Pablo's mind was elsewhere as he passed Slainté on the way to the office. He took a few steps past the door and stopped. He turned and walked back to the bar. Just one beer before closing out he day. He had one foot into the door when his shoulder collided with a muscular young man in riding leathers headed out.
"Sorry buddy," Sandoval murmured.
The man ignored him and straddled a Ducati that was parked on the street and pulled out into traffic.
Sandoval was half admiring the bike and half considering the dangers of riding in the city without a helmet when his mind connected the dots. The mystery newcomer at Hellfire. The dead Kaosian demon that had attacked Balthazar.
Balthazar loved to call the SCU to dispose of his demon corpses. He knew that they wouldn't tell anyone and that he couldn't get in trouble as long as he said it was self defense. It made him feel important to have the city do his housecleaning for him. But the uniforms had spotted the new guy hanging around and had gotten a photo. It was on Sandoval's desk right now. The guy was even wearing the same outfit.
Sandoval sprinted down the street. The Ducati was headed up Broadway. He'd never catch him. But he'd been here in Sandoval's backyard. And he'd probably be back.
Sandoval walked back to his office and skipped the beer even though it meant missing that cute waitress of Angus'. It was late and he wanted to get to bed. The doorman opened the door for him with a salute and Sandoval smiled and nodded. He greeted the security guard at the desk in the lobby and walked down the wide marble staircase to the basement where he entered an ancient 2-person elevator marked "Official use only".
The cage rattled and jerked on its way down into the first sub-basement until is came to a squeaky halt with a thump. Sandoval opened the cage door and walked down a hallway with marble floors, steel doors and lit with florescent lights. He stopped at the set of double doors at the end and looked over his shoulder.
Nobody there. He could never seem to shake the feeling that something was down here every time he walked down this hall. He shook his head and pushed into the room. The large room was segregated with glass partitions into a foyer and a collection of desks arranged in a more-or-less grid-like pattern in the center. In the foyer was a desk Sergeant who greeted him.
It being nearly midnight the desks were full of activity. He could see that there were victims in both of the interrogation rooms giving statements. One of them had a bloody compress on his neck. Vampire, he thought. The other seemed to have her coat in tatters and a uniform was helping her re-enact the events that led to her wardrobe misfortune.
Sandoval grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot always present on the counter and went to his desk. He passed the large whiteboard with the grid of open cases on it:
| Detective | Case# | Status |
|---|---|---|
|
Sandoval
|
Werewolf in Central Park | Open Investigation |
|
Neumann
|
Balthazar connection to cursed artifacts | Open Investigation |
|
Hendrikson
|
Ghost @ The Metropolitan Opera | Open Investigation |
Sitting at his desk he looked at the picture he had on his desk. The post-it that Neumann had stuck to it lay curled to one side, "You know this guy, JP?"
"Nope, still don't know him," Juan Pablo muttered into his cup, "but I'll definitely keep an eye out for him."
Officer Green came over to his desk. Green had the tattered coat from the victim in the interrogation room in an evidence bag. "I brought this to you because I know you are pursuing a werewolf case. The woman's testimony doesn't sound like a wolf. She mentioned it having horns and couldn't remember if it was hairy or not. I wondered if you had anything on subnormals in Hell's Kitchen."
Sandoval logged into his desktop to open the spreadsheet he kept of sightings and rumors. Green looked in the Barnes & Noble's bag at the Darque Desires book while they waited for the always underpowered equipment of the NYPD to do its work. "My wife loves that trash. I keep trying to tell her it is all crap. Is it a gift for someone?"
Sandoval opened the book to the title page to display the inscription. Green raised an eyebrow. "Nice!" he said turning the book over to leer at the sexy picture of Lucinda on the back, "Is she "researching" something?" he said adding his own "air quotes".
"You are awfully nosy about my personal life, Michael. I suggest you focus on your job."
Sandoval scrolled through the hundreds of unconfirmed sightings, calls, rumors, stories from the Post and bits of information that they picked up every day but lacked the manpower, resources and ultimately money to pursue. He spotted a likely lead. "Fyarl demon at an antique store from back in November. Jumped out of an old steamer trunk found in an estate in Hells Kitchen and never found. I'll bet that's our subnormal trying to get home. Find out if our victim has recently rented a new place in the neighborhood or bought a house there recently. Fyarls are notoriously thick-headed and this one might just think that she's an intruder in her own home. You might want to get the recovery boys on the horn and line up a grab, too."
He pointed to the bag with the shredded coat, "Drop that in Sierra's box. She can go over it tomorrow to make sure we're on the right track."
Green took the bag, "I'm on it Detective. Thanks."
Sandoval went back to his coffee and watched the video from the werewolf attack in the park from last week on his computer. In the grainy video a shapely, athletic woman with brown hair in a short ponytail runs at full tilt past the camera. Seconds later the huge wolf glides through the frame so fast that it looks like a blur. To an untrained eye it could be a dog or even a large man in a fur coat. But to Sandoval it was as clear as if he had seen it with his own eyes.
His mind cast back to Puerto Rico and his family. His father telling him about the attack and seeing his sister, only fifteen at the time, hanging on by a thread. He remembered her struggles to recover. He remembered her crying to end it. He shook his head and wiped his cheek. That was the past. This woman had a future if he could find this creature and end it before she turned.
But it wouldn't be tonight. The full moon was weeks away and he had had a full day. Time to take the train home.
Sandoval went down the elevator to the second sub-basement and slipped out through the exit that led to the platform on the "6" that would take him home to East Harlem. He wasn't supposed to go out that way but frankly it was a lot quieter and safer than walking down the street.
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