“It’s possible that he could be a little green man from Mars too, but he’s not.”
“As for the feds,” Mooney ignored Alves’s little dig and continued with his spiel. “I don’t mind them coming in here telling me about their profile. They’d just better not think they’re going to take over my investigation.”
Alves heard the hum of Mooney’s pager. Salvation.
CHAPTER 52
Connie looked up to see Angel Alves walking toward his desk. “Do I know you?”
“Don’t get excited,” Alves said. “I’m heading right back out.”
“What do you mean? We’re supposed to do case prep.”
“Not today.”
“Angel, if we’re not ready for trial we’re going to get our asses handed to us. And Jesse’s going to walk again. We have a ton of work to do. The trial is only a month away.”
“Connie, the Jill Twomey murder has changed everything. We’ve got the FBI up here and Mooney’s on a rampage. Forget about prep. I’ll be lucky if I can get here for the trial.”
“Are you insane? You know how long I’ve been trying to put Jesse away. He’s dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as the Blood Bath Killer. We work on his case and nothing else. Orders from the commissioner. Not that I needed the order. I want to catch this fucker. And I’m going to.”
“Do me a favor before I lose you for good?”
“What?”
“Just pull all the FIOs on Wilcox. I want to know who he’s been hanging around with. It’ll help me on cross if any of his friends show up as surprise witnesses for the defense.”
“I’ll bring them by tomorrow. Then you won’t see me for a while. I have to get going. Sarge will be wondering what happened to me.”
“How’s he doing? I haven’t seen him since the McCarthy scene.”
“Grumpy as ever.” Alves walked toward the back stairs. Then he turned suddenly and stopped. “I almost forgot the most important thing. I learned something today that really pissed me off. Jesse Wilcox’s lawyer is a former law partner of Judge Catherine Ring.”
Connie could feel his jaw tightening up.
“From the look on your face I’d have to say you didn’t know that tidbit of information. How’s that for justice?”
Connie watched as Alves disappeared down the backstairs. He felt a terrific surge of anger. He thought back to what Jesse Wilcox had said to him after the motion, that it was all over before it started.
CHAPTER 53
Coming toward him down the corridor from the Homicide Unit were the two FBI agents that Alves had met a few days earlier. He couldn’t get their names straight so he just thought of them as Smith and Jones, Smith being the taller one who seemed to do all the talking. He could tell both men were angry.
“What’s wrong, guys?” Alves asked.
“Sergeant Mooney doesn’t want us involved in his investigation. You’ve been good to us, but we can’t work with him. We’re heading back to DC this afternoon. I know he doesn’t believe us, but we were trying to help.”
Alves stood silently as the two agents headed toward the elevators. What the hell was Sarge thinking? He was asking for trouble going against the mayor.
“And, Detective”—Smith turned back to him—“FYI, I don’t believe this guy’s a sexual predator. You’re wasting your time with that one. I could be wrong, but there doesn’t seem to be anything sexual about what he’s doing.”
“Why’s that?”
“Nothing to suggest he’s committed sexual assaults at any of the crime scenes. Not while the victims are conscious, unconscious or deceased. He attacks them, incapacitates them, drains their blood, takes them away. A sexual predator wouldn’t be able to control himself like that. If he’s looking to act out a sexual fantasy, he would definitely want to act it out in the victim’s house, in her bed, on her couch. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to act it all out while he’s alone with her in her house. Nothing would be more gratifying to him.”
“So what’s he doing?”
“Sergeant Mooney just gave us his Reader’s Digest profile. Actually not bad for a miserable old-timer. He’s right about the blood bath being a way of telling you that the person’s dead without leaving you the body. Draining them of their blood is an important part of his ritual. The bathtubs themselves are just convenient. It’s the logical place to do something like that. And the warm bath expedites the bloodletting. I’m not sure what he’s doing from there. If he’s keeping the bodies, he has to be doing something to preserve them. You may want to check to see if there have been any chemical thefts from local funeral homes in the last year. Or maybe he’s a trained mortician himself. And then again, he may be dumping the bodies somewhere.”
“I hadn’t thought of the mortician angle.”
“Detective Alves,” Smith said, looking Alves in the eyes, letting him know that he wanted to help, “serial killers don’t stop killing. They don’t slow down. They kill more frequently. They kill until someone stops them.” Smith turned toward Jones who was holding the elevator for him. “Feel free to call if you ever need us.”
CHAPTER 54
Alves entered the Homicide Unit looking for Mooney. “Sarge, what did you do?”
“I fired those two sons-o’-bitches, trying to poach my case.”
Alves was sure Mooney had lost his mind. “You can’t fire them, they don’t work for you. But you’re going to get yourself fired once the mayor and commissioner hear about this. What happened?”
“Those two profilers spent three days reviewing our case files, visiting our crime scenes and re-interviewing our witnesses. This morning I get a call from Jill Twomey’s mother, hysterical, asking why these two men from the FBI want to go through her daughter’s condo again. I can take a lot of shit, Angel, but I’m not going to let some kid with a BA in psychology damage my reputation with the family of a homicide victim.”
Mooney’s face was mottled red as he leaned in toward Alves. Alves was glad he hadn’t been in the room when Mooney went at it with the two agents.
“I catch a load of shit from Mrs. Twomey,” Mooney said, “then our friends from the FBI show up with their profile. Let’s just say you’re lucky you didn’t make that bet with me. It was the same profile I gave you. Then they give me their tips for bagging a serial killer: Review footage of spectators at the crime scenes and family press conferences; pursue those losers who volunteer to help with the investigation. I told them we had gone so far as to set up hidden cameras at the memorial services and community-safety meetings to look for familiar faces. They reminded me that as a rule the killer wants to stay close to the investigation. I really appreciate them coming up here to enlighten us.”
Angel settled in, content not to say anything until Mooney finished.
“Besides causing me some unnecessary headaches, it’s been a waste of time. One thing led to another. Now we no longer have to deal with those two clowns.”
“Sarge, as far as the feds go, they weren’t all that bad. They’re just doing what they were told to do.”
“They were wasting our time. No, they weren’t just wasting our time—they were actually setting us back. Poor Mrs. Twomey. Bad enough that her daughter was murdered, now she thinks the detectives handling the investigation are a couple of boobs.”
“They did have some interesting thoughts.”
“Like what?”
“They don’t think he’s a sexual predator.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“They also suggested that we check for any chemical thefts at area funeral homes. If he’s keeping the bodies he has to be preserving them somehow.”
“That’s assuming he’s keeping the bodies. We don’t know what he’s doing with the bodies.”
“Come on, Sarge, you have to admit it’s not a bad idea.”
“All right. Do it. But I think we would have heard if there were any break-ins like that.”
“Why?”
“You kno
w what they do with that stuff?”
“No.”
“I thought you were a drug cop before you came up here. Back in the seventies we had some funeral home breaks. Kids were using the formaldehyde-based embalming fluids to make angel dust.”
“Our profilers also threw out the possibility that he might actually be a mortician.”
“Or a taxidermist.” Mooney laughed. “You can look into that too, Angel.”
“Sarge, what are you going to do about the bosses? They’re going to flip out when they hear what you did to those guys.”
“They might chew my ass out, but they’re not going to take us off the case. We know the evidence better than anyone. It would take weeks for someone else to get up to speed. They’ll be mad for a couple of days. Once we catch this guy all will be forgotten.”
“For your sake, I hope so.”
CHAPTER 55
As Connie finished his baked potato and drank the last of his skim milk, Angel Alves pushed open the conference room door, balancing a cup of coffee and a stack of reports. “I can’t stay and visit,” he said. “Connie, these are the FIOs you asked for.”
“Sweet.”
“What’s an FIO?” Monica asked, sipping her mug of tomato soup.
“Field Interrogation and Observation report,” Connie said. “Every time the Youth Violence and the Anti-Crime guys see someone they know hanging out on a corner, they take down all their information, name, DOB, address, who they’re with. Then they enter all that info into a report.”
“Connie wanted to know what our boy Jesse’s been up to, so I ran his name and came up with this,” Alves said, waving the reports in front of him. “Wait till you see the rapscallions he’s been hanging with.”
“Jesse who?” Monica asked.
“Wilcox,” Connie said.
“Connie’s white whale.” Mitch was wrapping up the rest of his sandwich.
“Be careful with this guy. You don’t want him thinking it’s personal,” Brendan said.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“He already beat you on the motion,” Nick said. “He’s halfway to another acquittal.”
“I have faith in Connie.” Alves slipped the FIO reports onto the table.
“Anything new in the Blood Bath case?” Connie knew everyone was interested in the topic, but he knew Alves well enough to ask.
“Nothing specific. Checking known sex offenders, recent DOC and jail releases. Even halfway houses. Mooney’s still considering them possibly sex-related. I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Makes sense to see if he just got out of lockup,” Connie said. “He’s probably some scumbag that’s walked through the system a million times and keeps getting off with a wrist slap. Our system is such a joke.”
“What are you talking about?” Brendan said, his mouth full with the last bite of his Italian sub from Spinale’s. “You think you’d be more than happy with the way you’ve been banging out guilty verdicts lately.”
“Who cares about guilties?” Connie said. “I’m talking about a system where we end up with uneducated people deciding the fates of criminal defendants who are facing the loss of their precious liberty. I think it’s fucked up.”
Nick put down his burger, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and straightened up in his chair. “What’s so fucked up about it?” he asked. “The right to a fair trial by a jury of our peers is the heart of our legal system. It’s one of our most fundamental rights guaranteed by the Constitution.”
Connie laughed. “The only thing the system does is guarantee that every person with a brain is too busy to serve on a jury, leaving us with jurors that belong in that Star Wars bar.”
“The Cantina?” Brendan interrupted.
Mitch laughed, nearly choking as he sipped from his thermos cup of black tea.
Connie said, “What we need in this country are panels of judges or professional jurors with a certain level of intelligence. Then we’d be guaranteed true and just verdicts.”
“You don’t think we get just verdicts?” Monica asked.
“All we have is a game where the defense attorneys try to get a bunch of half-wits on the jury so they can trick them into finding a reasonable doubt. I’ve had success over the past year because I’ve learned how to play the game better. Why should I care about getting a true verdict if no one else does?”
“Have you forgotten that you’re a prosecutor?” Nick asked indignantly. “You’re not supposed to blindly advocate for convictions. You’re supposed to uphold the law and try to do justice. You can’t look at this like it’s a game you’re trying to win. That’s unethical.”
“Don’t give me that unethical shit. The reason we have to play these games is this ass-backward jury system. We need a system where professionals who are well schooled in the law determine the facts of the case and then mete out punishment.”
“You mean like Richters?” Mitch said.
“What?” Nick asked.
“In Germany they use panels of judges instead of jurors. They’re called Richters. One of the useless facts I remember from Crim Pro.”
“I like that word,” Brendan said. “When I grow up I want to be a Richter.”
“Who the hell wants to live in a society where a select group acts as judge, jury and executioner?” Nick asked.
“I do,” Brendan said.
Nick shook his head. “What are you, a Nazi?”
“Here we go. Calling me a Nazi to attack my credibility is an argument ad hominem,” Brendan said.
“I don’t know anything about hominems, but I don’t think that the Germans have historically been fair in the way they hand out justice,” Nick said.
“I’m with Brendan on this one,” Connie said.
“Me too,” Mitch chimed in.
“Ditto.” Alves hadn’t said much. He seemed ready to leave at any moment but looked to be enjoying himself. “If you had panels of judges, you’d be less likely to end up with bag jobs like the one Connie and I just got hit with on the Wilcox case.”
Connie turned to Monica. “You’re still new, so you should learn this now, before you’re led astray by defense-attorneys-in-training like Nick. The first day I walked into this courthouse Liz told me that none of this was on the level. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I figured it out soon enough. If you follow my lead, you’re definitely going to win some trials, unlike Nick, who’s lost all ten of his trials.”
“Low blow.” Brendan laughed.
Monica turned toward Nick in disbelief. “You’ve lost ten trials in a row.”
Nick looked down at the table.
“I don’t mean that as an insult to you,” Connie said. “You’re the one who thinks this isn’t about winning and losing. It’s about justice being served, right? Maybe justice prevailed at each of your trials. Maybe those defendants were innocent. All we can do is take the facts we’re given, then paint them in the light most favorable to our cause. If that’s not a game, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s not a game,” Nick said. “I don’t prosecute someone unless I truly believe they committed the crime. I need to believe it beyond a reasonable doubt before I try to convince a jury beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“You can believe it beyond all doubt, but you still don’t know what happened. Everything really starts with jury selection. You need to figure out which jurors are going to connect with you and trust you. Otherwise you’ll never win.”
“It always comes back to winning and losing with you,” Nick said. Monica was still glaring at Nick, but he wasn’t looking back. “Maybe it does bother me that all of my trials have been not guilties. But maybe those defendants were all innocent and justice did prevail.”
“Let me tell you something about justice,” Connie said. “Everyone we prosecute is judged to be guilty or not guilty. Nobody is found innocent, because nobody is innocent. Today’s victim is tomorrow’s defendant. Justice does come down to winning and losing. If I think a defendant is guilt
y, the only justice I’m looking for is a win and a guilty verdict.”
“You need to change the way you look at things. I don’t expect you to be totally idealistic, but it would help if you had some faith in the system you’ve chosen to work in.”
“You misunderstand me.” Connie stood up from the table. “I have absolute faith in the system. I have faith that jurors are stupid and gullible. I have faith that I know how to manipulate them. And I know I am going to launch Jesse Wilcox, even without the evidence Judge Ring stole from us.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Alves said.
CHAPTER 56
“I think that went well, don’t you?” Mooney said.
Alves couldn’t even look at Mooney as they closed the door to the commissioner’s office behind them. “My career is over,” Alves said. “I just made Homicide. Everything was going so well. Now it’s over.”
“I’m not going to let you get hurt,” Mooney said. “I took the hit. He knows I’m the one who shit-canned our friends from Quantico. I’ll be sure to tell the mayor too.”
“You saw him, Sarge. He blames us both. He thinks I should have stopped you.”
“Don’t worry, Angel. I’m the one that’s going to get screwed when this investigation ends. At least we’ve still got the case. That was the plan all along.”
“Sarge, he said he’s going to ship you to Evidence Management in Hyde Park.” Alves pictured the aluminum building that resembled a cavernous storage shed stuck on a tired street at the edge of Boston’s city limits.
“Yeah, but he won’t do it until we close the case. By then, all will be forgiven. He’ll assign me out there for six months just to send a message, then he’ll put me somewhere else.”
“Back on Homicide?”
“I don’t think so. He’s pretty pissed. I made him look bad with the feds and he’s one of the biggest FBI suck-ups around. He’s a member of the National Academy Associates.”
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