But there could be no doubt it was her, and no doubt who killed her.
The calling card was on the floor, weighed down by a pair of scissors arrowed to the teenager's coarsely shaven genitals.
But it was the sight of her chest that shook him to the core.
Each breast severed from the torso, the flesh removed and the skin returned, flattened and stretched out against the body, crudely stitched in place with black cotton.
The flaming red hair, neatly plaited into pig-tails, completed the imagery.
The body of a nineteen year old, transformed into that of a pre-pubescent schoolgirl.
186
Danny's traumatized body shook gently as he sobbed intermittently.
Matt threw the room key on the dashboard . The boy instinctively reached for it, slipping his finger through the key-ring, clutching the cool metal in his clammy fist. It was all he had left of Ceri. He held it against his chest, sobbing.
“I didn't want Mrs Epstein wandering in there.” Matt punched the dial on his cell phone.
No answer. At the parking lot in Binghamton Claire's cell lay unheard in her car. Cursing beneath his breath Matt dialed again.
“Gavin, it's Matt.” A long pause. “I'm sorry, I have some bad news.”
The chewing at the other end slowly stopped. “My God, it's Ceri, isn't it.”
Slowly, “She's dead, Gavin.”
Danny began crying again.
“He found her somehow. We were too late.” Matt’s voice choked over. “Gavin, I'm so sorry.”
A longer silence. “What did he... No. I don't want to know. Where are you now?”
“Just leaving her flat. We're going back to Claire. If he knew about Ceri he must know about Claire too.”
“Are the cops there?”
“They don't know yet. Gavin, will you deal with them? I have to get to Claire. Before he does.”
“I understand. But hell, this will take some explaining.”
“You know as much as we do.”
“I'll do my best. Just be careful.” Silence, then, “Oh, and Matt...”
“I'm listening.”
“Don't let anything happen to the kid.”
187
“Can't you go any faster?”
“Supposing a child ran out in front of me?”
We're on an interstate highway for God's sake. Out loud, “Supposing he kills again before we get there?
Pitman drew on his unlit pipe. He was too much the gentleman to light up with a lady passenger present, too much the addict not to need the comfort of the cool clay between his lips. “I hardly think he's going to be sitting there waiting for us, Claire. That's if he has any connection at all with this clinic. Run it by me one more time, so I don't make any slip-ups.” It was partly for his benefit, mostly for hers, to occupy her mind, to keep her asthmatic breathing calm.
Claire rehearsed the case again. Ceri's profile. The pattern of attacks. The timing. She explained again her visit to see Reynolds.
“I've had that pleasure, too, at a Social Services case conference. Not the person I'd most like to be stranded on a desert island with.”
“But don't you see, Lieutenant? The Foundation is the one thread that links all this.”
“Claire, I think you're right; up to a point.” Pitman negotiated the passing of a haulage truck with consummate care. “Heaven only knows how we missed the connection, but yes, it's obvious now that someone was using, abusing, this clinic for their own ends. But to my mind that just backs the case against Randall. We know he attended the clinic several times. He would have had any number of opportunities to find out about other patients. I'm confident this Quinlan fellow will be able to confirm that.”
“And the missing children in Yonkers and New York City?”
“The Yonkers case is intriguing, I grant you. But there is such a thing as sheer coincidence. Children went missing before Uncle Tom, and will do long after he's forgotten. As for this center of New York scenario, all you have is this cryptic message from your friend. According to your theory there should have been an abduction at a place beginning with X, yet by your own admission no such place exists. Don't you see? Your friend was right all along. But the profile she built up was of Greg Randall, right down to this suicide complex, that culminated in the body being found in White Plains.”
“But the van... It was missing from Leroy McKenzie's lock-up.”
“There are tens of thousands of white vans out there, Claire. Look, there's two now. And another. It doesn't mean a thing.”
“Not even what those kids told me?”
“They're just kids.”
“And the assaults preceding Rebecca? They're just coincidences too, I suppose?”
“With all due respect, I know nothing about them.”
“Matt has all the details with him. Danny printed them off last night.”
“Danny?” Pitman shook his head in disbelief. “For heavens' sake, how many more people have you got roped into this little vigilante detective force of yours?”
“We're not vigilantes, Lieutenant. We just want to be certain the man you put away for killing my daughter is the right one.”
“I can understand that, Claire, believe me. But you have to put your faith in the criminal justice system.”
“After Thomas Bristow?”
“That was different. But now all the evidence says Randall is guilty. Officially Uncle Tom is safely behind bars in prison, awaiting trial.”
“And unofficially?”
“Let's just say I wouldn't be here with you now if I didn't have serious reservations about this whole affair.”
188
Danny clutched the key to his chest, still sobbing gently.
Matt held the wheel in one hand, repeatedly dialing Claire's home and cell numbers. The answer-service chipped in at the empty house, the cell phone unheard in the parked car.
He hit the number for Rochester Police Department..
“I'm sorry, the Lieutenant's off-duty today. Can another officer help?”
“No, it has to be Pitman.” There was no point even attempting to explain. “Can you get a message to him?”
“Not easily. He's not in a force vehicle, and doesn't carry a cell, as you may know.”
“Don't I just. If he calls in again, can you pass on an urgent message?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Tell him Matt Burford called. Tell him to find Claire and stay with her until I get there.”
“Claire?”
“Claire Meadows. It's imperative he finds her. She could be in danger.”
“What did you say your name was again, Sir?”
“Burford. Matthew Burford.”
“And your relationship to Mrs Meadows?”
“A friend. A close friend.”
Hesitantly, “I don't know if I should be saying this, Sir, but I believe Lieutenant Pitman is already with Mrs Meadows. She called earlier today, asking specifically for him.”
“Thank God. Where are they now?”
“Sir, as I said, he's officially off-duty. All I know is, he came in earlier and ran off a Google map before he left.”
“A map?”
“Somewhere in Syracuse.”
189
“You obviously have a lot of respect for this girl.”
“She's incredible, Lieutenant.”
“And just a student, you say? All the more remarkable.”
“You'll have a chance to meet her soon. I've asked Matt to invite her down again when her course finishes.”
“I'll look forward to that, Claire. But you said earlier you thought you knew how Randall might have been fitted up with the DNA evidence?”
“You didn't want to hear it,” Claire reminded him. “You told me to stick to reality.”
“Run it by me anyway. I want to be fully armed when I speak to this Quinlan fellow.”
Claire slowly and methodically recounted her encounter with Leroy McKenzie. The odometer s
lowly crept up as Pitman listened.
“Supposing Greg Randall went through some similar sort of treatment?” Claire struggled to find the right words, embarrassed to be discussing this with a man old enough to be her father. “I don't know quite how to phrase this, Lieutenant, but supposing Randall was aroused to the point of orgasm? He cleaned himself on a tissue or whatever. Could Uncle Tom have got hold of it somehow?”
Pitman shook his head slowly. “I don't know what to say, Claire. The idea is so bizarre it could even be true. Could I borrow your cell phone a moment?”
“It’s in my car. Sorry. I put in on charge and forgot it.”
“No matter. I'll find a pay-phone somewhere. I'm sure there must be one or two left. I just want to put the captain in the picture. This Quinlan fellow sounds well-connected. Best I clear it with my superiors before I go making waves.”
Minutes later Pitman pulled over and made his way to a roadside booth.
Claire waited in the car. The radio news was reporting heavy snow blowing in from Canada across much of the state, blizzards heading south. She wondered if Matt was caught up in it. So far they had been lucky, with just a light dusting of snow.
In the booth Pitman's demeanor caught her eye. The wrinkled smile was gone, the face ashen. He was leaning against the cabinet. Desperately she tried to decipher his silent mouth movements.
He got back into the car in silence, staring into the distance, gathering his thoughts.
“Lieutenant?”
Pitman slowly turned to face her, reaching a hand out to her shoulder.
“Lord help us, Claire, but you were right all along. He's still out there.”
“Oh my God. They've found another body.”
“It wasn't a child this time.” Pitman took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, Claire. I wish I could break this to you more gently.” A single tear rolled down his cheek.
“Your friend, Ceri Jones. Uncle Tom found her first.”
190
The bronze plate announcing the entrance to the Quinlan Foundation was barely visible through the thick strands of ivy that smothered the enclosing wall, a thick carpet of polished green against the blanched winter landscape.
The car slowly negotiated the long winding drive, passenger and driver coping with their own deep thoughts.
For Claire, the reality of Ceri's death had yet to impact fully, for now eased by the certain knowledge that Lieutenant Pitman was about to put together the final pieces of the jigsaw.
For Pitman, the tragedy of lives lost was balanced by professional concerns.
He was only human. The thrill of the chase was still there and, if too old for promotion, it was in the back of his mind that to wrap up the case here and now, reducing the actual apprehension of America’s most wanted criminal to a formality and clearing the name of an innocent man, would be a fine way to cap nearly forty years of service and justify the early retirement his wife so wanted him to take.
“Claire, I think it would be best if you wait here. Do you mind? This is strictly Police business now.” He pulled up his collar against the cold wind and the strengthening snow flurries. “I'll be as quick as I can.” As an afterthought he added, “Keep the doors locked, Claire. Just in case.”
A shiver ran down her spine as he left her. She pushed each lock, then instinctively checked each handle.
“Lieutenant Pitman, Rochester Police Department.” He held up his badge to the camera. “I'd like to speak to Dr Quinlan.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. It's Police business.”
“Rochester?”
“This is important.”
“I'm sorry. Dr Quinlan is not in residence at the moment.”
“Miss Reynolds is here, I take it?”
“Doctor Reynolds is here, yes. But I'm not sure she is free.”
“Kindly advise her I would like to speak to her, as a matter of some urgency.”
“One moment, please.”
The one moment lasted a full five minutes. Pitman stamped his feet to keep warm, his patience wearing thin. He was about to press the bell again when he heard automatic bolts sliding. The door opened and he instantly recognized the hunched figure of Ruth Reynolds, blinking at him through thick, tinted glasses.
“Lieutenant?”
“Miss Reynolds, I need to speak with Dr Quinlan as soon as possible. When is he due back?”
“I'm sorry, but he's otherwise engaged, on a lecture tour.”
Pitman sighed loudly. “In that case you'll have to do.”
“You've picked a rather inconvenient time, Lieutenant. I've had clients back and forth all day.”
Pitman cast a glance around the forecourt. The thin layer of snow lay undisturbed but for his own tire and footprints. “Using the tradesman's entrance, I suppose. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Reynolds glared at him. “Come through.” She led him down past reception to the interview lounge.
“I'll come straight to the point, Miss Reynolds.”
“Ruth, please. It's Ruth.” She forced the smile. “It's David, isn't it?”
“Miss Reynolds, a girl is dead.”
She tried to look sympathetic. “I'm very sorry to hear that, of course, but...”
“A teenager. Nineteen years old.”
“I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Am I missing something here?”
“She was murdered. By Uncle Tom.”
The surprise was genuine, or Pitman was ready to hand in his badge. Reynolds quickly recovered, her words carefully selected. “My goodness, Lieutenant. You mean Greg Randall has escaped?”
“That's not what I said, Miss Reynolds. I have good reason to believe Randall's arrest to be a mistake. He's not Uncle Tom. The real killer is still at large.”
“I'm not sure I understand, Lieutenant.”
“Which is why I should be talking to Dr Quinlan,” Pitman muttered beneath his breath. “I don't know how I can make it any clearer for you, Miss Reynolds. I believe the real Uncle Tom is someone who attends this clinic. One of your patients.”
“They are clients, Lieutenant, not patients. And I'm sorry, but I still don't follow.”
“I believe Uncle Tom somehow gained access to your patients' details. That he somehow learned of Greg Randall's interest in children, and of his appointment at the White Plains clinic.”
“Quite impossible, Lieutenant. Absolutely not. Our records are totally secure. As for Greg Randall, I can assure you he is an extremely dangerous man. My only regret is that I didn't act sooner in bringing him to the attention of the authorities.”
“Miss Reynolds, I'd like to have a look round, if I may. To view your security arrangements. Where you keep your patients' records, that sort of thing.”
“Out of the question, Lieutenant. Client confidentiality is of paramount consideration in an establishment such as ours.”
“Even so, I'd like to see the set-up first hand.”
“As I said, Lieutenant. Out of the question. Were Dr Quinlan here he would say exactly the same thing.”
“You don't seem to understand, Miss Reynolds. This is a Police matter. A homicide inquiry.”
“I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but the answer is no.”
Pitman took out his pipe and began stuffing the bowl.
Reynolds looked alarmed. “Lieutenant, this is a no-smoking establishment.”
Pitman lit up. “Miss Reynolds, let me put it another way. You can show me what I need to see now, quietly, just the two of us. Or I can return in an hour or so with a warrant and a dozen officers, and maybe the FBI too, and we can do it room by room, drawer by drawer.”
Reynolds was unable to hide her annoyance. “Very well, Lieutenant, but I must insist I accompany you at all times.”
“Believe me, I wouldn't have it any other way.”
191
Large rang soon after they passed Oneida on the I-90. The blizzard had reduced traffic to a crawl.
“The place is swarming with cops. I met them ou
tside and took them up to her room. Jesus, Matt, you could have warned me.”
“Sorry, Gavin. I didn't think you'd...”
“Obviously they want to speak to you as a matter of urgency. I tried to explain what I knew, but you can guess how that went down.”
“They need to contact Rochester Police Department.”
“Already done, Matt. Pitman, wasn’t it? That’s what I told them, anyhow.”
“He's with Claire now. I think they're heading for the Foundation. I'm going to try meet them there, if weather permits.”
“Better be quick, Matt, before they find you.”
“Jesus, they don't think I...”
“Hell, no. But you're the key to the mystery, Matt. You, Claire and that kid. He still with you?”
“He's out cold. In shock, I think. He got to Ceri before I did.”
“Christ, no. But he's okay?”
“Just about.”
“Keep an eye on him, Matt.”
“Don't worry. I can't imagine Uncle Tom even knows he exists, but I can assure you I'm not letting him out of my sight.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What's next your end?”
“Hard to say. The cops aren't giving anything away. They're with Student Admin' now, for Ceri's next of kin. I don't envy them that one.”
“Poor kid. She had so much going for her.”
“My star student, Matt. She was brilliant.”
“She was beautiful.”
“Danny? I thought you were asleep.”
“What, with you two yakking like a couple of old women?” He sounded more his old self. “Hi, Professor.”
“Hullo, kid. You okay?”
“I guess. How about you?”
“Yeah, I'm okay too. Listen, kid, will you do me a favor?”
“What's that, Professor?”
“Just stick close to Matt and don't do anything stupid, understand? It's still not clear in my mind quite how you fit into all this, but I kinda like you. Just take care, alright?”
“Will do, Professor.”
“Gavin, the snow's getting worse. Keep me informed.”
“You know it. Take care.”
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