The Cleaner

By Theresa Jacobs

Detective Gagon is called to the sewers of Toronto, an unusual location for a homicide. In less than 24hrs, another person is murdered miles away, inside their home. Both victim’s eyes were removed, connecting them regardless of the distance. Needing to focus on the case at hand, she’s distracted by secrets she’s keeping from her girlfriend, Dr. Krista Jones, Toronto’s lead coroner. Meanwhile, a young police cadet offers his help, and she gets him involved in a way that risks her own career. On a race to stop a serial killer, and desperately trying to help Dr. Jones shed her past, Gagon traps herself in a web of deceit. Overworked and stretched thin, ultimate choices have to be made before more people die.
Can she solve the case, help Dr. Jones, and keep her career intact?
Ride along with Detective Marcy Gagon and find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theresa Jacobs
• Release date: Feb 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005898779

Theresa Jacobs

Theresa Jacobs believes in magic, fairies, dragons, and ghosts. Yet she trusts science and thinks that aliens know way too much. When she is not at work she spends her time, reading, writing, exercising her dog, and binge-watching TV shows, with her longtime partner and fiancé.She is also a big movie buff and a sci-fi nerd at heart.

Book preview

The Cleaner

© 2021 Theresa Jacobs

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination,

and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Gari Strawn, any errors are that of the author.

This one is for all the fans. 

There is no point in doing this without you!

Bibliography

Novels

Cataclysm

Kept

The Used 

Handsome

Novellas

Sudden Death

The Cimmerians

Wife N’ Death

The Zombie Effect

The Guardian

Unfamiliar Territory

Anthologies

Shrouded Voices

Things only the darkness knows

My other friends & more stories

100-word horrors book 1, 2, 3, 4.

A world unimagined

Indie Writers Review Issue 13

Elements of horror: Air, Earth, Water.

The weird and what not

A discovery of writers

Depth of darkness

A is for Aliens

The Horror Zine’s Book of Ghost Stories

Flashbulb Moment

Glimmer

It Came From Darkness

Time After Time

The Horror Zine Spring Edition

After 6 O’clock Nightfall

Kids Books

The lonely leaf

Puddle jumping

Poetry

Spewed thoughts

Self-Help

Writing 101, how to write for yourself & share with the world. 

Yours to Write, story prompt notebook. 

1

This is an unusual choice. Marcy slid into the booth, picking up the plastic-coated menu, brow raised. What she really wanted to say was, Are you breaking up with me? but couldn’t bring the words to her lips. Instead, she let her eyes travel to the heat-baked parking lot out the window, waiting for Krista to speak and get to the reason behind breakfast—at a place the finicky doctor would never set foot in.

Relax, I just wanted somewhere casual for you. I know you have to get to work soon… Krista paused, giving her attention to the young waitress who stopped at their table. Before the girl could open her mouth to introduce herself, Krista said, We’ll start with two coffees, please. Thank you. She handed her menu to the girl, dismissing her, and returning her attention to Marcy. As I was going to say, I’ve had a rather interesting proposition, and I’m going to take it, but I thought I’d let you know before I do.

Marcy set down the menu, slightly taken aback. After two years with Dr. Krista Jones, Toronto’s lead coroner, she knew her to be bold, brash, and outspoken, but when it came to their relationship, she thought they had a better understanding of how to communicate. Sounds to me like there was no conversation necessary. You just said you’re taking whatever the proposition is anyway.

Pursing her lips in the way that read, You’re testing me, but I’m trying to remain civil, Krista replied, They’ve offered me a teaching position at Toronto University; I’d be an idiot to turn it down. Shorter hours, months off at a time, plus I can remain a contracted consultant with the city without the pressure of running the show. I am going to head over there after breakfast and meet with the Dean to discuss all the details.

Oh. Marcy straightened. You made it sound so ominous, like you were ending us, or —she looked down and swallowed— moving away.

I’m sorry. I know I need to work on being more tactful.

Would you like to order now? the waitress interrupted.

Marcy relaxed. With the tension gone, her stomach rumbled. She was famished. I’ll have the breakfast special with crispy bacon and well-cooked hash browns.

Just a fruit plate for me, Krista said. The moment the waitress was out of earshot, she turned to Marcy. As a doctor, I really wish you wouldn’t.

Hey, I have to run down murderers all day. Let me have a few pleasures.

Please, I don’t need a reminder of what you do nor how poorly you take care of yourself. Can we discuss a happier subject over food?

Marcy took her girlfriend’s hand, kissing the soft skin on her knuckles. Sure, tell me how you’re going use all your free time without me?

While Krista talked future plans, Marcy let her mind wander to the cold case she was secretly working on: Dr. Jones’s murdered girlfriend.

Years before they met, Krista had been dating Constable Jackie Sturgess. According to the story the constable had followed a lead on a murderer to the docks of Toronto Harbour. She was the slasher’s next, and last, victim. All the reports verified this tale. The case had gone cold, and the murderer was still on the loose. Even though it was in the past, it haunted Krista. She was forever looking over her shoulder. Her fear: she would one day be a target.

Marcy didn’t want Krista to worry more than she already did and was secretly doing the research in hopes of putting the killer behind bars to give her girlfriend peace of mind. The information was limited and erratic. The investigators only ever found one partial footprint, which was of a cheap department store size ten runner. Their only suspect had an airtight alibi. The victims had nothing in common, as if he picked whoever happened to be in the area when his mood struck. But always women, never men. The assumption was they were smaller and easier to overpower.

Half listening to her girlfriend, Marcy ate her greasy breakfast while running reports through her head when her phone beeped.

Can’t make it through one meal, can we?

Please don’t exaggerate, Marcy said, unclipping the phone from her belt, shoving two pieces of bacon into her mouth before she clicked answer.

A familiar male voice came over the line. Where are you, Gagon?

Morning to you too, Inspector Davis. Where do I need to be, and what are the dets?

The inspector scoffed. I know you talk short form just to irritate me. I’m not taking the bait today. A city crew found a body in the sewer in East Danforth. When you hit Coxwell, you’ll see it.

’Kay, on my way. Marcy’s eyes found Krista’s across the table, and she asked Davis, Where are they sending the body?

We’ll both find out when you get here. Hurry, the inspector said, disconnecting the call.

Don’t look at me, Krista said, I have an appointment with the Dean.

And if they send it your way?

Krista tucked cash into the check presenter the waitress left on the table, sliding from behind the booth. The office will handle it. Call me when you’re clear. She gave Marcy’s hand a quick squeeze, and brushed past her, heading towards the door.

Knowing there was nothing she could do to make her girlfriend want to share her love of the job, and also thankful that at least she knew exactly what to expect from the doctor, Marcy swigged the last of her warm coffee and left the diner.

Toronto traffic only ever let up in the middle of the night, and it took Marcy longer than she would have liked to arrive on scene. She parked askew across the street, along with the cluster of marked police cars, the coroner’s van, and a few unmarked cars, one of which was inspector Davis’s Crown Vic. Ducking under the tape, she flashed her badge at the uniforms standing guard and moved towards the crowd around an open manhole.

Who found the body? she asked as she slipped between the inspector and the onsite coroner.

Inspector Davis looked down at her. City crew. He pointed across the crowd to a City of Toronto van parked in the center of the road, now also within the taped off-limits. A man in a bright yellow vest, hardhat in hand, leaned against the side of the vehicle, chewing at his lip. Marcy could see the tension in his face and knew he was in for some sleepless nights.

He says the manhole cover was as firm as they should be. Nothing out of the ordinary gave him reason not to go about business as usual. The body was discovered just six feet in. The vomit is his. Not claustrophobic, are you, Gagon?

Someone held a yellow hardhat and a set of blue vinyl gloves out to her. She took them with a quiet thank you, glancing down the hole. Have you been?

Yup and it ain’t pretty.

Marcy cringed, she didn’t think to grab her VapoRub from the car, and not wanting to delay the process any longer, she wouldn’t go back for it. She had an unusually heightened sense of smell and without it under her nose, she’d be smelling death for days to come. Pulling the GoPro that she never left home without from her pocket, she clicked it on, slid into the gloves, and plopped the hat on her head. Alright, what’s the best way to do this? she asked, angling towards the metal rungs anchored into the cement.

Detective. The coroner’s assistant, Marcy couldn’t think of his name and his badge was obscured, offered his hand, directed her how to sit at the edge of the hole and swing her body around until she had her feet planted firm. Once she was in past her waist, the rest was easy. Reaching the bottom, she whistled. I had no idea these tunnels were so large.

The assistant came down from above, offering no reply to her comment. This way, he said, pointing the flashlight to the right.

This section of tunnels was newer and offered raised walkways along the side. They didn’t need to walk through the shallow run-off. The smell was damp and musty, but not awful, until they rounded a long bend, and the stench of rotten flesh permeated the humid air. The tunnel grew brighter, and voices echoed across the ceiling. At the last of the bend, people came into view. A head lifted, spotting them, and the person stood. Marcy recognized Doctor Indra Sunder, the secondary coroner for the city.

Dr. Sunder. Marcy approached the body, taking in the gruesome details. The victim appeared to be male, but she knew first impressions meant nothing. His upper body was stripped of clothing, his eye sockets were empty, and his belly sliced open, allowing his intestines to spill out. What can you tell me?

Well, thanks to the state of the victim, the witness did not touch anything. They spotted the body, vomited there—he pointed to the walk on the opposite side of the flowing stream— and called it in. Preliminary observations only, mind you.

Of course.

From the stage of rigor mortis, I put time of death between midnight and five am. The victim was either down here and attacked or forced to come here with the perpetrator and then the shirt removed and cut from belly to sternum. The eyes were removed post-mortem. Scooped out with a smooth instrument, such as a spoon. Dr. Sunder snapped off his gloves, folded them into each other and held them out until his assistant—the man who guided Marcy here—took them from his fingers. Speaking now to his people, he said, As soon as the detective is clear, bag him. I’ll be back at the lab.

Marcy moved around the walkway, careful not to misstep and slip off the edge. The water was no more than a few inches deep, she didn’t want to walk around in a wet shoe for the rest of the day. Surprisingly, the conditions of the tunnel were cleaner than some of the city streets—no debris, or human garbage, no gum, spit, or cigarette butts. The top layer of natural sediment on the walk was scuffed and swirled near the man’s feet, where either a fight, or just the fight for his life, took place. Yet not distinctive enough to show any discernible footprints. Not even their own.

Scanning the area using the meager light her GoPro offered across the walls, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Excuse me, she said to the group of workers standing by waiting for her to finish, she moved past them to walk further into the tunnel. She walked twenty feet, eyes and light on the ground, then back, eyes and light on the walls. She knew whoever had been down here had not crossed through the water either as there was no indication of dried prints. She could only assume those would take longer to dry without sun, but she’d have to verify the fact to be sure.

Thank you all, you may proceed, she said to the team, and touched the assistant’s elbow, feeling terrible for not knowing his name. Would you lead me back?

Yes, no problem, Detective.

Thanks. She smiled thinly, thinking of the poor gutted victim and his last moments.

Climbing out of the manhole, Inspector Davis came to her side. The uniforms are already out canvassing the area. He glanced at the storefronts around them. I believe they all close at five or six around here, so not much chance of any employees or owners witnessing anything.

Cameras? Marcy asked, holding up her own GoPro to capture the area.

A few. Not too many in these parts. Unless shopfronts have some private security. We’ll have Constables check those out too.

Marcy knelt down, peering at the manhole cover. These are heavy, aren’t they? How’d they lift it?

A voice came from the distance, and she turned to see the city worker who’d found the body, standing and watching them. Pardon? she called.

The worker took a few long strides forward. People use what we call ‘keys’ to pop them up. It’s more about leverage than strength.

This is a common tool that anyone can obtain? Mr.?

Yes, sir...I mean, uh…

Detective Gagon.

Sure, of course, Detective, I’m Lenny Boyd. Anyone can buy them at the hardware store, or online. It’s just a T-bar with like a D at the bottom. He motioned the shapes with his fingers, outlining how it fit in the palm of his hand. You just pop it in the hole and draw back. Most covers nowadays are lighter than before. If you come across a heavy one, you need two keys.

Mr. Boyd, you make it sound as though people purposely buy these keys and hang out in the sewers. I would naturally assume it’s unsafe and prohibited by the city.

The man shrugged. It’s not public knowledge per se. Prohibited, yes, done anyway, yes, all the time. These are all the watershed runoff. As odd as it sounds, there are people who make exploring the tunnels like a job.

The inspector raised a brow. People spend their free time in these places?

Sure, I take it you haven’t seen the images at the Toronto Museum?

The inspector laughed and Marcy said, Sorry, we’re a little too busy usually.

Oh, well, you should. Anyway, can I go now? I feel like I need a shower and a twelve-pack.

"Yes, thank you, Mr.