Daniel stared at her for a moment. There was such passion in his face, cheeks aglow, lips parted as if he wanted to warn her about something else. Maybe let her into a secret. Yet he said nothing more.
Pulling back the sheet, Daniel revealed a monstrosity, a twisted gargoyle of human remains with skin as dry and faded as ancient cracked wallpaper. The face was not much more than a suggestion of features on a skull, the hair still attached. Worse, this was the body of a child. This could have been Luke Morris but it was impossible to tell.
“What the hell did this?”
“Pathological reports are still being compiled. You'll have them in a day or so.”
“What about bloods?”
Daniel shrugged. “That's the thing. There wasn't any.”
“This… child?” Daniel nodded at her assertion. “Was exsanguinated?”
“Not only that. The corpse is devoid of any moisture whatsoever. This is complete dehydration.”
“And you brought this to my attention why?”
“Because I heard you might have a vested interest in this case. Besides,” Daniel pulled open three more drawers, revealing bodies similar to the first victim, “this is no longer a coincidence. There's a serial-killer on the loose.”
Clare swallowed, holding her breath as she looked over the cadavers. One was a small girl. The two remaining bodies were larger, but still somewhat shrunken.
“This is hideous,” she said, leaning over the nearest body. There was no rictus of pain or contorted sign of a struggle. The body appeared to have just laid there while it dehydrated. “What has this to do with me?”
“Two of the bodies were brought in from Holden just recently. I thought you would like more of a look at what had transpired. Word has it you were already at the crime scene.”
Terrick? He wouldn't have done that to me? Clare was afraid to speak the words aloud.
“You okay?”
Clare looked up to find Daniel staring at her, his eyes bright, expecting her answer. “Yes, I was there. I live in Holden, as you well know.”
“I'm not the only one who knows,” he replied. “Word gets around.”
That meant Harley. Daniel drew close. “Did Helen mention we're playing tonight? You busy? Gonna be lit.” He smiled out of the corner of his mouth with a self-assured lift of his head.
Something about his accent pulled at her in a magnetic way. He was a lodestone, and Clare could not avert her eyes. The grisly nature of the situation disappeared. What was it? Was there a hint of Spanish? Portuguese? Russian? Acosador: where did that come from? Clare wanted to ask so many questions but all she could manage was a weak “Yes.”
“Excellent.” Daniel turned, and the contact was broken. “The Lucky Dog, eight o'clock. I look forward to seeing you in the crowd. That is if you can avoid Captain Harley and make it out of the building in one piece.” He flashed a well-manicured hand, the nails filed to points. “It'll be quite the show. I will be honoured to have you attend.”
Clare brushed her hair back over her ear and then held her hands in front of her. “Yes. Eight o'clock. Lucky Dog. Fine. I'll see you then. I look forward to it too.” She turned to leave, Daniel evidently engaged in another examination. On her way out, she glanced in the glass of the door and caught him staring after her. The look on his face was indecipherable, yet her stomach tightened at this man watching her.
Emboldened by the previous encounter, Clare decided it was time to find the janitor and lay that particular beast to rest. In her current mood, work could wait. He had watched her ever since she had joined the department. Never intrusive yet always there. Worming her way through the hallways, Clare descended into the bowels of the precinct where offices and jail cells made way for cluttered piping and dim lighting. The pipes clanked and groaned as water pushed through them. It was the only accompaniment to the hum of machinery. Clare noticed a musty smell that made her think of graveyards. Given the look on the janitor's face when she saw him last, he might well be a grave keeper, or at least a taker of souls.
Pipework opened out into huge generators, the beasts of burden that, unseen, powered the entire precinct. It struck Clare as illogical that such a source of power was in proximity to pipes full of scalding water, but her pondering was cut short by her arrival at a simple white door that read 'janitor'. She leaned on a cabinet for a moment, pulling her hand back suddenly as she touched something soft. Dust came back on her palm. There was a perfect print left in the dust where she had leaned.
Clare tried the door. With reluctance and a squeal as metal scraped the floor tiles, the door gave. For a moment, there was the sound of banging. Clare assumed this was just the equalizing of air pressure on both sides of the doorway. She pushed into the room.
“Hello? Is anybody here?”
Clare's call was met with silence, no echo, the walls muffled with equipment and cleaning uniforms. On a table, an electric kettle had steam drifting out of its spout. An empty mug stained brown enough that whatever amusing quote had been on the outside was barely legible, contained a dry teabag. Small sachets of creamer lay in a blue plastic tub nearby.
“Tea in a place everybody drinks coffee,” Clare observed, amused at the notion. She felt her mouth going dry at the mere prospect of a drink and moistened her lips with her tongue. Somebody had until very recently been in this room. Nobody had passed her on her way down so it was logical to assume that the kettle had been set to boil and the janitor had been called away.
Feeling reinforced by her returning logic, Clare closed the door and continued to pry. A chest of drawers yielded little bounty, just more bottles of bleach and industrial-strength cleaner, the chlorine of one such bottle causing Clare to withdraw rather quickly when the scent went right up her nose. A piece of plastic at the back of the bottom drawer caught her attention. She checked the doorway once again. There was nothing. She was alone. Moving two of the bottles, she reached in and withdrew a faded identity card reading 'Crime Scene Cleaner'. The name read 'Juan Menzes' but the photo was too faded to recognize. Clare pocketed the card, intending to run a search later. Time was passing, and Helen would begin to ask questions if she didn't put in an appearance.
Clare was about to give up the hunt when she spied a fold of black material with a zipper hanging from the corner, sticking out beneath one of the cushions on the couch. She approached the couch. The nagging feeling that she was no longer alone threatened to overpower her senses. Taking deep breaths, Clare willed herself onward.
She lifted the seat of the couch, ancient, crumbling foam from within spilling onto her hands and the floor. There would be no doubt she had been here. Beneath the seat laid a black jacket. She pulled it out with her free hand, the other still holding the cushion. When she saw the stylized red logo on the breast, Clare let the cushion fall free in a shower of foam.
“Alden Labs. It's the same jacket.” It reeked of body odor. There might have been an organic hint to the smell as well. Finding some plastic sheeting, Clare wrapped the jacket into a bundle and planned her escape. Surely, the janitor would be back any second. There was no way he would leave his lair unguarded for so long. He had been in the warehouse sorting through her father's pictures. He had been watching while they discovered his work. He had no doubt been somewhere nearby while she entered his lair. But why would he do that? To mock her? To show his power? That he could do all this under the nose of the Force? Had he intended to draw her here?
In a panic now, Clare began to sweep the foam detritus under the couch. Would it make a difference? Probably not. It was clear someone had been here. The jacket would be missing at the very least. It had been hidden, or was it bait?
Her vision blurred as she began to panic. This was not like her. Clare closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to try to regulate her thumping heart. Picking up the wrapped jacket, she looked over the room. It was as tidy as it was going to get. If this had been left for her, she couldn't change anything now, regardless.
Clare
backed out of the janitor's room, closing the door with as much stealth as a mildly panicking woman under a lot of stress could manage. It slammed shut. She looked around. Nobody was about, just the humming machinery and the water pipes. Clare gathered her wits, starting back toward the promise of humanity. She had chosen to come down here alone. Now, she felt like prey.
Picking up her pace, Clare began to feel decidedly light-headed. When was the last time she had eaten? Or had a drink? The thirst came quick and fast but she had no water. A bang somewhere behind Clare caused her to jump.
In desperation, Clare began to run, her pumps thankfully quiet on the tiled floor. She reached the stairs and took them two at a time, glancing behind her more than looking where she was going. Was there movement in the shadows? He was gaining on her, coming for her. Still looking back, Clare rushed out into the hallway and screamed as hands held her tight.
Chapter Eleven
“Whoa there,” Tina Svinsky cautioned as Clare tried to fight her way free of the tangle.
For a moment, Clare struggled with an imaginary foe, doe eyes looking out at her from a man's face completely devoid of emotion, hands locked like clamps around her wrists. The bundled sheeting dropped to the floor, mercifully remaining wrapped. Clare followed it, wrenching her opponent toward the jacket until she came to her senses and realized who she was fighting against. “Tina?”
“And you're back in the room. Clare, what's up? You're white as a sheet.”
Clare glanced back down the corridor. No movement. Had she imagined it? “There was definitely someone following me. I swear it.”
Tina followed her gaze. “Down there, hun? That's just the janitor, the furnace, and a bunch of mechanical gizmos.”
Clare grabbed Tina close by the shoulder. “I know. I've had the weirdest weekend. I think he might have something to do with my parents' death.” She retrieved the bundled jacket and pulled Tina into a walk, eager to put distance between them and the janitor's lair. “You know about the murders?”
“I don't think it's common knowledge in the precinct yet Clare, but yes, I'm aware. I was just coming to find you. Helen said you came down to see the M.E. He had no idea where you went after. I was just starting to head back, and I heard you running. Clare, I'm so sorry this happened to people in your hometown. But there's such a thing as coincidence.”
“This is not coincidental, Tina. The way the crime scene was cleaned was a repeat of what happened to my parents. Those kids, I saw them. There can't have been a drop of moisture left in those bodies.”
“Yeah, but two…”
“Four. Daniel has four bodies in there. The two boys from Holden were in there with two others. Someone's been very busy. And there's more. I learned that Pop had his belongings in storage at Alden Labs. I went over there to look for them and someone had beaten me to it.”
“How could you tell?”
“They had taken Pop's stuff and laid it out on the floor of the warehouse in order, like they were cataloging it. Tina, I wasn't the only one there. Once I got all of his stuff out of there, I was followed and threatened.”
“You think this is linked?”
Clare wiped her brow. It felt as though it should be slick with sweat, but there was no moisture, just a pulsing heat that radiated from her temple. “Maybe these events are. It gets more complicated. When my parents were killed, several things really stuck in my mind. First, the way the crime scene had been cleaned. Back when I was studying forensics, it was drummed into us how thorough you need to be. Their rooms were stripped bare by the time I arrived, which could only have been a matter of an hour or so after they discovered my parents. I saw this same practice yesterday at Luke Morris' house. I challenged Harley on this back when I was a student.”
“I remember the story well. It's a miracle you ever made it into this precinct. I'm really clueless as to how you did it.”
Clare shrugged. “I've no idea. Maybe I have a guardian angel. Or maybe I don't give them cause to doubt my work. But that wasn't the only coincidence from the weekend, or from the night ten years ago. When it happened, a lot of suspicion fell on Roger Bartow, who had been in a relationship with Anne Cameron in the next house over from ours. He disappeared right after it happened, and nobody has seen him since. Until he made an appearance last Friday. He showed up unannounced, in their house, bundled up to the eyeballs, wearing a jacket bearing a very distinct logo. It's the same logo that's on this jacket.” Clare brandished the jacket wrapped in plastic. “This jacket that Alden Labs issued on a very special occasion. I need to get this to the lab and test it.”
“For what?”
“For everything. Tina, believe me when I say we found some very funky residues at the house. I think they were rushed because of the two murders. Somebody's attempting to cover up what's going on here. I suspect the same was true twelve years ago.”
“And there were bodies in the morgue?”
“I don't think they will be there long. Daniel wanted to warn me. That is he wanted to warn me and invite me to his open mike night.”
Tina's face lit up. “All-comers at The Lucky Dog? I wouldn't miss it. Do you think he's inviting you along because there's more to say? More perhaps than he could tell you here?”
Clare stopped walking. “I don't know. Maybe.”
Tina's enigmatic smile lit up her face. “Darlin', I'm sure there's a whole bunch you don't know about him. If you got out more instead of hiding away in your country museum, you might see a different side. So are you coming?”
“I promised Daniel I would. I want you to do me a favor though. Hang onto this for me until later.”
“You're serious about this connection.”
“Yes, I am. For years, they have blocked my every turn trying to find out what happened to my parents. Now, I think I have a chance of tying at least some of the pieces together.”
As they talked, Tina's route took them away from the forensic labs and up past the interview rooms toward her own office. However, when they reached the hallway, Clare found her path blocked by two burly middle-aged detectives.
“Fitzpatrick. Aulenbacher. What do you want?”
“Miss Rosser, come with us please. The Captain has a few questions for you in regard to an ongoing investigation.”
Tina looked ready to jump in front and defend her. Clare forestalled her friend with a warning glance. “Whatever the Captain needs. Lead the way, guys.”
The detectives escorted her down the hallway, one on either side of her. Clare mouthed the word 'later' before turning toward the inevitable confrontation.
“It must be very important for Captain Harley to send two of his biggest and best to escort a mere analyst into his majestic presence.”
Not a word in reply. Clare's taunts fell on deaf ears. This lot were obeying instructions to the letter. They arrived outside Harley's office to find Terrick Heckstall on his way out. Clare's face turned to stone. Could he really have reported her? Surely not.
Terrick opened his mouth to speak, and one of the detectives moved to block them. “Not now, Sherriff. You can worm your way out of this one some other time. Go on, now. Get.”
The dismissive way the detective dealt with him caused Terrick's jaw to clench. He drew himself up, ready for a confrontation.
“Just try it,” the second detective sneered, spoiling for a fight.
The first detective smiled in satisfaction; the taunt had hit its mark. He wanted Terrick to lash out.
The sheriff was too experienced to succumb. “Clare, I'll see you soon,” Terrick's voice was tight with the strain of repressed fury.
“Only if you keep your job and don't end up on the other side of the prison bars,” Harley bellowed out his open doorway. “Rosser, get in here!”
Here we go. Clare took a deep breath, straightened her clothes, and entered the lion's den once more.
Inside, Andrew Harley waited behind his desk, his face red with fury, reeking of sour onions. He was stressed. Mike Caruso sat
in one of the chairs opposite him. Clare would be forced to take the remaining chair, lumpy and worn as it was, designed to intimidate, to make her uncomfortable. She decided against it, remaining on her feet.
“Sit down, please.” It was an order not a request.
“I think I'll sta…”
“Sit. Down.” This hadn't begun well. Harley's tone brooked no argument. With the two older men studying her, it was old-school intimidation. Clare held her head high, as if she were the one in control here. Always own the room, seek to dominate your surroundings. She had been taught that at school in Boston. Even the shyest person could employ a mask. Clare wore her mask now, slowly taking the seat as if it were her right.
“You reconsidered the position then? Excellent, I accept.” This wasn't going to go well so she might as well fire the opening salvo.
“Cute. I'd consider my words with far more care were I in your position.”
“And what position exactly would that be, Captain Harley, aside from being sandwiched between two old men?”
Mike Caruso bristled. Surrounded by the folds of a pale blue jacket and trousers that were badly tailored and meant to fit a larger man, he looked swamped by material. He held aloft a report, a scrawled signature at the bottom.
“You were witnessed entering a crime scene yesterday in the town of Holden. This scene had been sealed and was off limits.”
“All I saw was some police tape, already broken, in a house out of your jurisdiction.”
Evidently not expecting a comeback, Caruso waved the report at her, his face reddening. “This is a Federal investigation and, as such, the jurisdiction is not given to you to…”
Clare ignored him and looked at Harley. “If this is a Federal investigation, where were the agents? Where was the notice keeping people off the premises? Why are you in possession of Federal documentation? Correct me if I'm wrong Captain Harley, but you are Worcester P.D., not FBI. If you've dragged me in here to discipline me, where's Helen? Where's my Captain?”
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