Norberry Precinct isn’t what you’d call the high end of town. It looks innocuous at first glance, as full of noisy, bustling people as any other section of the city. Stay a little too long, however, and you’ll soon realize that every conversation around you revolves around the black market, murder, and human trafficking. Norberry itself is run by a coalition of gangs and drug lords, a group of ambitious individuals who rose to power during a three-year conflict with the city’s government. Heavy losses on both sides finally led to a tentative agreement that the government would turn a blind eye to most dealings, while Norberry agreed to, for the most part, keep its activities confined to the area. That was ten years ago. Somehow, a tenuous peace has been maintained, but it’s only a matter of time.
For the rest of the morning, I examined previous cases of murder from the past few months. Given the size of the city, murder cases sprung up almost daily, but none had the brutality of last night’s killing. An unstable artist had gone on a murder spree a year back, leaving his violent “masterpieces” in public locations, but the method of killing was too different. This was no outcome of a drunken brawl; there was a deliberate intensity and thought behind the murder that hinted at something deeper.
Afterwards, I headed back to the crime scene for a checkup, but nothing had really changed. Lieutenant Weir, if still rather distant, seemed friendlier with Winder not present, and agreed to update me on any new discoveries. As I talked, I noticed a man in a brown overcoat, similar to that of Winder, standing a short distance away. He seemed to glance at me when I mentioned Winder, but when I looked towards him a few minutes later he had vanished.
A quick lunch later, I made my way to Norberry. As Winder hadn’t specified where to meet, I decided to stay on the Conway, a large road that cut straight through the precinct. I soon found him sitting in front of a shady-looking cafe. He looked up from a cup of coffee as I approached him.
“Ah, Newt,” Winder said, gesturing for me to sit down across from him. “About time you got here. Anything new?”
“Not much.” I gave a quick summary of what I’d found out. “I’ll be able to find out more once we get an update on the murder. But anyway,” I inquired curiously, “what brought you all the way to Norberry?”
Winder took a sip from his cup. “Back at the body, you noticed how the entire upper arm was nearly hacked off? You could just attribute it to excessive violence, but that doesn’t seem right. That was the only major cut that wasn’t on the torso. The shape of the wound was also different for the arm, quicker and much more forceful than the rest of the injuries. Almost as an afterthought.”
I frowned. “So you’re saying that the murderer was trying to hide something. Maybe trying to get rid of a distinguishing feature, like a birthmark or a tattoo?”
The detective glanced at me approvingly. “That is my thought. In this case, I believe it’s the latter. Which is what brought me here. A tattoo on the right upper arm—remind you of any gang around here?”
I thought for a bit. “There’s only two I can think of on the spot. It could be the Masakhs, but their tattoos are a lot more extensive than just the arm. So that would leave the Chain, but …” I continued skeptically, “It’s a bit of a jump to link this murder with a gang, especially when it took place nearly a dozen precincts away.”
Winder finished his coffee and shrugged. “What would the largest gang in the city be doing going around and killing people? Almost unimaginable, isn’t it?” He rose and put on his overcoat. “Well, luckily for you, I know someone who knows. Follow me.”
We stepped off of the bright Conway and onto a more secluded street, the atmosphere instantly changing from noisy to subdued. Small groups of people clung to the shade of buildings, taking part in furtive exchanges of handshakes and contraband. It was a relief that we weren’t in uniform; officers who found themselves in Norberry were not kindly received. Winder took no notice of this and continued on until we arrived at the entrance of what looked like an abandoned tenant building. The detective knocked three times and stood back. After a brief pause, a slot opened in the door.
A gruff voice came from the darkness behind the door slot. “Winder, eh? Who’s the lady?”
Winder sighed. “No one you need to care about, Gonzo. Let us in.”
“Listen, pal, this isn’t a fucking walk-in clinic. If she’s with the force, she can’t come in. End of fucking story.”
“Well, that’s a pity,” said Winder disappointedly. “I almost didn’t want to tell Linda about the drugs that you’ve been stealing from her personal supplier.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“Your profanity appalls me. Well, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’ll see you later, Gonzo, unless you’ve been dumped in the sewers with your hands cut off by then.” Winder slowly turned around and began to nonchalantly walk away.
“Alright, not so loud!” The door hastily swung open, revealing a brawny, scowling man, pulling on his greased hair with irritation. “Come inside. Linda’s meeting with another gang, but she’ll be finished soon. You better not say a fucking word about my dealings, Winder.” He ushered us into a small room and then ran off, closing the door behind him.
I glanced at Winder with confusion. “Linda? As in the leader of the Chain? You know her personally?”
Winder grinned. “Well, who wouldn’t know their own sister?”