The Kyra Daniels Cases: D.U.I. and D.O.A

My head feels like it’s splitting open. My ears are ringing. My body is injured, though I cannot say how badly. The paramedics are just trying to reassure me that I’m going to be okay. Car accidents happen every day. Some are good, and some are bad. I guess I got lucky.

Though my eyes seem pained to open, I stare at the two sets of green lights in the intersection: one in my direction, the other going perpendicular to me. As they load me into the ambulance, one thing become very clear to me:

This was no accident.

-

“What about the other driver?” I ask Captain O’Halloran as she stands over my hospital bed the next morning.

“You should be resting,” she replies.

“I am fine,” I lie. “The other driver crashed into me while both lights were green.”

“You’re not fine. Fine people don’t immediately go back to work after an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

O’Halloran opens her mouth to say something else, but I interject.

“How long have you known me?”

After a moment, she sighs heavily and takes a seat.

“What was the drivers name?” I ask

“We don’t know. He was dead when he hit you.”

“Because of the collision?”

“No,” O’Halloran says, puzzled down to her very core. “He was dead before he hit you. For what looks like quite a while.”

-

“Are you okay?” Jeff asks as he hands me a folder of photos from the collision.

“Of course,” I reply as I look over the pictures.

I must remember to thank Anderson for the good work he does on photographing the crime scene: the photos are very telling. The show a body that has clearly been dead a long time, hands bound to the steering wheel and head tied around the headrest.

“The car was set up to go straight,” Jeff says. “There was a brick on the pedal. The road that he was travelling down was long enough that it could get considerable speed.”

“What about the lights?”

“What about them?”

“If he was dead, and the car rigged to hit me, why did both lights need to be green?”

Jeff shrugs. I guess it is a little understandable that he wouldn’t know right away. Still, a shade of disappointment flashes across my face.

“What’s this wound here?” I ask, pointing to a darker spot on the victim’s head. “Gunshot?”

“That’s the initial assessment,” Jeff replies.

I close the folder and stare out of the window for a minute. I turn over and get out of the bed.

“I don’t think you should be…” Jeff tries.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence?” I ask, wincing.

Jeff gives me a weird look.

“That I get a call from the Judge, then get T-Boned at an intersection with two active green lights, and then the driver turns out to be a decaying corpse with a bullet wound in his head?”

“You think it’s the person the Judge shot when he warned us about his return?”

“She.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She spoke to me last night, after she killed another voice. The Judge is a woman.”

“What are you doing?” Jeff asks as he watches me attempt to leave the room.

“My job,” I retort. “Finding out who the driver is may help us identify the Judge.”

A nurse comes into the room, trying to get me to relax. After much coercing, I agree to remain in my bed, while Jeff brings me reports.

-

“You should be resting,” Lindsay says through the phone. “The body has been dead nearly three weeks. GSW.”

“So the timeline adds up,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“I guess,” she replies. “Whoever kept him around doesn’t know about embalming, so there are a few details that we can decipher.”

“There’s not a single criminal alive who can think of everything, and it appears that the Judge is no exception.”

“Maybe so, but there’s not much I can tell you. Usual puncture wound in the neck from a needle, consistent with most of his victims.”

“Her victims. Continue.”

“The bruising around the limbs suggest that he was tied up.”

“Makes sense. She wouldn’t have wanted to risk him escaping before her message was delivered.”

“You seem certain that the Judge is behind this.”

“It seems like too much of a coincidence.”

“I’m worried about you. We work in a field where we see crazed fanatics every day, and that makes it hard to tell the innocent from the guilty.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying that I don’t want you devolving to the point where you think you see The Judge behind everything. She’s just another lunatic who, I’m confident, you will catch. And then you’ll see she’s not a monster, just some sick woman.”

“If she was the Boogeyman, or something, that might live up to my expectations,” I reply. “But you’re right… odds are that she’s just some other creep. But look at all the people who died under the Judge?”

I gasp. The victims. That’s the key.

“Lindsay, you’re a genius!” I cry out, hanging up the phone. I dial a new number into it. After the third ring, Linda picks up.

“Linda,” I shout. “Can you bring me your mother’s files on the Judge? Thanks, bye.”

-

“But we already knew that the Judge killed his victims via their own M.O.” Jeff contests, days later, after I’ve finally been allowed to leave the hospital.

“Exactly,” I reply. “So, what was the driver’s crime?”

“Sorry?”

“The Judge only ever killed other criminals,” I begin. “Even the most innocent victim had some kind of offense. Ergo, if The Driver is a victim, then he’ll have a record.”

“Shot through the head? How is that an ironic death?”

“It’s the car, Jeff. He was posed to look like he was driving. We need to be looking into vehicle-related crimes: grand theft auto, DUIs, even vehicular manslaughter.”

“That’s a bit of a leap.”

“How often am I wrong?”

Jeff opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His expression is so adorable as he tries to contest this point. Finally, I can see his moment of clarity.

“Okay,” he says. “How can I help?”

“We need to talk to Anderson about the DNA, see if it turns up any matches in our database. We also need to check the car for other clues, and I need help building a profile for the Judge.”

“Which one should I take?”

“All of it,” I chuckle. “I’ve been in a collision. I need extra eyes. And if I get too hyped, you’ll need to take me back to the hospital.”

As I walk out of the room, I can hear Jeff shout out: “That’s not funny!”

-

The putrid smell of dead body is still heavy in this car, even though it’s been a few days since the Driver was removed. Jeff was astute: the car was rigged to continue steering straight, using two wires tensely fastening the wheel to the ground.

“What do you think we’ll find here?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t know. The Judge is a game-master. I’m guessing that she likes the illusion of control. So, if there’s anything to find, she’ll leave it for us.”

“Forensics would’ve done a deep search of the car.”

“There’s something here.”

I hear a phone ring. As I frantically search the car for the source, I suddenly hear Jeff answer it.

“Yes, I’m with her right now,” he says. “I don’t know if tonight will work. She’s pretty focused on this case. She was in an accident, and she asked for my help.” He sighs. “Okay, I’ll swing by later.”

He hangs up the phone and returns his attention to the car.

“Jennifer?” I ask.

Jeff nods.

“I’m guessing my accident ruined the date?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You can go, you know.”

“Found anything?”

I smirk. Dedication like that is hard to come by. We continue to comb the car until we come to a hidden panel in the trunk. As we open it, Jeff immediately picks up his cell phone and dials for help.

-

It doesn’t take long for the bomb squad to come and defuse it. But they have shocking news.

““Why would it be disarmed?” Jeff asks, incredulous, as the bomb tech nods his confirmation.

I sit down, deep in thought.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I murmur. “Why have the driver crash into me and not ignite the dynamite?”

“You think she wants to kill you?” Jeff asks.

“She could have killed me so easily. But why this car? Why this driver? What does it mean?”

“Kyra,” Jeff whispers. “You need to get some rest. You’re spiralling.”

I look at him. The worry in his eyes is very clear.

I nod.

-

“We got a match,” Anderson says as he shows me a mugshot. “Quentin Johnson. Has a few DUIs on his record.”

“So, he was driving the car because that was his crime,” I conclude. “Was there anything else to tie him to the other Judge cases?”

“Just the needle hole.”

“And the bomb?”

“What bomb?”

“The bomb that we found in the car?”

“I didn’t find one.”

“It was in a hidden panel in the trunk.”

Anderson turns around and grabs a photograph.

When he hands it to me, my jaw drops: the panel I found the bomb in was empty.

“Who would have access to the car?” I ask.

“Just the force, I guess.”

“Because there was a bomb in there yesterday. That means someone had to have put it there between the collision and then.”

“Does that mean…?” Anderson starts, but I’ve already left before he can finish the statement.

-

“This is what I was missing, Captain,” I whisper. “I knew the Judge wouldn’t have hit me if she didn’t want to communicate. There had to be a clue in the car, and this is it”

“You’ve recently suffered a massive injury,” she retorts. “Go home and rest. You’re not even supposed to be working right now.”

“The Judge has access to the evidence. That was her message.”

O’Halloran sighs.

Captain O’Halloran strokes her chin. “I don’t know, Daniels.”

“She planted a device at Linda’s, it had to be someone she trusted. She knew that I travel the same way to and from work.”

“What does…”

“That’s how she knew where to aim the car. She’s watching all of us.”

“And you said both lights were green?”

“Maybe she needed the street clear so that the car would go by uninterrupted.”

“That’s speculation.”

“We’ve never been able to find a motivation for the Judge, but when she spoke to me, using another patsy, by the way, she mentioned that she found the courts inefficient.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The driver, then. His name is Quentin Johnson, a plethora of DUIs plague his record and he was the one posed to drive the car. It’s an ironic death.”

“He was shot in the head.”

“Which we know that the Judge does because we heard the gunshot. She called me and I had to listen to her execute the second patsy. She wants to torment me. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Fine,” she relents. “For arguments sake, let’s say she is targeting you. Why?”

I slump my shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a knock on the door before it creaks open.

“Hey guys,” Jennifer Lawson enters.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I was just wondering if you knew where Jeff was. He didn’t show up for our date last night.”

I turn to O’Halloran.

My phone rings. Unknown number. I pick it up.

“Hello, Judge.”

“Hello, Detective.”

I know that voice. Unmistakable.

“Jeff?”

“He’s mine now.”