Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

  "That's amazing," said Bob. "It seems so real. I didn't know prosthetics were made so well."

  They weren't. An ex-Army friend of ours, who was now in the aerospace industry made it. Commercially, prosthetics were still in the stone-age.

  "That's nothing," Bear said. "Care for a little drink to help get rid of the cold?"

  Lucy and Jessica groaned, knowing what was coming and having seen it a thousand times before.

  "Sure," said Bob, while casting a puzzled glance at the girls.

  Bear touched the back of his hand and a hidden door opened at the wrist. He flexed a finger and an amber liquid flowed out of the wrist into the plastic cup he held. "Here you go."

  Bob took the cup and sipped. "Whisky! That's fantastic. I could do with one of those to help me get through some of my boring editor's meetings."

  "Get your arm blown off by an IED and I'll get you one," said Bear.

  "You were in the Army? Afghanistan?"

  I shot Bear a glare but he didn't see it.

  "Yeah. I lost it on my third tour."

  She glanced in my direction. "Were you both--"

  "Watch out!" I grabbed Bob by the shoulders and swung her to the side.

  She lost her balance and sat on the person in the front row.

  "Sorry, I thought that was a ball coming at you."

  "Sure you did." She sounded curiously friendly. She turned toward Jade. "I'm sorry. I didn't say hello. Jade, is it? Are you Mark's friend?" Bob held her hand out.

  Jade stared straight ahead.

  Jessica and Lucy giggled. "She thinks Jade is your girlfriend, Uncle Mark," said Jessica.

  "Yeah, I got that. Jade is my sister, Bob. Sorry, but she won't shake hands with you," I pushed her hand gently down.

  "Jade can't talk or do things," Jessica said.

  "Oh? I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Can she hear me?"

  "Jade had a head injury when she was a child and hasn't spoken or communicated since. No one knows if she can hear. I like to think so, but the doctors would say no."

  Bob glanced from Jade to me, eyes widening. "That's terrible. But she looks so..."

  "Normal?" I said. "It's okay to say that. I know what you mean. Yes, she does. I suppose that's what makes it so bad. She appears so normal."

  "She could be a model," said Bob.

  "She takes after her mom," I agreed, before I could stop myself.

  Bob looked around. "Are your parents here?"

  "No, they couldn't make it." I made a small negative gesture towards Jessica and Lucy.

  Jessica opened her mouth and Lucy nudged her in the side. She cast an injured glance at Lucy who shook her head vehemently at her.

  "So, an editor's meeting?" said Bear. "I take it you're a reporter, Bob?"

  "Yes. I'm with the Times."

  "Ah huh." Bear gave me a look.

  "Well, I have to get back to work. Nice meeting you all." Bob leaned over the fence towards me. "Don't you have to be over there with the team in case they want to put you on?"

  "See? I told you," I heard Jessica whisper.

  "You're the sports reporter," I said. "You tell me, what chance is there of that?"

  "I know there are two quarterbacks in front of you, but Coach won't like you chatting to the crowd for too long."

  "Don't worry about that. Coach loves me."

  "You know, you really are the strangest recruit I have ever met. I'd love to know what makes you tick. Lucky for you I made that promise."

  The crowd roared as the Turbos intercepted a Dolphins pass.

  "I better get back. I'm supposed to be doing this game. Oh, did you see my follow up on the Decker stalker?"

  "No. So, how's the promotion going?"

  She grinned.

  "Not there yet, but I'm getting close. I've gotta go. See you."

  I watched her as she disappeared back up the stairs.

  "Are you a complete moron?" I heard Bear say.

  "What?"

  "She's a reporter. You can't have anything to do with her. She'll blow your cover."

  "I know. And I'm not. Having anything to do with her, that is. Do you think I'm nuts?"

  "Ah huh. Who thinks Uncle Mark is telling the truth? Hands up."

  My goddaughters just gazed sadly at me and kept their hands in their laps.

  CHAPTER 28

  "Now shut up in there and don't say a word," said Fulton.

  "Who me?"

  "You know how hard it was for me to get Bensen to agree for you to sit in on this Coroner's briefing?"

  "Well, I did give them the lead."

  "They would have got to Symonds sooner or later. They're not incompetent."

  I grunted.

  "Tan, if you piss Bensen off, he will kick you out straight away. He's only letting you in because you gave them the lead and because of what happened to your parents."

  "And they're the only reasons?"

  "Yeah, all right. I also said that if he didn't let you sit in on this meeting word might leak out to the media about who discovered the lead."

  "Why, Mr. Fulton, how utterly Machiavellian of you. Did he really think you would be such a bastard and do that?"

  "No. That's why I said you would."

  Before I could think of a response, Fulton disappeared through the door marked Chief Medical Examiner. I followed him into a room with about a dozen people sitting in front of a small platform that held a lectern in front of a white screen. Heads swung my way and then back again. Bensen and Graves were standing at the front, conferring with a squat, silver haired man with intense, brown eyes. I took a seat next to Fulton in the back row. I felt like I was back at school.

  The silver haired man turned to us. Conversations died.

  "Hello, I'm Larsen Judd, Chief Medical Examiner for the State of New York. Detective Bensen has asked me to give you a briefing on our medical examination of case number 493902-F23, Geoff Symonds. Most of our tests have been completed, so I can give you some preliminary results. I know you are keen to make head way on some parallel cases. Our last tests are being conducted as I speak and I will pass those results on to you as soon as they come to hand."

  He pressed a button and, even though the audience were hardened police officers, there was a noticeable hush when the first slide appeared on the screen.

  "As you can see the subject presented suffering from advanced decomposition. This is understandable as the body had been buried for two years. Considering the length of time, however, decomposition was surprisingly minimal. This was probably due to the fact that the cemetery where the subject was buried is composed of dry, sandy soil and also that the body was buried six feet deep. These factors drastically reduce the rate of decomposition. Despite the decomposition, you can still see evidence of the extensive third degree burns that cover the whole of the body. Again, this is consistent with the original death certificate that listed total organ failure due to severe fourth degree burns as the cause of death."

  Judd paused for a moment and shifted uncomfortably.

  "On further, more detailed examination," he continued, "this has been found to be incorrect. New examination of the body has revealed that the subject sustained a massive chest incision running from the clavicle to the sternum. "

  "You mean like being struck by a fallen beam or something similar?" said one of the seated cops.

  "No. The wound was too precise for that. This was done by human hand."

  "You mean someone cut him open?" said Graves.

  "Yes. With either a scalpel or shears."

  "So that killed him and not the fire?" said Graves.

  "No and yes," said Judd. "Yes, the fire did not kill him. He was already dead when the fire was lit. No, he was not killed by the chest wound."

  "Well, what killed him then?" said Graves.

  "Yes, well this should have been picked up in the first autopsy but you must understand that our department is so busy that in some cases, if the cause of death is obvious, a detailed autopsy might not
be conducted. Also, the body was so badly burnt and damaged by the gas explosion that an accurate autopsy was extremely difficult."

  "What was the real cause of death then?" Bensen asked.

  "The subject suffered a massive heart failure," said Judd.

  "You mean a heart attack?" said Graves disbelievingly. "We're all here because of a bleeding heart attack?"

  "No. I mean a massive heart failure due to the heart being completely separated from its connective arteries and veins."

  "What the hell does that mean?" said Graves.

  Judd glared at him, his brown eyes blazing.

  "It means someone ripped out the poor bugger's heart while he was still alive."

  Silence greeted this until I spoke.

  "So, the body still had a heart?"

  I ignored Bensen's angry glance.

  "Why, yes, of course," said Judd. "But it was separated from all of its internal attachments."

  "Couldn't that have happened from the gas explosion?" asked Graves.

  "No. Impossible. This was definitely not an accidental death."

  "So what are you saying?" said Fulton. "Someone ripped Symonds' heart out while he was alive, placed the heart back in the chest, took the body under the house and then made it look like a gas explosion had caused the death?"

  "Well...yes," said Judd.

  "Why would the killer put the heart back in the body? He didn't do that in the Abrahams and Tanner cases?" said Graves.

  "We still aren't sure that it is the one killer. The killings might not be related," said Bensen.

  "So there are two guys walking around the city ripping hearts out?" I said. "Only one has the good manners to put the heart back? Do you think that is remotely likely?"

  "Anything is possible with serial killers. I think we all can agree on that, can't we?"

  A man dressed in a long gray gown came through the door next to the screen. He signaled hurriedly to Judd. They conferred with their heads together, speaking animatedly. Judd ran his hands through his hair, his face tight with tension. He nodded one last time and came back to the lectern.

  He coughed and the conversations dried up.

  "There appears to have been a further development," he said. "You will remember I said that we were still conducting further tests. Well, one of these tests have has revealed a pretty startling result. As normal procedure on exhumations, we ran a DNA spectrum test to identify the body which has thrown up this...this aberration."

  "The body isn't that of Geoff Symonds, is it?" said Bensen.

  "Oh, yes. Without a doubt. The body is most definitely that of Mr. Symonds. The heart, however, is not. The heart belongs to someone else."

  Silence greeted this statement, as it did his earlier pronouncement, but this time it stretched out as everyone tried to make sense of this.

  "Are you sure?" Graves wore a bewildered expression.

  "Am I sure? Do you think I'm just guessing?" Judd glowered at Graves.

  "Well, you did get it wrong in the first autopsy, didn't you?"

  Way to go, Graves. I didn't think he had it in him.

  "This was a DNA Spectrum Analysis test. We don't get them wrong. The heart is not Symonds'."

  "Well, whose is it?" Graves sounded like a child who had found someone's lunch money.

  "You're the detective. You tell me."

  "Well it's certainly not Abrahams' heart. This was two years before he was killed. It must be a previous victim we haven't come across yet." Bensen sounded a bit defensive.

  Fulton spoke up. "Doc, have you ran a DNA match through your records?"

  "We are doing it now but it may take some time. Of course, that is only successful if we have the DNA records of whoever owns the heart on file."

  "Well, it must be another murder victim, doesn't it? Their DNA records should be there?" Graves had gone from uncertain to accusatory.

  "Not if the victim was never found and not if it wasn't reported. It could be a missing person, a vagrant or a runaway, for all we know," Fulton said.

  "So, Doc, let me get this straight," said Graves. "You're saying the victim was sliced open, had his heart pulled out while he was alive and then another different heart was put back in the body. And then the killer blew the body up to try and hide it?"

  Judd nodded. "Yes, that is correct."

  Graves face twisted with revulsion "What kind of sick fuck is this?"

  "A very clever sick fuck," said Fulton. "This unidentified heart means there is at least one more murder victim we haven't found yet. And if there's one, who knows how many more there may be? He also seems to have manipulated each crime scene skillfully to avoid detection. If it wasn't for him being surprised on two occasions, we wouldn't even know he existed."

  "We need to re-examine all of the cases we have been going through." Bensen appeared ready to start immediately. "We might have missed one because we were searching for a burn victim with no heart. In fact, this makes it more likely we may find more killings. Putting a heart in each victim would have made it harder for the medical examiner to detect foul play rather than no heart at all."

  "But does he do this all the time? Perhaps this was an exception." Graves sounded hopeful.

  "I think he was disturbed in both the Abrahams and Tanner killings before he could replace their hearts," said Fulton. "The Symonds' killing was completely undetected. My money says that this is his likely MO, not the other two."

  "And what? He's switching hearts between his victims? What for?"

  "They may not necessarily be from his victims," said Bensen. "He could work in a morgue, a cemetery or a funeral home."

  "A coroner even," Graves muttered.

  "What?" said Judd.

  "Nothing."

  CHAPTER 29

  It was late and I was sitting at the kitchen table in my Winnebago, flipping through the photos of the murder scenes for the hundredth time. Jade's recorded voice, playing in the background, taunted me. The more we learned, the less we seemed to know.

  We knew there were more victims, but not who or where. We knew he was replacing hearts in his victims, but didn't know why. We knew he chose men, but not why. We knew the victims trusted him, but not why.

  I sat back, sighing. The whys were far more important than what we knew.

  The motion sensor sounded. I watched a red Prius park next to the Winnebago on the CCTV monitor. The door opened and Bob climbed out.

  "Shit," I said and jumped up and began pulling all the crime scene photos from the whiteboard. I ran around the room quickly hiding any incriminating documents and photos. Little Bear sat up and watched me with his head cocked to the side. When a knock sounded at the door, Little Bear eyed me as if to say, Come on, she won't wait long.

  "You don't know this woman. She'll wait there until morning."

  I opened the door. Bob wearing Levis, white, leather boots and a tight--extremely tight--blue sweater stood in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold night air and her blue eyes flashed brightly.

  "Hi, Mark, I couldn't sleep so I went for a drive. I was passing here and I thought this is just the time that a reporter should be having a clandestine meeting with her inside source. So here I am. Pleased to see me?" She held her arms out.

  "Ah huh."

  "Well, that's not much of a greeting. Anyone would think you're not happy to see me."

  "Words cannot describe how I feel right now."

  "See? I knew you would be pleased. Well? Are you going to invite me in or leave me standing out here?"

  "Let me think."

  "You're such a kidder." She brushed past me. "Oh, who is this cute thing?" She knelt down as Little Bear hopped over to her, tail wagging at hyper-speed. "Oh, you poor thing. What happened to your leg?" She held his head against her chest, patting him.

  He glanced at me as if to say, See? This is how it's done.

  "What happened to him?"

  "He got his leg caught in a sewer drain and it got infected. He loves playing in dar
k, dirty places." Two can play at that game.

  "Oh." She let go of Little Bear and wiped her hands on her pants. "So this is where you live? How...small."

  "How did you find me?"

  "I asked Jessica. She told me you lived in a Winnebago and I just had to check it out. You know, no one at the club knew where you lived?"

  "I like my privacy."

  "I've noticed. Also, no one at the club knows a thing about you apart from where you went to high school."

  "I hate sushi," I offered.

  "Thanks for sharing."

  "You're welcome."

  "You live here alone?"

  "No, the kids are in bed and the wife is doing my washing."

  "Was that your girlfriend you were talking to outside the police station?"

  Liz.

  "No. Just a friend."

  "Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "Have I won a prize yet?"

  "Prize?"

  "This is an interview for bachelor of the year, isn't it?"

  "Sorry, it's what I do."

  "Annoy people?"

  "No. Find out people's secrets."

  "That must make you really popular."

  For the first time she seemed indecisive, unsure. "No. People don't like someone who knows everything about them. I scare most men off."

  "It's those boots. Did they come with sunglasses?"

  She grinned. "Now, you on the other hand, are the most guarded person I've ever met and you're not scared of me. Why is that?"

  "I wouldn't put too much stock in that. My IQ is questioned fairly frequently."

  "Your sister. Does she live with your parents?"

  "No, she needs a lot of looking after so she stays in a sanatorium."

  "But you're not going to tell me where?"

  "She's pretty private too. Runs in the family."

  "Ah huh." She sat next to me at the small kitchen table. Our knees touched and I moved slightly away. I glanced up to see her watching me. "Why do you live here? Why not a house or apartment?"

  I shrugged. "I'm lazy. This takes no upkeep so it suits me. I thought we had a deal?"

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to reveal anything I find out about you."

  "From memory, that wasn't our deal. You said you would leave me alone."