Detective Hale cut through the strips of yellow and black police tape and jimmied the lock on the door to Apartment 111. He pushed the door open a crack as the stench of cigarette smoke and rot blew into his face, making his stomach turn. He stepped into the apartment, exchanging the warmth of the hallway for the cold chill of a crime scene that was only hours old.

He quietly shut the door behind him, hopeful none of the neighbors had seen him enter. The department knew nothing of his presence here. He had been ordered to stay far away from this particular crime scene, but he had no idea why. He wasn’t a suspect, and this part of Jameson was under his jurisdiction.

Moonlight pierced the long vertical blinds that hung over the living room window, casting white stripes across the disheveled studio apartment. The only sounds traveling through the small living space were the humming of the heater in the apartment next door and the sound of a raucous party in the apartment below Hale’s feet.

He made his way past the small kitchen to his right and entered the living area. The broken lamp on the floor told him he wasn’t going to get the light he wanted for his investigation. The toppled sectional couch told him somebody with some degree of strength had been here, probably looking for something. And the smashed wooden computer desk told him there had been an intense struggle, one he knew hadn’t ended well.

He stepped over the broken pieces of the desk and approached the window, opening the blinds. The moonlight poured across him, filling the room as he stared out from the twentieth floor on the city of Jameson. The twinkling lights of the city attempted to charm him with their wiles, to convince him it was the summation of something more than filth and degradation and crime. But Detective Hale had been charmed too many times before, and the trick would no longer work on him.

He started to turn from the window when his attention was snagged by the soft pink glow emanating from a neon silhouette above the strip club across the street. A female silhouette, nude and featureless, no doubt established to encourage thoughts of sex and fantasy. It was a strange thing, he wondered, how a featureless silhouette could lead human beings to stray. Simple lines, burning with neon light, curved and twisted into the shape of a female. Something so simple. Then again, he mused, the Siren’s Song was simple. Simple, but effective.

He stared at that silhouette for a time, his thoughts fighting to chase away the fear that threatened to swallow Detective Hale whole. He had never looked at the city as a safe place to be, but he never imagined it would become as dangerous as it had. An elusive serial killer ran loose within it, the man he called Red Crane.

Some in his department believed these murders were the work of multiple suspects. Few took Hale’s blood-soaked paper cranes seriously. Even when he set the blood-stained baubles on Chief William’s desk, Hale was blown off with prejudice and told to discard the disgusting artifacts. They were all tested and known to contain the blood of the victims the cranes were left behind with. But the paper creations contained nothing that linked back to the killer.

The latest victim was a woman. Her name eluded Hale. He hadn’t paid that much attention to her file, only knew that she had her throat slit and had bled out across the carpet in the center of the living room.

He huffed before finally turning back to the living area. Moonlight flooded the dark stain in the center of the chevron-patterned rug where the victim had breathed her last. Her body had been taken to the morgue, but the apartment still sat, untouched by investigators. Was the Department so busy it couldn’t be bothered to investigate a woman’s death that was obviously the work of a killer?

Hale shook his head and took a deep breath, his eyes taking in the room around him. The small apartment was a place Detective Hale saw himself occupying in another life, another time. The one-bedroom suite was the perfect size for a single man living in the city, with a small area for one to sleep, and a small area to entertain guests. A quaint little kitchen fought for its own place in the cramped dwelling, giving just enough room for the appliances, a small table, and a couple barstools.

Detective Hale was not a single man living in the city. He was a detective with a wife and teenage daughter. They lived in a small house in the outskirts of the city, away from the crimes of Jameson. Away from the hustle and the bustle.

Away from Red Crane.

The moniker that Detective Hale attached to his latest murder suspect felt more appropriate the more Hale thought about it. Besides the Crane’s calling cards—origami cranes soaked in their victims’ blood—Crane had become sort of a crane himself. He had managed to soar out of the grasp of the department’s force. In fact, he had become a ghost. After a handful of murder cases with Red Crane’s calling card at each one, the further into the case Detective Hale dug, the more elusive his prey became and the more determined Hale became in catching Red Crane. It didn’t help that each and every piece of the physical evidence couldn’t be traced to a specific individual, making Hale’s attempts at capturing this killer nearly impossible. It made him look inept, and so he had been pulled off the case officially, but he continued to scour the crime scenes for evidence in a vain attempt at catching the killer. Nothing could stop Hale.

Apparently, not even death.

Hale reached into his coat and felt the scar tissue in the left side of his chest, where he had been stabbed in the heart four months earlier by an unknown figure who jumped him in a dark alley.

“Damn you,” he grumbled. He turned toward the kitchen and browsed the random magnets on the refrigerator while he fought to catch his breath. Every now and then his heart would act up, and it only served to remind him that he was neither invincible nor very useful. It didn’t help that Hale wasn’t exactly in shape. A few pounds overweight, with days of stubble and a mane that needed a cut, he wasn’t a poster boy for police fitness.

The magnets were arranged on the fridge in a neat and tidy order, and each looked shiny and new as if they all had been cleaned with bleach recently. But the magnets—most from local restaurants and a few from tourist locations around the globe—told him nothing about the murder.

The ache in his chest forced him to take a seat in the leather recliner in the living area. He didn’t want to rest. He wanted to find the killer. But his body wouldn’t let him go too far ahead before reminding him of his mortality.

He took a deep breath and rubbed the scar tissue through his white dress shirt, his mind reeling with the horrible event. Before the incident, Hale had always assumed that a wound to the heart always equaled an instant kill. Not in his case though. It meant a lifetime of medication, pain, and more hospital checkups than one could stomach in a lifetime. It was almost worse than death. Almost.

Detective Hale made it his new mission in this second chance to find Red Crane and put a stop to the insanity plaguing Jameson. The department might shun him for thinking a serial killer was on the loose. His superiors might bring the hammer down on him if he didn’t stop undermining them. His wife might even think of divorcing him if he didn’t stop obsessing over a twisted serial killer.

He stood to his feet, determined to find and stop Red Crane before he—or she—took more victims.

Hale continued his search around the apartment as he browsed the in-wall bookshelves, scanned the big-screen television, and scoured the small bathroom - which was immacu­lately clean. Nothing stood out to him, aside from the various toppled items that filled the living space and did nothing but indicate a struggle.

And then his eyes caught sight of the one item he had been searching for, the one item that would connect his assumptions with the truth of the matter. Atop the small end table that stood in the shadows near the overturned couch perched a small origami crane made of paper.

Hale took a pair of tweezers from the inside pocket of his overcoat and used them to lift the crane from its pedestal. He examined the paper bird under the moonlight and noticed that it was nearly identical to the other paper birds. The crane was soaked in blood, no doubt the victim’s.

The calling card of Red Crane.

Chapter One

Thursdays were the worst. So close to Friday, but not quite there. So far from Monday, but with Monday’s unfinished projects lingering in the air. Detective Hale hated Thursdays, especially when he hadn’t been able to gain any solid sleep the night before.

By the time he arrived home at three in the morning, his wife was already in a deep sleep. Since she usually suffered from acute insomnia, Hale left her alone and climbed into the bed next to her, dozing off almost immediately. But his slumber only lasted two hours before he had to wake and head into the office to continue his pursuit of Red Crane. He had to leave before his wife woke. Most times she didn’t even know he had come home and then left again. And as much as he would have liked to have woken her up for an early morning ‘rendezvous’, he didn’t dare rob her of precious sleep, a commodity that she cherished above all else. It was rare for her to sleep a solid four hours during the night, so when she was asleep, he did his best to not bother her.

Sometimes days would go by without them having any kind of mutual interaction. He saw her asleep. She saw him asleep. When they saw each other, they fought. Fought about Red Crane. Fought about the lack of sex and communication in their relationship. Fought about their daughter. Fought about every and anything.

His only sanctuary lately seemed to be the police precinct.

Detective Hale set his cup of coffee down on the only free surface of his desk amid the stacks of paperwork, folders of debriefings, and take-out containers. It was the fourth coffee cup on his desk, and most of the others were at least half full of cold coffee from the same vending machine in the break room.

“Hale?”

He turned to the scratchy female voice to his right. Stephanie was already at her desk, having probably finished five as­signments before the sun even rose. Her desk, he noticed, was immaculate. Not a scrap of trash. The smell of furniture polish filled the air. How she was so clean and efficient was beyond him.

“Hale?” she asked again, tilting her head to match his gaze. Her large blue eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

He shook his head and gave her a solemn wave before sitting down at his landfill of a workspace.

Even though five feet existed between their desks, Stephanie managed to lean over the expanse and, in a conspiratorial tone, asked, “What are you doing here?”

The faint scent of vanilla carried off her person and invaded his messy space. “My job,” he answered loudly before pushing the power button on his computer. He rubbed his cheek, and the stubble reminded him he hadn’t shaved.

“I heard they took you off Red Crane’s case.”

Hale powered on his computer monitor and began rummaging through the refuse on his desk. He tossed the takeout food containers in the small metal wastebasket he kept underneath his desk. He piled all of the manila debriefing folders in a semi-neat stack to the left of this monitor. Then he piled all of the loose paperwork together and slid it off the surface of his desk into the wastebasket, all but a small yellow note he didn’t recognize. It was weighed to the desk with a silver bangle.

Hale picked up the square posty note. In thick black ink, James 1:15 had been written. “Did you leave this on my desk, Steph?”

She glanced over to the note in his hand and shook her head. “I don’t have posty notes that color.” She leaned over and took a closer look at the note and then glared at him. “And you know I don’t believe in that nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

She nodded as she returned to her upright position. “The Bible. Fairy tale stuff.”

“I suppose so,” Hale said, lying to himself. “Just the same, who left this here? How did it get on my desk? And what’s with this bracelet?” He lifted the heavy silver bangle. Green gem­stones were inlaid all around the outside in the shape of little emerald stars. It seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it.

She shrugged. “It’s not mine.”

Hale stuck the note to the side of his monitor and placed the bracelet in the top drawer of his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and took a good long look at his workspace. A smile crept across his face. It was nice to see something productive come out of his work at the precinct.

“If Chief Williams sees you here…”

Hale sighed and then turned his chair so he was facing her. He was surprised to find her wearing the same black shirt she had worn the day before. She loved wearing black. He always thought of ravens when he saw her in black. Today she also wore makeup—simple eyeshadow, and lipstick that came out in a pinkish hue. Her eyes were a bright cerulean, filled with whirlpools of deep ocean. They were eyes he had to be careful not to get lost in.

“I’m not worried about it,” he answered her. “After all the cases I’ve solved for this precinct, the least Chief Williams can do is leave me alone.”

“You think that’s the least I can do?”

Hale spun his chair around and came face to stomach with Chief Williams. The man had a gargantuan gut—probably filled with pasta—and he was tall to boot. “Sir.”

“Come to my office, Hale,” he growled. “Now.” He turned and sauntered back to the small glass box in the corner of the room.

Hale grinned at Stephanie, who gritted her teeth nervously, and then he followed the Chief. Once in the office, the man motioned for Hale to close the door behind him. Hale did so and then took a seat in the old green chair that he had sat in one too many times, especially over the course of the last few months.

Williams clasped his meaty hands together on the desk and sighed. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“You can’t, sir,” Hale replied as he gripped the back of his neck and attempted to work out a knot in his muscle. “I’m close. I can feel it.”

“Damn it, Hale. I can’t keep the big guys off your back anymore. My boss is coming down on me like a pile of bricks, and you keep handing him the shovel.”

Hale leaned forward in his chair and took a deep breath. The air in Chief Williams’ office stunk of cigars and basil. “Do you believe Red Crane is real?”

Williams pointed his finger at Hale. “You’re treading dangerous crowd, Detective. You know what I think. You know what I believe. You know that I’ve been fighting to keep you in this ring for as long as I could. But I have so much hot breath on my neck, I can’t pee without sweating. I gave you ample warning to leave the Red Crane cases alone. You refused…and so forced my hand.”

Hale leaned back in the chair and let out a deep sigh. He took notice of the family portraits gracing the wall behind Williams. The man’s wife looked the polar opposite of him: skinny, blonde, and somewhat calm. Williams always had a red tint to his face.

“Sorry,” Williams said as he held his hands out. “Badge and gun. Now.”

Hale removed his sidearm and his badge. He took a long look at them before he set them down on the desk and watched Williams slide them away. Then he stood up and went straight to the door.

“Hale?” Williams beckoned.

Hale opened the door and looked out on the floor to where Stephanie was sitting. She was busy at work on her computer terminal, probably typing in reports. Always reports.

He turned to Williams. “What?”

“I have a friend…someone who might be able to help you in your…quest.”

“Who?”

“He’s known as Germaine. He lives in a concrete building downtown. He sees all. Might know something about your Red Crane.”

“Great. Is it safe to go down there without a gun?”

Williams stroked his cheeks. Hale could see a faint patch of stubble hiding in the folds of fat, but nothing as thick as what was currently growing on Hale’s own face. “Take Stephanie. She’s caught up with her cases. I told her to take a few days off to rest and recharge and she refuses. I’ll send her with you, off the clock.”

Hale nodded. Then he turned and went back to his desk to retrieve the Red Crane file he had been working on for the last six months.

Stephanie leaned over and whispered, “What did the Chief want?”

“My badge and gun,” Hale said. “But in return, he gave me you. C’mon, we’re going downtown.”

Stephanie’s ocean eyes filled with suspicion. “Me?”

Hale nodded as he finished filling the Crane folder with odd notes and photographs. Then he shut down his computer system. “I need backup. There may be a lead on Red Crane.”

“Geez, Hale. How did you manage to get suspended AND get Chief Williams to let me help you?”

Hale shrugged. He truly didn’t know. All he did know was that he wanted nothing more than to find Red Crane and to put things back in order.