88 Killer th&dl-2 Page 8

  The shrill ring of the buzzer broke into his thoughts. He pushed open the window, took in the fumes of gasoline and rain and looked down to the ground floor — but whoever was there was taking cover from the cold sheets of rain. The ringing continued.

  He walked to his buzzer. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Tom.’

  Harper paused. ‘Denise?’ He felt his pulse rising with unexpected excitement.

  ‘Yes, Tom, it’s me.’

  A line of heat ran along the underside of each of Harper’s eyes. He pressed his head to the cold gloss of the door. ‘Denise.’

  ‘It’s raining, Tom.’ There was a silence. ‘Tom, I’m getting soaked down here.’

  ‘Denise,’ he said again. He felt like a man encountering a ghost. It had been a long three months and she’d been in his thoughts every day. ‘I just don’t believe I’m hearing you. I called you — I left messages. You’ve never replied. I didn’t expect to hear from you.’

  ‘I got all your messages, Tom. Please believe it, and open the door. I’m freezing.’

  Tom was on the stairs, heading down as fast as he could. He reached the front door and stared out. She was framed by the red wrought-iron bars that crossed the glass panel in the door. Her blond hair was shorter and plastered to her head, her face was charged with something he didn’t yet understand, she had lost some weight, but it was Denise. He watched her a moment and opened the door.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m actually looking at you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For being so… out of touch. I couldn’t cope with you.’ Denise’s eyes fell to the ground. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said. He suddenly felt like the pieces of a puzzle he’d been struggling with for months had fallen into place. He was wide open. More open than he’d felt in months. Here she was. Denise Levene. He smiled.

  ‘I’ve hated you, you know,’ she said. ‘I want you to know that’s what’s been going through my sick head.’

  ‘You were always too honest. You could’ve kept that one to yourself for a while, at least.’ Harper looked at her. ‘Hell, maybe I’ve deserved it.’

  ‘I don’t think you have. I’ve been in a bad place. No idea how to get out.’ The tone of her voice dropped a note and with it the volume. ‘I went to see Mac.’

  ‘I’m surprised, I thought that wasn’t your thing.’

  ‘Been to see every other specialist there is. Thought I’d give your recommendation a try.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Brutal, but it works.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Come on, let’s sort you out.’

  Harper led her in silence up the stairs and walked into the apartment. She looked around in obvious dismay.

  ‘Wow, you’ve decorated,’ she said.

  ‘It really makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ They looked at the one wall that had been half-coated in white paint. Harper went to a closet, pulled out a large clean towel and passed it to her. Denise ruffled her hair and pulled the towel around her. She sat down. She was shivering but still smiling. He went through to his bedroom and brought out a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt and a hooded top.

  ‘You should get into these, before you—’ He stopped himself.

  ‘Catch my death?’ she offered.

  He twisted his mouth. ‘Okay, I’ll cut out the fussing.’

  Denise took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Harper stood at the door. ‘So, what you working on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Denise.

  ‘I can read you, Denise. You didn’t come here just because of my problems.’

  Denise called through the door, ‘You’re still good on observations. What gave it away?’

  ‘You’ve got a newspaper on you. You never liked newspapers. I figure you’re looking for news, which means you’re up to something. And, the big giveaway is you came here.’

  Denise opened the bathroom door and stood there. ‘I came to ask for help.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘An old colleague and a missing child. His daughter ran away or something worse. He doesn’t understand. I went by to see him. He’s a mess. He thinks something or someone happened.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I agree with him.’

  ‘What does he want you to do?’

  ‘Prove that she didn’t run away. Missing Persons are shelving the case. I’m all he’s got.’

  ‘You get anywhere?’

  ‘I’m not a detective. But you are.’

  Harper looked up. ‘On a good day.’ Then: ‘Can I offer you something? A word of advice?’

  ‘You can try.’

  ‘Don’t try to solve other people’s problems because you can’t solve your own.’

  She looked up, hurt. ‘That’s unfair, Tom. I’m trying to get back to work.’

  ‘You could have come to see me any time.’

  ‘No, Tom, I had to know this was about me, about whether I could face this alone.’

  ‘Come on, you’re a helper, Denise — all your life, you’ve been saving someone, helping someone. That’s who you are. You helped me. You brought yourself up. You saved your old man from losing hope when he was inside.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I left him. I visited every week. That was all I could do.’

  ‘Sure you did, Denise. He told you that you always had to have faith. The same faith you used to get you through. What did he call it? That thing in the dark that he said he always held every night and that kept him from being afraid.’

  ‘His fantastic sparkler,’ she said.

  ‘That was you, Denise. That was you he was holding in the dark all those years in prison. His fantastic sparkler.’

  Denise broke into silent sobs. Harper didn’t comfort her. It wasn’t pain that she was suffering. It was relief.

  ‘What the hell do you want, you bastard? Making me cry and look weak and foolish. This is why I hate you!’

  ‘I want to help you.’

  ‘It’s not that kind of help I want, Tom. I’m involved in this case because I think I can do some good. I went to see the case-files; I started a profile. Victimology.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘A way in. I think there’s something here.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll help if I can, but I’ve got a big case just starting up.’

  ‘I know. I saw you on TV,’ she said. ‘What’s the deal?’

  ‘Put simply, David Capske got wrapped in barbed wire and shot. Everyone has it down as a political killing.’

  ‘But you don’t see it like that?’

  ‘No evidence. I know it’s nice and neat, and someone wants us to see it like that, but I see something that I’ve only ever seen with sadistic serial killers.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone who’s got no real ulterior motive. The kill is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing. Whoever killed Capske liked it. Liked it a lot and will do it again.’

  ‘Gratification killer?’

  Harper raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You got a profiler working on this?’ said Denise.

  ‘Rookie that the Feds sent.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘Not good enough. We’ve only got twenty-four hours before Lafayette rolls over and the Feds come in and take over the investigation.’

  ‘I could take a look,’ she said. ‘Offer a comment.’

  ‘Tit for tat?’

  ‘One good deed deserves another…’

  ‘What do you want me to do on the missing girl?’ asked Harper.

  ‘I need some help getting access to the Hate Crime Unit.’

  ‘What do you need them for?’

  ‘A couple of months back, Abby was roughed up as she walked home. It’s all I’ve got. A group of four young men. Hate Crime found them and took them in for questioning but couldn’t make anything stick. A week lat
er, there was a swastika painted on the Goldenbergs’ front door.’

  ‘You think it’s related?’

  ‘It’s the only evidence of anyone targeting the family and my profile suggests that if Abby was attacked, then it was someone who knew where she lived, knew her name and wanted to hurt her and her family.’

  ‘What are the guys called?’

  ‘Raymond Hicks, Patrick Ellery, Leo Lukanov, Thomas Ocksborough.’

  Harper wrote down the names. ‘I know someone in Hate Crime. I can call him up, give you a good reference, get you some information.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. It might help.’

  ‘And if you’re going to help me, you need to take a look at this victim.’

  ‘I suppose I’d have to.’

  ‘It’s not pretty. It’s a hell of a way back in to your day job.’

  ‘I’ll cope,’ said Denise. ‘Or at least I’ll give that impression.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Manhattan

  March 7, 6.36 p.m.

  Harper waited for Eddie Kasper to find his way to the department parking lot. Eddie got in the front passenger seat and turned round: Denise Levene sat in the back of the sedan. Eddie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, but I’m not one of your conquests.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Eddie, ‘but I don’t go for smart women, they see right through me.’

  ‘And see what? A good guy with a fine line in self-deprecation.’

  ‘Hey, Tom, she’s back, right? The mouth and everything.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tom, ‘and everything.’

  They drove by the city Medical Examiner’s office and caught up with Dr Laura Pense, the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner. Denise stood at the back of the small group as they entered. She wanted to be closest to the door if the panic attack started.

  Harper turned to Levene. ‘This one is pretty bad, Denise. You sure you want to tag along?’ She nodded.

  The two detectives and Denise Levene walked inside and trailed down familiar corridors. Dr Laura Pense was sitting in a small windowless office, writing up paperwork. Harper knocked and stood at the door.

  ‘Hey, Dr Pense, how are you?’

  Laura Pense continued to hammer out something on her keyboard. ‘All good, here, Detective, how about you?’

  ‘He’s a fucking mess,’ said Eddie, ‘but you already know that, right?’

  Laura turned and saw Harper’s face for the first time. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Were you assaulted or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ said Harper.

  Laura Pense stood up, acknowledged Denise with a smile and then peered more closely at Harper’s face. ‘That’s pretty bad. Abrasions to the nose, lips, jaw, eyes. Deep tissue bruising. Potential fracture on the left cheek. Is that sore, there?’

  ‘I can’t feel it any more.’

  ‘He’s popping four painkillers every hour.’

  Laura Pense raised her eyebrows in disapproval. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been boxing?’

  ‘You’re right, he wasn’t boxing,’ said Eddie. ‘No, you couldn’t call what he was doing anything more than giving someone target practice.’

  ‘You been checked out?’ said Laura.

  ‘This guy?’ said Eddie. ‘This is a Neanderthal, Doctor, a throw-back. You know, when men were men and pain was personal disgrace.’

  ‘Macho men!’ said Dr Pense. ‘God, the amount of big guys I’ve seen who have been brought down by a spot of blood. Intracranial hemorrhages, Harper — perhaps you can fix that yourself, too.’

  ‘Is that my report?’ said Harper, pointing at the computer screen.

  ‘Are you lead on the Capske case?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I’ve been given the honor. Blue Team are on the case.’

  ‘Well, I’m just signing off.’

  ‘Anything I should know?’

  ‘Sure, come through. You got to see this.’

  Harper felt reluctance stir inside him. He didn’t feel too good already, but he followed Dr Pense through to the autopsy room. Eddie was even further behind with Denise.

  Dr Pense put on a fresh pair of gloves and approached a gurney covered in a green sheet. She whipped it back like a magician.

  The sight was not magical at all, but macabre and strange. The barbed-wire cage had been opened with wire cutters and each clawing strand of wire pulled back. It lay open like a metal ribcage or a huge barbed chrysalis. Beneath the barbed wire was a bloody carcass. The skin was punctured by hundreds of dark round holes and slits.

  ‘Some of the puncture wounds are straight, but many have torn and ripped the skin where the victim has struggled. They’re deep too, deep enough to get right through the skin. He lost a lot of blood. Practically bled to death.’

  Harper and Kasper passed their eyes over the corpse.

  ‘It’s a vicious death,’ said Dr Pense. ‘I can’t be exact but he’s been left to bleed for an hour or more. Tortured, I should say. In incredible pain. He probably blacked out. Look at this.’ She tilted his head so that one eye could be seen. The eyeball was punctured in two places. ‘Every single inch is punctured. You can’t imagine. You really can’t imagine.’

  ‘So, we got anything to nail his killer?’

  ‘He was shot once in the forehead. Little black wound, right here. He must’ve been tight to the ground, the bullet went in through the skull, out, hit the ground, re-entered and mashed the brain like an electric whisk.’

  They both looked at Laura. ‘Nice image.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve been taking French cookery courses, you know, trying to keep alive.’

  ‘That’s nice. Did you find the bullet?’

  ‘Yeah, sleeping like a baby in the left frontal lobe.’ Laura picked up a little lump of metal with a pair of forceps and dropped it back into the tray with a jingle.

  ‘It’s not got much shape left,’ said Harper. ‘The wound is unusually small too. What’s the exit wound look like?’

  ‘Interesting that you should ask. Bullet left the skull here. Not a great piece of scalp knocked out. Looked like it zipped through.’

  ‘It’s unusual,’ said Harper. He lifted the bullet with the forceps and turned it under his eye. ‘There’s something about this that isn’t right. I want Ballistics to tell me what they can about this, Eddie. Can you get them to do it tonight?’

  ‘Not much for Ballistics to go on,’ said Eddie. ‘But I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Did you find a cartridge?’ asked Dr Pense.

  ‘No,’ said Harper. ‘You find anything more?’

  Laura shrugged. ‘We had samples taken; we did checks, but nothing to report, yet. I mean, we don’t know what we’re looking for, but his organs all look healthy. Apart from his septum.’

  ‘The coke?’

  ‘Yeah, signs of damage but it’s healed. I’d say he used to be a user, but not in the last year or so. I won’t know if there was any coke in his blood for another few hours. And another thing. We’ve got a lot of dirt under his nails.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Petroleum-based with some black dye.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Boot polish.’

  ‘So he cleaned his shoes before he went out dancing,’ said Eddie.

  ‘He was wearing white sneakers,’ said Harper.

  ‘You got any theories?’ said Laura.

  ‘Maybe he cleaned the killer’s boots,’ said Denise from the far side of the room. ‘Punishment and containment. It wouldn’t surprise me if he humiliated and demeaned the victim first.’

  Harper and Dr Pense turned. ‘Where did that come from, Denise?’

  ‘Deduction. If it’s not his boot polish, maybe this killer’s got some big-time subservience thing going on — a malignant narcissist, something like that.’

  Harper and Levene caught each other’s eye. Harper sensed there was more that Denise could say, but he dropped it.

  ‘Could be a
small-time dealer. Selling to his friends. Got mixed up with some bad boys,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Not the usual MO for a gangbanger, is it? They shoot and scatter like rats,’ said Harper.

  ‘We’ve also got slight abrasions to his knees, just surface scratches.’

  ‘Was he dragged across the floor?’

  ‘No. Not dragged. This was like he was kneeling. Fits with Denise’s idea that the killer made him polish his boots.’

  ‘Kneeling?’

  ‘At some point, before the torture and execution.’

  The four of them stared down at the bloody carcass with the horrible possibilities reverberating in each of their thoughts. Harper gazed at Laura as the harshness of the word ‘execution’ hung in the air. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Laura, ‘but I don’t know what it is.’ She walked over to Capske’s body and swabbed the corpse’s chest until it was clear of blood. ‘There,’ she said.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Tiny needlemarks. Some have traces of ink, but the barbed wire has torn most of it to shreds.’

  ‘They look like they form a series of lines,’ said Harper.

  ‘Yeah, there’s a few more in the torn skin. Can’t reconstruct anything. What do you think?’

  ‘Tattoo,’ said Harper. ‘It looks like a home-made tattoo.’

  ‘There was also a card stuck to his chest.’

  ‘What?’

  Laura Pense brought out a small rectangle of black card. ‘It’s got his name on it and the word Loyalty.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Inside his shirt.’

  They looked at the card and then at Capske’s chest where a series of small pinpricks stretched across the skin — but the tears and puncture marks obscured them. The marks ran across his chest and each line was in a different direction. Some were straight, others curved slightly, some were horizontal, others vertical.

  Harper took out his sketchpad and drew the marks. ‘It might be something important,’ he said. ‘Shame the barbed wire has ripped it all away.’

  ‘The marks were made with a fine-point needle,’ said Dr Pense. ‘The killer took his time doing that.’

  Harper looked down at his sketchbook. The marks led left to right in a line and fell away to the right. All in all, there were about thirty-two tiny puncture marks. The others were lost in the torn skin. ‘Denise, you got any idea?’