Sylvester and Jacks stood up.
“Thank you for this,” the detective said, motioning to the manila envelope sitting on his coffee table.
“I just want to help. Even though it feels like no one else believes I have anything to offer any more. I at least need to try, I guess.” He dropped his eyes again. “Anyway. Thank you, and have a good night,” Jacks said, walking out of the door. Sylvester closed it behind him.
Sylvester sat down on the couch and opened the container of Thai food, which was still satisfactorily warm. He started digging in with a plastic spoon, his mind swirling with the history he’d just told Jackson. Drawing in a deep breath between bites of curry, the detective tried to shake it off. Reaching into his bag with his free hand, Sylvester opened up his laptop to start watching an episode from one of his favourite TV shows – he had a weakness for a couple of BBC series. Even though he was mostly a traditionalist, he had to admit that being able to stream was pretty nice.
The computer was open to his email, and he saw he had a number of new messages. Mostly mass emails from the department, with some spam. But the latest was only a few minutes old. And it was from someone simply called “A Friend”. The email address was just a series of nonsensical letters in front of a gmail.com domain name. The subject line read: “Please Read Me, Detective.”
Puzzled, Sylvester opened the email.
Inside was simply a link to an online newspaper – no other sign or note of who could have left it for him. Sylvester clicked the link.
It opened an article about the fire and collapse of a brand-new high-rise apartment complex in Beijing, which had been designed by a prestigious Swedish architect. The Chinese tragedy had happened a week before, but officials had only been coming out publicly with details over the past day, after everything was cleaned up. Over five hundred had died in the horrific accident.
In the article was an eyewitness photo taken as the building burned. Sylvester cleaned his glasses, leaning closer to the screen to investigate the photo. The building was on fire, smoke roiling from the glass windows, residents streaming out in a panic. It was horrible. But what was Sylvester supposed to see? He continued looking, and looking, but could find nothing.
Frustrated, he zoomed in further on the photo on the screen, which only began to slightly pixellate.
And then he saw it – far off on the side of the building in the background, unnoticed, there were flames. But these were a slightly different colour, the smoke darker, the fire more intense. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d never have noticed anything in the chaos.
Sylvester looked even closer. A jolt ran through his body.
If he examined as closely as possible, he thought he could see eyes burning darkly in the fire. The eyes of a Dark Angel.
CHAPTER 17
Jackson’s Ferrari rumbled under the Immortal City sun as he slowed along Ventura Boulevard in Angel Oaks, looking for his destination. He rarely came out to the Valley, and he didn’t know his way around this part of town as well. Last night’s visit with Detective Sylvester was still resonating in Jackson’s brain as he drove down the street, looking for the unfamiliar address. The detective’s tale had haunted Jackson’s dreams that night.
He wanted to somehow help further with the investigation. He may not be able to serve as one of the Angels, but he could still help his kind. That’s what he should be doing. Instead of doing things like this, out in the Valley. Caught in his thoughts, Jacks missed a turn. He grumbled as he pulled a U-turn.
At last he saw it. Wow. You really couldn’t miss it, he thought. He pulled around the side of the building and parked near the back. The thrumming engine of the car went silent as he turned off the ignition key. Jacks sighed as he looked out of the window at his job for the day.
Out in front of the modern, curved-glass-and-steel showroom of the giant car dealership was strung a number of multicoloured balloons, along with a large banner that read GRAND OPENING in big lurid letters, hanging over sparkling Range Rovers and Porsches.
Was this what it had come to? Jacks tried to remain positive. He thought about how he had a long road ahead of him and tried to chase away thoughts of just a year before, when his image had been splayed across buildings throughout Angel City. Darcy had convinced him that this car-dealership opening was a great appearance, that they really wanted Jackson to make it a glitzy event. And his publicist said he needed to do whatever came his way, to “get back out there”. But Jackson was still reluctant.
Stepping out of the sports car, he scanned the car park for Darcy – where was she? She was always early.
All of a sudden, Christina, Darcy’s assistant, materialized at Jackson’s side.
“You’re here, Jackson, that’s just wonderful,” Christina said, keeping one eye on her phone. “Now let’s get you in to talk to the owner, Mr Rahimi, who’s so excited to meet you before the event begins.”
“Where’s Darcy?” Jacks asked, looking around.
“She’s with Maddy, of course,” Christina replied, tapping at her BlackBerry. “But I’m here for anything you need.”
“Oh,” Jacks said. Now Darcy wasn’t even dealing with him directly?
“JACKSON!” A voice boomed loudly. A tan man in a sleek suit approached Jackson, all smiles. “Willy Rahimi, so terrific to see you. Welcome, welcome. Would you like a snack? A glass of wine? A Perrier?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Jacks said uncomfortably as the big man shook his hand up and down a few times too many. Jackson could see that on the other side of the lot, underneath the balloons, was a little table set up for him to sign autographs. There was a small line of people waiting patiently. Above was a sign: MEET JACKSON GODSPEED.
Mr Rahimi looked over to Jackson’s car. “No Maddy?” he said with a nervous chuckle. “We were hoping maybe she might just happen to come along. Heh.”
For a second Jacks looked back at his Ferrari – his potential escape. Darcy’s assistant picked up on it.
“Jackson is so excited to be here today, Mr Rahimi,” Christina said. “Come on, Jacks, just this way.”