The Killing Collective

by Gary Starta

  “Why don’t you take a vow of silence?”

  “I think everyone hears better when they are silent, Michael, but sometimes it’s necessary to do the talking.”

  ***

  Agent Deeprose was at the hospital to talk to Eliza. “Here’s a tissue, honey. Go ahead and let it all out.”

  ‘”Thanks.” Eliza blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I thought I was going to die. He ran up to the car and just went crazy. I thought he had a gun, so I got in. When I found out he didn’t have one, I tried to get out, but I was locked in. And, well,” Eliza sobbed, “when I tried to escape he punched me in the face and my head hit the window.”

  Deeprose assessed the damage to Eliza’s face. The punch appeared real enough but she wondered if the woman would back up her story in court. “Are you willing to press charges and testify?”

  “I don’t know. How can I be sure I’d be safe?”

  “We can provide you with protection.”

  Deeprose observed Eliza. The car was hers, she wasn’t suspected in either of their cases, and a quick check of her name and address proved her identity. Although she had no priors, Deeprose still wondered if she knew the guy she said kidnapped her. If she had any connection to Michael Santiago, Deeprose needed to know it. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  Eliza scratched her nose. “No. I just want to go home. I need a drink. Can I leave if the nurse says I’m free to go?”

  “You may. Ah want you to take my card, Eliza. Call me right away if you remember anything else. Here, give me that tissue to throw away for you.”

  Eliza got out of bed. “Excuse me. I need some water.”

  Deeprose waited until Eliza was out of the room to stuff the used tissue into her handbag.

  Ah hope for your sake these tears are real, Eliza.

  ***

  Alison was worried. Michael and Eliza weren’t downstairs, the car was gone, and neither of them were answering their cell phone. Í don’t have a good feeling about this, Clara. I think we better stay right here until we hear from one of them,”

  “Fine with me. I’m starving, Alison. Can you cook at all?”

  “I’m pretty awful, but I know how to make omelets. You want to have dinner with me? Why?”

  “Because I like you, that’s why. I don’t think one in a million people would do for me what you did today for a total stranger. I want to be your friend, Alison. I think you need one, and frankly, so do I. Now look, I can’t cook at all, and there’s nothing in the fridge. Would you mind going down the block to pick up groceries for the omelets? Oh, and we can use a nice bottle of chardonnay and something sweet for dessert. I’ve been so upset today that all I want to do is relax in a hot tub. Here are the keys.”

  Alison accepted the keys as if she was being offered the key to the city. “Thank you! I’ll have to find an A.T.M. – I don’t have my credit card on me – but that’s no problem, really! I’ll be back in about an hour. You just take it easy, and when I come back, we’ll have a feast.”

  Clara hugged her and sniffled a little. “Oh, Alison, you’re so kindhearted. Anyone can see that! I’m glad we met today, even under these circumstances. That other girl – Eliza – she’s a horrid little person, isn’t she?”

  Alison seemed flattered that Clara had chosen her as her confidant. “She’s sick in the head, Clara. Cold and mean. Don’t worry, I said I’d protect you, and I will.”

  Clara turned her baby blue beams on Alison. “I know you will. Hurry back.” Clara’s smile faded as the front door closed and then vanished altogether.

  What a piece of work! I’m not surprised she has no friends. Who could stand all that fawning and begging? She’s exhausting to be around, but I need an ally, and Alison will do anything for a friend. Well, Allie, meet your new best friend.

  That other one is too smart in some ways and dumb as an ox in others. She’s going to be trouble. I’ll just have to ask Uncle for enough money to buy her help and silence. I’ll tell him it’s for a new costume. He’ll never know the difference.

  I also need to come up with a way to get one of them to get rid of that bitch for me. Then I can breathe again. I’ll think about it in the tub. Oh, I wish I’d broken her neck instead of her ankle!

  She padded off to the bathroom thinking about what scented bath oil she wanted to use.

  ***

  Alison and Clara finished their dinner and were sitting in the living room sipping white wine.

  “I’m getting worried, Clara. Where is Eliza? I don’t care about Michael, but we need Eliza to tell her story to the cops. I can’t do it. I’m guilty.”

  “She’ll turn up. You, know, Alison, being a prima ballerina with the A.B.C. is a much bigger deal than you think. I’ll get to travel all over the world sharing the love of art and culture. I’m also going to be an ambassador of peace.”

  “An ambassador of…peace? You?”

  “Why not me? I speak several languages, and I’ll naturally be invited to all the state dinners. Uncle has friends in the United Nations who owe him some very big favors. He called in a few of them, and now I’ve been officially asked to help improve international relations with Russia, China and the Middle East, and all I have to do is be beautiful, graceful, entertaining, and polite. That will speak for itself.”

  “I guess I won’t be seeing you much after next season, then.”

  Alison looked down at the carpet, frowning. She was already losing her new friend.

  Clara thumbed through an address book as she answered. “Nonsense, Alison. You’re a friend. All I ever had were competitors. We’ll be besties after you help me get rid of that horrible creature who wants me dead, won’t we?”

  “Really? Really, Clara? Will we really be best friends from now on?”

  “What? Oh, yeah, sure. I think this shade of lipstick is a little too dark. Don’t you?”

  Poor Alison. Sure I’ll be your bestie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Seacrest invited Carter and Deeprose to the lab to discuss her findings so far. “I’d like you to meet Dr. George Riker, our Latent Fingerprint Expert. He flew in from Washington to present us with his findings. I think we’ve got enough of a match for him to provide us with professional testimony. Dr. Riker, I’d like you to meet Special Agents Carter and Deeprose.”

  Dr. Riker shook hands with both agents before inviting them to sit down. He took out a thick, brown manila envelope containing copies of the evidence and his notes. “You see, even with a full print, the image must be carefully edited by our technicians to remove everything that isn't really a fingerprint, such as dirt and digital noise. Failing to do so reduces the accuracy of the process by about 30 percent. Partials, of course, are even harder to identify, and it’s a painstaking process even before I sit down to do my part of it.

  “We ran the partial print through the I.A.E.F.S. (Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System) database of 53 million files, which took us close to two hours. We also added ‘elimination prints’ of everyone who had legitimate access to the crime scene.

  “The system can handle a partial print as long as it is big enough to include five separate distinguishing points. However, even if the suspect’s prints are found in the system, they cannot always be matched to the evidence print if the part of the fingerprint on file is blurred or smeared. Ultimately, the system provides me with a list of the most likely matches, including the one taken when the suspect was taken into custody and booked.

  “So, you see, in the end, if it finds anything similar at all, the system can only produce a small set of prints and partials to compare. No computer can make a definitive match. That’s where I come in. A human being must always look at the prints on a lighted screen, side-by-side with the sample print, to determine which one is really a match. Unfortunately, only about 26 percent of the cases received by the lab include identifiable fingerprints.”

  Carter knew all this already, but he was glad Dr. Riker explained the entire process fo
r Agent Deeprose’s benefit. “And?”

  “And I believe we have a match on the museum murders.” He brought up the electronic records on Seacrest’s monitor and displayed a split-screen comparison of the partial prints obtained from the museum gloves and the prints taken following Michael’s detainment. Carter and Deeprose looked on as Seacrest pointed out exactly where the partial print matched Santiago’s full print.

  “I should also say you don’t have to rely on probability; you have something far better. The database contains the prints from incarcerated criminals that are supposed to be deleted if a prisoner is exonerated, but very often that doesn’t happen. It also contains prints provided voluntarily for the purpose of conducting background checks for new jobs. Your suspect obviously had no priors, because there was no match found in the system for convicted criminals.

  “Almost half of all the searches done now are for background checks or child protective purposes, so it was fairly easy to obtain the necessary permission to check the database for prints from employment records.” Dr. Riker handed Carter a file. “The name of your suspect is Michael Santiago, of New York City, New York.”

  Carter and Deeprose high fived each other. Carter shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, Dr. Riker. You’re a miracle worker!”

  “Yes, I am something of a miracle worker at that.” He smiled, nodded his head, excused himself and walked back into an office to attack a two-foot high stack of folders on his desk still waiting to be investigated before he flew back to the home office.

  Seacrest moved on to the next piece of evidence. “I’ll have a definitive blood analysis completed within the next few hours. Until we can get regular blood samples and lots of them, I’m using the blood from his shirt to see if it’s a match for the blood in the shoeprint. That makes the sneakers his, but it doesn’t place him at the scene. Anyone could have worn them. I’m hoping some of his own blood is mixed in with the victim’s to place him at the scene. That will strengthen Dr. Riker’s professional opinion regarding the print. You have enough now, though, for an arrest.”

  Carter nodded. “Michael refused to provide a D.N.A. swab, but we recovered a sample from under the nails of the woman he put in the hospital – Eliza Bitner. He doesn’t have many chips left to bargain with.”

  “So Eliza didn’t know who he was?” Seacrest asked.

  Deeprose answered. “So she says. Oh! Ah forgot to give you this. It’s a D.N.A. sample from her from a tissue she used in the hospital.”

  Seacrest whisked it out of her hand. “Good, going, Agent. This may come in handy later on. You never know.”

  Carter added, “Now that we know who he is and have enough for an arrest, we can get a warrant to search Michael’s home for the sneakers. If we find them, and even if he tried to wash away the blood, it’ll still be there, and you can prove it for us with luminol. That’ll be the end of the ballgame for Michael.”

  Seacrest talked over her shoulder as she rushed away. “You’ll have to excuse me. Time’s wasting! Come back in a few hours, after you’ve searched the home. I should have a much more enlightening presentation by then, and I want those sneakers. I only hope he wasn’t smart enough to get rid of them or burn them.”

  Carter and Deeprose heard the door to the blood lab slam behind her. She turned to him as they walked out of the lab. “Does she always present her findin’s with so much…drama?”

  “Depends on how many cups of coffee she’s had.”

  ***

  A few hours later, Carter had his answers from the lab. The blood on Michael’s shirt matched one of the blood types Seacrest found on the sneakers Carter retrieved from his apartment which also still had the victim’s blood all over them. They’d been very lucky that day.

  There were no viable prints recovered from the Jersey crime scene, however, where the death of David Florio still remained a mystery. It wouldn’t be easy to connect the two murders even if there was a connection to be made. Carter knew Agent Deeprose didn’t believe they were related, and Carter was inclined to agree, but Fischetti wanted thrill kills and serials ruled out. Seacrest’s findings would take care of that.

  Before they confronted Michael, Carter sat down with his new rookie, alone. “Agent Deeprose, have you ever heard of linkage profiling?”

  “No sir, Ah haven’t. What is it?”

  “It’s a process by which the various aspects of multiple killings are compared to each other to discern if there are any repetitive patterns or styles of killing that can tie them together – things like ritualistic signatures left on the bodies or commonalities in the victims themselves. There are all kinds of factors to consider. The point is, there are only a few experts in the country qualified to do this, and one of them works with us. I’ll receive his official report sometime next week, but he’s fairly sure, right now, that the murders were not committed by the same person.”

  “Ah knew it!”

  “Not so fast, Agent…That doesn’t mean the killings weren’t done by two different people sent by the same entity.”

  “Y’all are still thinkin’ these were contract hits, sir?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It has to be ruled out definitively. But we’re one step closer. These were two different killers. Meanwhile, if Michael knows about the other murder or knows who did it, he has only that one chip left to bargain with. Let’s go rattle his cage and see if he knows anything.”

  ***

  “Mr. Santiago, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Agent Deeprose. I believe you’re already acquainted.”

  “So you know my name. Congratulations.”

  “That’s not all we know, Michael. We’ve matched your blood and finger prints to the crime scene at the museum. Your blood and the victim’s blood were both found in the sneaker prints you left behind. We also found your sneakers at your apartment with the blood still on them. Again, not the brightest of moves. You have one chip left in this game before your lawyer arrives. Tell us everything you know about the homicide in New Jersey and who’s behind both hits. Do it now and I’ll make sure you get off with no more than five years in prison and another five on house arrest. That’s my final offer.”

  A court appointed lawyer entered the interrogation room. He set his briefcase on the table carefully. “Good Afternoon, Agents. Now that you’ve made formal charges, my client is invoking the Fifth Amendment. I’m so sorry to ruin your fun.”

  Carter waited for the lawyer to take a seat. “Mr. Stevens, we have all the evidence we need to convict, and we still haven’t gotten the report on the substance found in the underneath the car seat. He’ll get life without the possibility of parole, so if he wants to try to negotiate a lighter sentence, he needs to tell us the whole story right now. Tomorrow the deal comes off the table, permanently.”

  Deeprose had some questions of her own. “Mr. Santiago, did you know the woman you allegedly kidnapped? Is there some kinda connection between y’all that you’re not tellin’ us about? Because she threw you so far under the bus, the second axle is about to run you over. Why protect her if she’s guilty, too? Did you know her, Michael? Are there any others besides her involved?”

  The attorney smiled icily. “Good try, Agents, but no cigar. Michael, don’t say anything.”

  Michael stared straight ahead, looking at no one and seeing nothing.

  “O.K., Michael, have it your way. But before we wrap up here, I want to make certain you understand me. We have everything we need for a hands-down conviction on two premeditated murder-one charges. Oh, didn’t I tell you? Your prints were found all over the security guard you buried alive as well as that bag of money you left behind. Boy, someone made real sure you’d never walk out of here. Have it your way.”

  Michael glanced at his lawyer. “We’re done.”

  Deeprose slammed a fist on the table. “Trust me on this Mr. Santiago, you don’t want to live in prison with career criminals. My partner, here, Special Agent Carter, believes souls can be saved. Me? Ah don
’t think you were even born with one. Ah’m gonna be workin’ real hard on this case to see that y’all rot in prison until you don’t remember what life was like before you were sent there.”

  Stevens laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Let’s go. The Department of Justice will take it from here.”

  Michael whispered in his lawyer’s ear. He was starting to sweat.

  “Agent Carter, you admitted to having in your possession a substance found in the young woman’s car, and that you are asserting it belongs to my client. I’m sure you don’t have to be told that’s illegal search and seizure. This vial you have is more than likely hers. You’ll have to prove it belongs to my client, and I don’t think you can. I’ll save the rest of my arguments for the preliminary hearing.”

  Carter knew a preliminary hearing would only become necessary if the client intended to plead ‘not guilty’. He tried one more time. Looking Michael in the eye, just inches from his face, he said in earnest, “If you plead ‘not guilty’, you’re going to be swallowed up by the system. There will be no reprieve. No hope. If you tell the truth now and give me a name, I can help you.”

  Michael swallowed hard but kept his mouth shut.

  “All right, I tried. I have no idea what’s in that vial, but the woman you kidnapped and beat will testify that it was in your possession when you forced her into the car - yes, forced her – don’t look so surprised. Just because we didn’t recover a weapon doesn’t mean you didn’t point one at her and ditch it later or make her believe you were pointing one at her to get her into the car as a hostage. She will testify that she saw you throw the vial under the front seat of her car. You were the driver, Michael, not her. She’s not the one on trial. Who do you think the jury’s going to believe? Either way, it should be pretty simple to find out who the vial belongs to, what’s in it, what it’s used for and where it came from. Once we follow the trail, I’m betting it’ll lead straight back to you and whoever you got it from.”