88 Killer

by Oliver Stark

  ‘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?’

  ‘Sociopathic not political. Maybe the killer thinks he’s fulfilling some political purpose, but this kind of behavior is compulsive. The need to mark the corpse, to torture, to execute.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Harper. ‘What about the word on the card?’

  ‘Loyalty. It might give you a clue to the motive or it might be related to his conceptual framework, his ideology. He thinks this is purposeful, even necessary.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A typed card in black. Like an execution card, right? Like his target has been pre-ordained.’

  ‘Could it be from someone David betrayed?’

  ‘He might feel that David has betrayed him. I wouldn’t imagine that the betrayal is real. This is someone’s psychosis working things through on real people. It’s dangerous, Tom.’

  ‘These other marks, what do they mean? Just dots . . .’

  Harper looked down at the pattern on the page in front of him.

  ‘What do you think it means?’ he asked, looking at Eddie and Denise. They stared hard and shrugged.

  ‘No idea,’ said Eddie. ‘If that helps.’

  ‘Thanks, Laura,’ said Harper. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  Dr Pense stood up and followed him out. ‘Can I take a look at your face?’

  Harper stopped. ‘What for?’

  ‘How’s your sight?’

  ‘Right eye good. Left eye not so good.
’

  Laura pushed Harper through the double doors into her office. ‘Sit down. I want a closer look.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because if I don’t, no one will, right?’

  Harper sat down at her desk and waited. Laura scrubbed her hands in a sink by the side wall, brought a pen light and pulled his head back. She shone the light into his eye and held it there for a minute.

  ‘Feds are looking into it too,’ said Harper. ‘They want to know if it’s to do with Judge Capske’s ruling and the reaction from the Gun Lobby.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He looked up. ‘What’s the damage?’

  Laura clicked the pen light off and put it in her pocket. ‘I think you’re okay. Your eye’s responding well to the light. But you should get it looked at properly.’

  ‘I just did,’ said Harper, rising and offering his hand. She took it and they shook.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hate Crime Task Force, Brooklyn

  March 7, 7.03 p.m.

  Denise stood outside the rundown precinct in Brooklyn that housed the Brooklyn Hate Crime Squad. Harper had squared things with the Lieutenant, a friendly cop called Phil Trigg. They’d talk to Dr Levene, give her some background and chase up the records of the four men accused of bias attack on the Goldenbergs. All she wanted was something to take back to Detectives Munroe and Gauge that indicated abduction or worse.

  Harper went with Eddie to Ballistics. The mangled bullet was the only piece of physical evidence that came from the killer, so Harper wanted to know if there was anything in it. Time was ticking down fast.

  Denise headed up to the fourth floor. She still had her Civilian NYPD ID card with her photograph against a blue background. She approached the tall gray-haired figure ahead of her. ‘Dr Levene,’ she said, and held out her hand.

  Lieutenant Trigg shook it firmly. ‘Harper explained,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept one of the team back for you. Detective Carney’s the man you want to speak to. His knowledge of the area is second to none. He’s got every hate group mapped and tagged. It’s an impressive operation he runs.’

  ‘I appreciate this,’ said Denise.

  ‘We all got daughters, Doctor, so if this might help some poor guy, then we’re happy to assist.’ The Lieutenant pointed. Denise found herself looking at the back of Jack Carney. He was tall, athletic with broad shoulders.

  ‘Detective Carney,’ said Denise.

  Jack Carney turned. He stared across the precinct investigation room. His eyes were clear blue. He was handsome and confident. ‘You must be Dr Levene. Good to meet you.’

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to help.’

  ‘Not a problem. Harper gave me four names: Raymond Hicks, Patrick Ellery, Leonard Lukanov and Thomas Ocksborough.’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘I know them as Ray Hicks, Paddy Ellery, Leo Lukanov, Tommy Ocks. I’ve done a quick check. I know a couple of them pretty well. That’s not usually a good sign.’ He smiled. Denise smiled back.

  ‘You married?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Carney. Denise stared. ‘Come on, I’m kidding you. You got to loosen up, Doctor. This is no comedy show down here, so we’ve got to cheer ourselves up.’

  ‘Can we concentrate on these four guys, rather than my marital status?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Carney. ‘Let’s go find a seat somewhere.’ He led Denise into one of the interview rooms, asking, ‘You got any indications of hate crime on this missing girl?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Words, symbols . . . any indication that it was because of her religion?’

  ‘No. There’s nothing except this attack which happened much earlier.’

  ‘But you think these guys might have held a grudge?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to take a look at. Where do they hang out?’

  ‘Brooklyn.’

  ‘Any chance you can take me on a tour? Maybe speak to them?’

  ‘These aren’t nice characters, Dr Levene – you sure you want to?’

  ‘I’m sure as long as you can spare the time.’

  ‘You’re not going to like what you see. They’re sick little thugs and they believe what they spout. It’s pretty hard not to react and I know you’re the kind to react.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Denise.

  The third name on the list was Leo Lukanov. Carney and his partner muscled up close to the door. They were an intimidating pair. They knocked hard and loud and shouted out ‘NYPD – open up!’ They kept it going until the person inside felt that this was drawing too much attention to him.

  The door opened. Leo Lukanov stood there. Close-cropped blond hair, pale blue eyes, full red lips. He was wearing a tank top, the number eighty-eight tattooed on one shoulder above an iron cross, some SS symbols on the right. Denise shied away immediately. She hadn’t expected the Nazi symbols.

  Carney stared at Lukanov. He was strong and wiry. He didn’t smile or speak.

  ‘This is Dr Levene, Leo. Now you be nice and answer the lady’s questions or I’ll serve this warrant here and tear your digs to pieces.’ Carney waved a warrant. Denise had been told that it wasn’t real, but it didn’t need to be. Leo Lukanov’s eyes settled on her. ‘She’s working on the disappearance of Abby Goldenberg,’ added Carney.

  Denise looked at the big tattooed figure ahead of her. He was cold, difficult – not bright, she guessed.

  ‘Mr Lukanov, you were questioned in relation to an alleged bias-attack on Abby Goldenberg,’ said Denise. ‘Do you remember the allegation?’

  Lukanov smiled and leaned against the door. ‘The girl who thought someone grabbed her ass and shouted “Let’s fuck a Jew”? It was just wishful thinking. She couldn’t even say who grabbed her ass and who shouted something.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Denise.

  Leo leered forward. ‘Some girls just want to improve their bloodline,’ he said. ‘Maybe you like the look of what you see, too?’

  The back of Carney’s hand hit Lukanov’s shoulder. ‘Be polite, retard.’

  Denise flicked open her notes. ‘This your line, Leo, sexually motivated hate crime? You into that – hate and lust? That make you tick?’

  ‘We didn’t do nothing. She imagined it. We were shouting all kinds of things. Just walking and shoving. Nothing about or against anyone. She must’ve got confused.’

  ‘You’re wearing some Nazi symbols,’ said Denise. ‘Do you hate Jews?’

  ‘I don’t take political stances, lady.’

  ‘She also heard someone say, “Die you kike bitch”.’

  ‘She misheard.’

  ‘She heard it twice.’

  ‘She misheard it twice. Some kids, some Jews, they’ve got a persecution complex. One of us says something innocent and because we’re wearing Nazi symbols, they get confused and bitter. We’re the victims, here.’

  ‘I think we all know you’re lying, Mr Lukanov. Those symbols are offensive.’

  ‘HCU will tell you that it ain’t a crime. Pro-Nazi symbols aren’t anti-Semitic in their own right, did you know that?’

  ‘Is that right?’ asked Denise.

  Jack Carney nodded and twisted his mouth.

  ‘You heard or seen or know anything about Abby’s disappearance?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You know anything?’

  ‘No,’ said Lukanov. He took a rolled cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

  ‘You ever think about going round to her house after she reported the four of you to the police?’

  ‘No, we never thought that.’

  ‘Don’t get smart, Leo, or I’ll put it about that you’re an informer.’

  ‘Sorry, Detective.’

  ‘You be very sorry, Leo, now answer the questions.’

  ‘Look, lady, we might do some shit, but we don’t do no serious shit.’

  Denise looked at him. She sensed that
he was capable of cruelty. ‘I’m just saying, Mr Lukanov, that one story going around my head is about the four of you, becoming angry that some little high-school girl gets you all a night in the cells. Must’ve been embarrassing. Two of you lost your jobs on account of it. What do you say about that?’

  ‘I’d say you should stop telling stories,’ said Lukanov.

  ‘You have a few drinks, decide to go see her. Maybe you follow her into the woods. Maybe things got out of hand and maybe you hurt her, maybe worse.’

  ‘Fuck you. Is she allowed to make these fucking allegations, Detective? Fuck you, bitch.’

  Jack Carney moved in close and pushed Leo’s head against the door. He held it there tight. ‘Don’t you ever speak like that to anyone in my company, Leo, or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

  ‘You got a car,’ said Denise, ‘between you?’

  ‘Answer the question, deadbeat,’ said Carney.

  ‘Yeah, Paddy rolls.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Red Ford.’

  ‘We’re going to check this car, we’re going to check your story, Leo. I want to know where you were at five-fifteen on Thursday, February 26.’

  ‘Don’t remember,’ said Lukanov.

  ‘Try,’ said Carney.

  ‘Do whatever, some kid runs away, that’s all and I get the fucking shakedown.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  Leo thought for a moment. ‘Nothing. Finished work, probably having a drink with Paddy.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘We go to the pool hall.’

  Denise nodded. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Lukanov.’

  They left him at the door, returned to the car and drove off.

  ‘What did you think?’ said Carney.

  ‘Nice boys,’ said Denise. ‘Leo’s the one hiding something, though.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah. The other two we found didn’t seem as cagey or as aggressive.’

  ‘He’s bad news all right. A little sadist. You should try to get a warrant to turn him over.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing at all to put him at the scene.’

  ‘Well, I hope it helped,’ said Carney. ‘You want to try Tommy Ocks? He’s not blessed with looks or brains. And his politics stink too.’