Renegade (h.s.)

Mission: Decode

H:

"The Siren strikes again."

It's a statement you'd likely find in a comic book and it's said with just as much reverence. My muscles tense at the words and I shoot Mickey a dark glare, but he's too busy examining the body of the 28-year-old woman as if it's a work of art to notice.

The longer we work to track down the vigilante the less I'm able to tell if Mickey just finds the assassin impressive or if he actually might be a sociopath and I should be scared for my life.

Either way, there's another victim dead and my career is hanging by a very fragile thread.

The sloppiness of the kill: a public setting, multiple witnesses, and a chaste red kiss to the cheek tells me that The Siren was in a rush. It's so unlike her, so poorly executed it would have made me disappointed if I wasn't so giddy.

She finally, finally slipped up.

The old woman that called in the sighting no doubt the cause.

Mrs. Wilkes was a witness from the Ricci murder that we interviewed, but didn't really take seriously. She's older and fragile and gave a vague description of the woman with Ricci, but nothing else. Still, I gave her my card in case she remembered any detail that might help us, but I never thought I'd hear from her again. Especially not to tell us that she was standing in a bar with the very same woman that was with Ricci that night.

She could have been senile, could have been mistaken, but I didn't want to ignore the tip and come to regret it. I had to know for sure. Especially since I have so little to go on.

And when I pulled up to the bar —aptly named Death & Company— and saw the line of police cars and flashing lights, my heart leapt into my throat with the hope of it.

But, I was too late... I'm always just too late.

The bartender is too focused on his own liability and too drunk to remember much of anything —except that the woman sitting next to the victim was hot and a redhead. And the main witness is dead on the floor of the dark bar from anaphylactic shock.

That's what the official autopsy will say, at least, but I know better.

I find it odd that someone with such a serious, deadly allergy wouldn't carry an epi-pen with them at all times... even more odd that they would consume peanuts or risk exposure without said epi-pen.

Unless it was taken from them. Unless someone knew about the allergy, ensured they wouldn't have their medicine, and deliberately exposed them to peanuts —causing their death.

All of which I would not put past The Siren.

I wait for Mickey to finish talking to the police who were called onto the scene before I decide to interview Mrs. Wilkes. Our investigative team arrives in the meantime and takes over for the NYPD, who are only mildly disgruntled to be kicked out of the crime scene.

Mrs. Wilkes is positively traumatized after trying and failing to resuscitate the victim, but she's still willing to sit with us at one of the dark booths after the coroner wheels away the body and the forensics team snaps photos. Through her tears, she tells us that she wasn't sure if it was the same woman from the night Ricci died at first because she looked so different.

"My eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be and it's so dark in here... but, there was something about the way she carried herself that was so familiar." Her light eyes unfocus over my shoulder, shaking her head, as she recounts her story. "After that horrible night a few weeks ago, I've been looking for the woman from that hotel everywhere. So, when I thought I saw her again today I assumed I was just being paranoid. I mean, this woman had different hair, wore glasses... it didn't really look like her at all. But, then... I heard her voice."