Soul Catcher (John Decker Series Book 1) by Anthony M. Strong

Author:Anthony M. Strong
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: West Street Publishing
Published: 2016-10-29T23:00:00+00:00

17

The door crashed back on its hinges, hitting the wall. Decker glanced at Connor, who stood wielding a bright yellow crowbar, and then stepped across the threshold into the dark warehouse.

Once inside, he fumbled around until he found a light switch and clicked it on to reveal a small reception room with a dust covered metal desk in one corner and two doors leading in opposite directions.

The door on the right had the word WAREHOUSE stenciled on it, while the one to the left stood open, revealing a small corridor, off which were several more doors.

Decker paused for a moment, listening, and then called out. “Hello? Mr. Darzi? This is the police.”

Silence greeted him in reply.

“Maybe he’s shy.” Connor stepped into the room, followed by Carlos.

“Or maybe he doesn’t like cops.” Decker made his way to the warehouse door and opened it, poking his head inside. It was dark, but he could see the outlines of several crates.

“Where’s Darzi’s office?” Connor asked, turning to Carlos.

“This way.” Carlos took off along the corridor, passing two doors before stopping at the third. “In here.”

“Mr. Darzi?” Decker said through the door, though he held out little hope of a response. “We’re coming in, okay?”

They waited a moment, and then Decker stepped toward the door. He gripped the handle and turned, pushing the door inward. At the same time the air inside the room escaped, carrying with it a sulfur-laced odor that burned the nostrils.

Decker recognized it right away.

It was the stench of death.

“Shit.” Connor glanced at Decker. “After you.”

“Thanks.” Decker paused for a moment, and then stepped past the door with Connor right behind.

The room was small, containing a desk and two bookcases, both crammed with papers. But it was the corpse sitting behind the desk, the skin already yellow and bloated in the humid atmosphere of the warehouse, which stopped the two policemen in their tracks. His wrists were tied to the chair with duct tape, and his shirt was pulled open, revealing a torso crisscrossed with deep, bloody lacerations. To his horror, Decker noticed that all of Darzi’s fingernails were heaped in a pile on the desk in front of him, the roots dark crimson.

“I think we’ve found Amir Darzi,” Connor said. “No wonder he didn’t answer his phone. Poor guy must have been like this for days.”

“Yeah.” Decker looked at the corpse, a shudder running through him.

“So what do you think?” Connor said. “Same people that killed Montague?”

“Without a doubt,” Decker agreed. “They tortured this guy into giving up Montague’s address. He must have told them the statue would be there.”

“And once they had what they needed, they finished him off.” Connor eyed the small round hole in Darzi’s forehead, and the trickle of blood crusted underneath.

“It would seem so.” Decker stepped away, into the corridor, no longer wishing to see the grisly contents of the office. “We’d better call this in.”

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