False Witness (John Steel series Book 3)

by syron-jones, p s

  ELEVEN

  McCall and Steel headed back to the precinct after their short, but somewhat mysterious, chat with Andy Carlson’s dear ex. It was getting up to around four-thirty when McCall’s cell phone illuminated in its holder on the dash.

  She reached forwards and touched the screen: the text from Tina at the ME’s office was quite clear. It said: Get your butts back here.

  The traffic was a mess, with people travelling back from work, the streets an ocean of yellow as the taxis plied their trade. However, despite this, the journey didn’t take as long as McCall thought it would.

  *

  They found Tina Franks sitting waiting for them on McCall’s usual seat on the operating table, soft music sounded in the background and the scent of blood and disinfectant filled the air.

  “Okay Tina, what you got?” Sam asked.

  Tina jumped down and headed for the body of Andy Carlson that was on one of the tables.

  “Once I had removed the stitching from the nose I found two small tubes in there,” Tina explained as they walked. “Someone wanted him to die slowly.”

  McCall looked puzzled as they arrived at the body. She looked at the man’s stitch-free mouth. “But the scorpion?” she asked.

  Tina shook her head. “This one was a Malaysian Forest Scorpion. Its sting effect is about the equivalent of a nasty bee sting.”

  Sam was now looking more confused. In her head it was a done deal: scorpion sting—man dies. End of.

  “So the sting didn’t kill him?” McCall asked.

  Tina rocked a flat-palmed hand from side to side, using her ‘undecided’ look. “Yes and no really,” the ME said eventually, still reluctant to answer the question.

  Steel noticed a light patch on the man’s wrist, that looked as if it was where a band or chain had once been.

  “What if he was allergic to stings?” John Steel asked. “What would happen then?” He could see the strain of concentration ease from Tina’s face, as if she was relieved that someone finally understood.

  “So he had an allergic reaction to the sting,” Sam added, “but someone must have known that, maybe whoever did it was someone close to him?” New theories began to build in her head.

  Steel could see where she might be going with her theory but found it unlikely. “You’re thinking his daughter did it, aren’t you?” he suggested.

  McCall thought for a moment then bit her bottom lip, as if unsure of her supposition. “Well, she is the only one with a key and she would know his medical history.” She took out her cell phone and pressed the auto dial for Tooms then waited. After a couple of seconds, she heard Tooms’s heavy voice come over the speaker.

  “Tooms, it’s McCall,” she began. “Get uniforms to pick up Andy Carlson’s daughter, will you. Don’t spook her, just say it’s to fill in some blanks. If she calls her mom we won’t get anywhere.”

  Tooms acknowledged her request before she hung up on him.

  Tina waited until she had finished then held up a clear evidence bag that contained a piece of paper. “Now for the next surprise. We found this in his stomach. Obviously someone had made him eat this whole, probably hoping it would be found later.”

  McCall took it from her friend and held it up. The document was stained and most of the writing was legible to the naked eye.

  “Something about lies and poison!” read out Steel, all he could make out that had been written on the once-crumpled piece of paper.

  “Okay, can you get CSU to get their tech to look at it and try and tidy it up?” he asked.

  Tina smiled and nodded. “I already did. It says: YOUR LIES POISONED MY LIFE. Also, CSU found the paper and the pen it was written with.” Tina gave an excited smile. “What’s more, it turns out that the needle that was used to sew him up was also from the victim’s house.”

  Steel looked thoughtful for a second then looked up at the doctor. “So what was used as thread? It was too thick to be normal cotton. Wait, don’t tell me he used what I think he used.” Steel cringed, feeling the pain of it.

  “If you’re thinking dental floss, you’d be right,” Tina said. “They also found the empty package in the bathroom. This guy breaks in and uses everything that is available, he doesn’t bring the stuff with him.” Tina could feel the next question coming.

  “Okay,” McCall, asked, “but where the hell did the scorpion come from? Our guy couldn’t look after himself, let alone a pet.”

  Tina shrugged and shook her head. “Sorry, Sam, that one we don’t know.”

  McCall smiled, a little happier that there was progress. Steel looked at the clock above the entrance: the hands showed it was just after five.

  “Okay,” John Steel said. “I have things to do and people to see, so until tomorrow, ladies.” He gave a short bow and left, leaving the girls some quiet time before the end of the shift. McCall watched him leave. She wondered where he was going and if someone else was likely to end up in the hospital tonight.

  *

  The reporter took the subway to the stop on First Avenue, as it was only a couple of blocks to his apartment on East Seventh Street.

  The noise of the braking system screamed as they moved round a bend in the track but nobody took any notice. Everyone was engrossed in their tablets or smart phones, the odd person would have a book or magazine, and nobody looked up or made eye contact.

  Edward Gibbs was busy flicking through his notebook at the story he was about to put together, something he had been working on for a while, and now he was almost ready to type it up for his editor. He was a reporter for the New York Herald and had been for around six years.

  He looked up as a black guy in old army greens got up and started singing. Edward had to admit that the man was good, and so had no reservations about putting some loose change into an old food tin the singer was passing round.

  The song didn’t take long and the people applauded after he was done and he moved on to the next car. Edward smiled as he watched the man start a performance for his next audience.

  As the train’s brakes began to screech again he looked up and recognised the familiar sight of his station, and a warm feeling came over him—he was nearly home.

  The night air had a bitter sting to it, as if small razors hung on every gust. The nights were starting to draw in and everywhere there was the feeling that winter would soon be here.

  His walk to the apartment block didn’t take him long as the cold wind hurried him along. His building had black-painted fire escapes on the front that almost acted as small balconies for the residences. Entering the main hallway, the warmth of the building hit him with a pleasant shock, making him shudder slightly.

  He was home.

  As he entered his apartment, he left the door open so that the light from the hallway illuminated the room enough for him to find the light switch.

  The only lights he had to brighten the small apartment were a couple of standard lamps and one that sat on a dresser to the rear of the sofa. The seating area was combined with a kitchen area, next to which was a long corridor that contained a bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which lay right at the end and was now used as his office.

  Edward closed the door and put on the chain and the two safety bolts before taking off his denim jacket and tossing it onto the back of the couch. The room was dimly lit, but he found it to be more homely that way.

  The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of music, as his ring tone blared through his jacket—the loud tones of Pink alerting him to his editor’s call. Reaching into the front flap pocket he drew out the phone and pressed the accept button.

  “What’s up, boss?” he asked jokily, as he listened to his boss’s rants about deadlines.

  “I am nearly there,” he protested. “I just got some more people to speak to and then I should be done. Look I need to get the facts right here because if I am wrong he walks and gets away with it, they all do.” He listened for a moment as he headed towards his ‘office’ down the darkened corr
idor.

  He reached for the handle, but then suddenly he stopped because of something his editor had said.

  “What, what do you mean he escaped?” Edward asked. “No that can’t be. If he got out... Look, Chief, I have got a lead.” Edward turned and headed back towards the sitting room, the loud rants of his boss coming from the cell’s speaker.

  “Yes, I have proof. What? No it’s safe, sure it is, it’s—”

  An electric blue flash filled the hallway and Edward fell silent.

  The only noise was from Edward’s phone:

  “Ed, are you there? Ed? Ed?”

  TWELVE

  A patrol vehicle pulled up outside Edward Gibbs’s building. The officers inside were responding to a 911 call that dispatch had called through.

  They didn’t have many details, only the information that some newspaper reporter may be in distress. The sergeant got out and put on his hat, pulling down the peak so it nestled comfortably on his head.

  The other man came round and stood beside him. The pair were a training officer and his rookie.

  “Come on, kid, let’s find out what this is all about, shall we?” the older man said.

  They entered through the main doors and looked at the row of post boxes on the wall to find the right apartment.

  “There it is: 4b,” announced the sergeant. “Okay, kid, let’s go.” The veteran cop had a deep gruff voice. Venturing over the hallway they took the stairs to the fourth floor.

  The building was clean but still needed a little TLC to brighten it up. As they reached the fourth floor they were greeted by a short, dimly lit landing area that twisted round to accommodate the apartments. Number 4b was at the end on the left-hand side. They stood in front of the door and the sergeant just waited, letting the rookie do the knocking.

  The young cop clenched a fist so his knuckles went white and knocked loudly three times to make sure he was heard. The door opened slightly, causing them to move back. They both drew their weapons as instinct kicked in.

  “Police!” the sergeant yelled loudly through the narrow gap. “Is there anyone home?”

  They waited for a second before they made their move. The sergeant went in first, nudging the door with his boot. His handgun was held high and ready. “Don’t shoot me in the ass,” he told his colleague.

  The rookie nodded as they made their way in.

  The apartment was in darkness and an eerie silence hung in the air as though the city had held its breath just for this moment. Using their flashlights they began to sweep the room. The rookie cop could feel his heart start to pound in his chest as the adrenaline was starting to seep through his veins.

  “Why don’t we just switch the lights on?” the young cop asked, but he could feel himself answering his own question.

  “Okay room clear!” the sergeant announced. “We move down and clear the rooms as we go. Make sure your goddamn finger is on the guard and not on that trigger.” The sergeant had had several near misses because of rookies in bad situations, because some scenarios couldn’t be prepared for at the training academy.

  They had cleared the first bedroom and moved up to the bathroom. The subtle drip drip drip of water was coming from behind the closed door.

  The sergeant moved to the left side of the door and signalled for the other man to get to the other. The veteran cop was in his late forties, and years of too much fast food on the job had diminished his running speed.

  He stopped for a moment and relaxed to get his breathing right, as beads of sweat started to collect under his hat. The torches created a halo of dim light round the pair so hand and head movements could be used with ease.

  The rookie could make out the sergeant’s lip movement as he counted down from three. As he got to ‘one’ the sergeant swung his arm and hammered the door open. A piercing screech filled their ears as a cat came bolting out past the rookie.

  “Jesus!” yelled the sergeant, slamming his back against the wall in shock. The two of them started to laugh at the situation, but managed to contain themselves. Then the sergeant’s head tilted towards the last room, its door open and inviting. The laughing stopped and their hearts began to race once more.

  The rookie watched as the sergeant took ‘point’—the position of the person who goes first into a situation. He could hear every thump of his heart in his ears, and he hung back enough not to get in the way—just in case the sergeant had to back off quickly.

  Now the silence was becoming unbearable, and he felt like coughing just to shatter the emptiness. The sergeant stopped at the door and backed off slowly, and the young cop caught a sight of his boss’s contorted face as he turned round and moved back to the sitting room, taking out his radio and making a call.

  “Control, this is Mike four-twenty-one, yeah, hi, we need a CSU and the ME’s office down at that address you sent me to.” The young cop watched as the veteran shook his head as if trying to get the image out of his mind.

  Curiosity drew him towards the room, to find out what was so terrible. He could feel himself moving towards the door.

  “Don’t go in there, kid!” the older man instructed. “Just move back to the sitting room and we’ll wait for the techs to get here.”

  But the kid couldn’t resist and slowly turned the corner.

  At first, he saw nothing. So he moved the flashlight around until he found a desk and a chair.

  He found himself looking puzzled. What had spooked the veteran so much, he wondered? Then his light hit the large monitor and he saw the reflection. The flashlight hit the floor as the man ran for the bathroom.

  The veteran cop leaned his head back and breathed in a lungful of fresh air, but dared not close his eyes, for fear of re-seeing that image in the monitor that was now burnt into his brain. He heard the kid blowing his dinner into the toilet and shook his head.

  “I told you not to look.”

  It was late when McCall got the call on her smart phone. She had kicked off her boots and made some popcorn ready to enjoy a movie marathon.

  As her cell phone danced around the table with the vibrations of its ring, she just looked at first, almost not wanting to answer it. But its persistence became unbearable and she had to answer:

  “McCall.” Her tone was filled with disappointment. Her eyes fell on the bottle of red she had just uncorked, and she scowled as she waited for the inevitable.

  “We need you to come in.” The voice was that of the night-desk sergeant. He apologised for disturbing her and passed on the message he had gotten from the other shift.

  The roads were fairly quiet, but trying to find a parking space park near the scene was nigh on impossible. The street was narrow and made worse by the almost never-ending line of parked cars.

  Samantha McCall had to park almost a mile away, or so it felt. The night air was warm with a slight breeze that tickled her cheeks as it brushed past.

  She had no trouble finding the building: squad cars with their blue lights that illuminated the surrounding buildings, the ME’s van and the CSU four-by-four made the place stand out.

  As McCall passed the uniform at the main door, she showed her shield. The female officer nodded and then went back to watching the street for anyone trying to sneak in for a better look. Inside she followed the procession of uniforms and stopped at the fourth floor on seeing detectives doing the door-to-door.

  McCall headed for what she thought was the obvious doorway, with CSU teams getting suited up for the task ahead.

  As she entered the sitting room McCall looked round, taking in the decor of the journalist’s apartment. As her head turned, she stopped as she saw a familiar face and smiled.

  “Hey, Detective Bennett, you got me out of bed to work your case for you,” she called out.

  The detective stopped talking to one of his colleagues and turned to her with a large grin. “Hey, McCall, I figured you might like to watch in, see how the real cops do it for a change.”

  The two of them embraced like long-lost buddi
es.

  “It’s been too long, Sami,” her friend said. “I heard you got a couple of news flashes recently, very nice.” Bennett said smiling.

  She slapped him on the shoulder, still grinning. “Okay, so you didn’t bring me down in the middle of the night to reminisce. What’s going on?”

  Bennett’s face became grim. “This looks like the work of your killer. Gee, I’m sorry Sami, he’s struck again.”

  McCall finished gloving up and nodded, and then she pulled out her small camera and switched it on.

  “Okay, Carl, you lead.” She said.

  The tall blond-haired detective flicked his head in a come on motion and she followed him to that long hallway she had noticed when she’d first entered.

  Picture frames with news articles littered the walls. She took note of one and realised it was a kind of scrapbook of everything the journalist had done. McCall nodded in respect of his work, which spanned from war in Afghanistan to the lowdown on some guy crossing the world on a bike.

  Sam got her camera and her nerves ready. For her it was the unknown that was the worst part of this procedure. Not knowing what to expect, sure, she had seen some bad things—especially with the first case she and Steel had worked. But nothing ever prepares you for that first sight of a body.

  Once inside the room McCall saw the ME who took the other shift when Tina wasn’t on duty. His name was Fowler, a name which matched his attitude to anyone with a pulse. He was a heavy looking man with red hair and round glasses that seemed too small for his large head.

  “Hi, Doc. McCall’s here,” Bennett announced her arrival. The ME looked over and just grunted a friendly greeting—or as friendly as he knew how.

  “Hi there. We have one Edward Gibbs, forty-five years old. He was a journalist with the Herald.”

  McCall walked round the chair to get a better look at the victim. The man was sitting in the chair with his head back, looking towards the ceiling. He had been tied to the chair using cable ties on his wrists and ankles. His eyes were open wide with a panicked stare, and, just as with the first victim, his nose and mouth had been sewn shut.