today, sir? one of them asked.

You guys take the forensics team and do another search of the home. I want the search on the body redone, closer details to the angle and types of cuts, and I want some information on his family. We can go in and do some more research after that, Edwards ordered.

The two sergeants saluted and left, glancing back at Stevens in bewilderment. As he and Stevens walked through the station, many officers gave questioning glances at Stevens.

I think I scare them, he chuckled as he walked by.

You wouldn’t know how much you do, Edwards muttered to himself.

As they walked down the lobby, they saw the bustling workforce move around them. Most of them were from the other precincts as this case had escalated to a higher degree, as Steinbeck was a billionaire. When the pair eventually reached the end of the hallway, they saw a young woman trying to interpret a map. She scratched her head and kept looking out the door, as if someone were going to come.

The nearest Starbucks is five minutes away, but the traffic for that is terrible, and it’s easy to get lost. You should instead look for the shop ‘Joe the Art of Coffee’ which is on 141 Waverly Place, Stevens said to the lady.

She looked at him in surprise.

How did you know what I was looking for?

It’s obvious. You look tired, you’re looking at map, and you’re in a police station on a case. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re new here, Stevens answered teasingly.

The young lady and Edwards looked at each other and back at Stevens. They both thought the same thing: How the heck does he do that?

The name is Jeffrey Stevens, private detective. I can assure you that you’ve probably not heard of me before, Stevens said as he held his hand out.

Elizabeth Spencer. I’m a member of the analysis and forensics team here, she said as she shook his hand. Are you guys also working on the Steinbeck case?

Yes. I’m one of the Lieutenants on the case. My name is David Edwards, Edwards said as he shook her hand as well.

Why are you working with a detective? Or are you related by some means? she asked.

He’s my associate. I’m working with him to get the best out of all the evidence that is there, Stevens answered.

He looked at his watch, which read 8:55 AM.

I better get going. I have an appointment at nine and can’t afford to be late. The captain will get angry, but don’t tell him I said that.

Elizabeth nodded and Stevens began to walk away, Edwards trailing behind. Suddenly he stopped, smiled at Edwards and called out to Elizabeth.

Ms. Spencer, my friend here could show you around town, since you are new. He’s got a meeting right now, but after that, he’s all free. He looks reluctant, but he loves giving orientations of New York City, he said as he turned around and walked away.

Edwards gave an angry look at Stevens and groaned silently.

"Lieutenant Edwards, you have made a grave mistake pulling a prank on me."

Elizabeth waited until Stevens turned right at the end of the hallway then commented, I don’t know about you, but if I were stuck with that guy, I’d go insane.

Tell me about it, Edwards joked.

So, do you actually give orientations of New York City? she asked.

No. He was just getting me back for a prank I pulled on him, Edwards answered.

In that case, I’ll see you after your meeting. I’ll just be waiting in the lobby.

She left down the hallway to meet with the evidence analysis team. Edwards groaned, out loud this time, and raced to go to his meeting.

.     .     .

Stevens walked into Captain Lander’s office and sat down in the visitor chair. The room was darkened and a projector sat on the Captain’s desk showed. It showed, on the left wall, an interrogation of a middle-aged man in a suit.

Detective, I want you on this case, as I said on the phone, Landers said as he turned around from his chair to face Stevens.

And as I said on the phone, I am already on a case, Stevens rebutted.

My order is what you follow detective. You work for me and follow what I say! Now, I want you on the case! Landers ordered.

I am a private detective. I was contacted about the Steinbeck case because I was needed. Now, you claim I work for you? Have you ever done two cases at the same time, Captain? Two different cases at the same time will give you bad results and a constant lack of progress. The case will go slower and may not even be done by the time we need it, Stevens answered.

Then abandon the Steinbeck case! This takes precedence!

I can’t abandon that case. There’s evidence that the killer will kill four more people. What could take precedence over that?

Landers sat quietly for a minute before speaking.

Would it interest you that this case also has a criminal that wants to take out a vendetta as well?

Stevens looked at Landers, his eyes narrowing.

What is it about?

"A man in a black suit attacked that criminal, who’s known as the Delivery Man, Landers explained, pointing at the man in the interrogation, That criminal is part of the New York drug-dealing gang called the Tricksters. The man who attacked him said he wanted to take out his revenge and that he would torture others in order to get what he wanted. The Delivery Man was attacked and injured, even shot by a bullet, but was found unconscious and severely wounded after a witness heard the gunshot and found him. Here are the reports on the evidence and here is a copy of the interrogation of the Delivery Man."

Landers gave the files and recording to Stevens.

Stevens got out of his chair and began to walk towards the door before he stopped and turned around.

Did he say anything else about his intentions?

From what we know, he only said one other thing, Landers began. "He called himself the Shadow Pursuer."

Stevens nodded in acknowledgement and left the room. He walked into the hallway and sat down in a chair in the lobby, waiting for Edwards’ meeting to finish.

"The Shadow Pursuer, huh? Oh boy, not these maniac villains again," he said to himself, clearly entertained.

Chapter 8

Stevens read through the files in the case folder. He took out a pen from his coat and began to underline things that caught his eye. He then read the scenario report from the crime scene investigation team, which explained, to the best of their abilities, what had happened. An interrogation of some sort had occurred, but the victim was only asked one question: ‘Where is Bach?’After having failed to answer, the victim was forced to give his cellular device to the Shadow Pursuer, who apparently connected it to some sort of device. Then, the Shadow Pursuer introduced himself and fired a bullet into the victim’s mid-chest, perfectly aiming it so as to miss the outer portion of the rib cage and tear the external and internal oblique muscles that surrounded the right side of the upper body. This caused immediate blood loss, but did not deflate any of the lungs. Hence, the victim was kept alive, but immediately became unconscious due to the pain and loss of oxygen. The police found him after a witness, who had found the Delivery Man almost dead after hearing the gunshot, had called. The Delivery Man was hospitalized for five days until he could speak and sit up and was then interrogated. The site of the encounter left barely any evidence: there were no fingerprints on the doors, as the attacker had gloves on; the description of the man was vague; and the building owner had no idea his building was being used. The attacker was hunting for somebody to take his revenge on, but who he was looking for was debatable. Either he wanted to attack somebody in the Tricksters, or he wanted to find a certain person associated with the gang itself. Finally, the identity of the person known as Bach was unknown, as any police records on him were either wiped out by a virus, or robbed by the Tricksters themselves. The only thing that kept bothering Stevens was that both the criminals in the Steinbeck and Shadow Pursuer cases had vendettas. Whether the killers were the same people was currently unknown.

The identity of the Shadow Pursuer was actually quite limited. Either he was a policeman in secret, which would raise a lot of concern, or he was a member of an enemy gang, rivals to the Tricksters. Database searches were already being made on those two assumptions, but a man fitting the limited description was hard to find. The building of the crime scene was thoroughly investigated. But, the teams had failed to find any bullet pieces or forgotten items, making it harder to narrow down the possibilities.

Stevens closed the file and checked his pager. No reply.

How long can a police meeting go on with very little evidence? he thought.

He looked through the pictures that were taken at the crime scene. After daydreaming and waiting for about fifteen minutes, the meeting doors opened and Edwards walked out, a solemn look on his face.

What’s the matter David? Stevens asked.

"No success. Not even close to finding the identities of either the Shadow Pursuer or Steinbeck’s murderer," he said as he shook his head.

No need to worry my friend. We’ll meet tomorrow and discuss the evidence that I will gather today, Stevens reassured as he patted Edwards on the back.

Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? Why not today? asked Edwards.

Now now, we don’t want to forget the deals we make here, do we David? Stevens joked as he pointed to Elizabeth, who was walking into the lobby.

Remind me to get you back for this Stevens, Edwards grumbled as he walked over to Elizabeth.

Stevens watched as the two of them left the building. He then turned

Reviews for Jeffrey Stevens

[Bhaskar · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Crime, suspense, surprise, action and human emotions mixed together into an interesting story.