Body of Lies

by Deirdre Savoy

  Zack parked his car where the uniformed officer stationed at the outer perimeter of the crime scene was directing and got out. A series of news vans had already set up camp a little bit behind him. Several other uniforms kept them from charging the scene. Good. After finally falling asleep somewhere around three in the morning, he’d been awakened less than a half hour later and told to come here. Despite what happened in her apartment earlier, he’d called Alex to see if she wanted to get a look at the scene, knowing she’d have a hard time getting in without a police escort. Either she’d slept through his call or she wasn’t there. It was the latter possibility that soured his mood, though where she went and what she did, now more than ever, was really no concern of his.

  He ducked under the yellow barrier tape that was tied to a chain-link fence, stretching to a street sign at the curb, then stretching lengthwise seemingly to infinity. His goal was the inner perimeter, the small delineated section of the street where a black station wagon, nearly identical to the one Ingrid Beltran had been found in, sat. The stretch of sidewalk between the two perimeters was lousy with uniforms, techs—all the usual suspects at a crime scene, plus a few brass, probably looking for an opportunity to press flesh with the media or whoever else might be around to gladhand.

  McKay was standing on the inside of the inner perimeter, his back to Zach. Zach hadn’t spoken much to the other man since their morning meeting a couple of days ago. Smitty had been happy to fill the higher-ups in on the turn their end of the investigation had taken, and Zach had been happy to let him do so. The less he said to McKay, the better, considering Zach disliked this guy for so many reasons that had nothing to do with his treatment of Alex.

  To Zach’s mind, McKay was hiding something—chiefly his reason for having such a hard-on for Thorpe. Every cop had the ability to develop tunnel vision when he thought he had the right suspect in his sights. But with McKay it seemed to be something different. From the beginning he’d focused on nothing else, not even something as rudimentary as discovering if any of the victims were linked. While Zach didn’t quite buy that Thorpe wasn’t involved, he was willing to keep his options open. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the one running the case.

  McKay turned around as Zach approached. McKay’s usual dour expression deepened. “Where’s your friend?”

  He didn’t doubt McKay referred to Alex, but he seemed to be implying Zach would have Alex with him since they were together to start with. Either he was fishing for information or he was looking for a punch in the mouth. Zach wouldn’t dignify his question by giving him either. “What have we got?”

  McKay shrugged, perhaps signaling he’d given up on that line of thought. “A break for a change. This one’s alive, though just barely.”

  As they spoke, McKay led the way around to the passenger side of the car. “And for a change,” McKay continued, “given the amount of blood the car seems to have been the crime scene as well.”

  A series of lights had been set up around the vehicle illuminating the interior of the car enough for blood to be visible on the passenger seats, the floor mats, even the dashboard. Now, that surprised him. Why would Thorpe or whoever resort to using a stolen vehicle to commit this type of crime unless his usual spot had become unavailable to him? Or maybe he was becoming more desperate or disturbed? A killing now was certainly off his usual pattern. With these types it usually took something to set them off, both initially and later on.

  In the beginning, a personal blow like a wife of girlfriend leaving, the loss of a job, or some other wrong might start a killer on his path. But no kill was ever as perfect or thrilling as imagined. The high of stalking and finding a victim often led to depression after the kill was made. That only started the cycle all over again.

  This killer, whoever he was, had gone off his pattern, both in the location of the killing and the duration between them. But the killer finally had the media’s attention, something he hadn’t aroused before. And there was another difference, too. This victim had been left alive. Had that been intentional or had the killer slipped up? With any luck she’d survive long enough to give them some of the answers they sought.

  “What hospital was she taken to?”

  “Jacobi. Trauma center.”

  That’s where Zach would head when he left here.

  “Detective Stone?” he heard someone shout.

  Zach turned in the direction of the voice. “Yes.”

  “There’s a woman here who says she needs to see you. Alex Waters.”

  So she finally roused herself from wherever she was and decided to show up. “Let her through.”

  He followed the officer’s departure until he reached where Alex stood waiting. The officer held the tape for her to duck under, then pointed in his direction. She walked toward him with confident, unhurried strides, but even when she reached him she didn’t look directly at him.

  “I got your call,” she said by way of a greeting. “What have you got?”

  “Same as before, it looks like. The victim had already been transported to the hospital before I got here, but from the information we have, she was done the same way—blows to the face, strangulation, and her right breast removed. But this time the vehicle appears to be the primary crime scene.”

  As he spoke, they walked around to the passenger side of the car. Alex nodded, pulling a pair of surgical gloves from her pocket and putting them on. “Can I borrow your flashlight?” she asked.

  He’d forgotten he still carried it until that moment. He offered it to her. She took it from him and turned it on, shining the beam on the passenger’s seat, starting at the headrest and moving downward.

  He wondered what she was thinking as she shifted the beam to examine other parts of the interior. For one thing, she didn’t seem the least disturbed by the amount of blood saturating the upholstery. He’d done some checking of his own and discovered she wasn’t a psychiatrist, an MD, but she held a PhD in forensic psychology from Adelphi University. Her consultation work on several grisly crimes explained the lack of squeamishness, he supposed. If anything, she seemed intent and curious.

  A moment later she took a step back and looked up at him. “Something isn’t right here.”

  Something about this scene bothered him, too, but he’d rather she give her take on what she saw before offering his. “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, the mirrors are intact. The rearview is smashed, but that could have happened during a struggle. Was that detail ever reported in the papers?”

  Honestly, he didn’t know. The smashed mirrors were what lead McKay to single out Thorpe in the first place—the similarity in crime scenes. But now he knew where she was going with this. “What else?”

  “The headrest.”

  She shone the flashlight on it. The rest was made of some porous material that had once been tan but was now soaked through with blood. “What about it?”

  “I’m just wondering how badly the girl was beaten. That’s an awful lot of blood and if it came from a face wound it would probably flow down the body, not back toward the headrest, unless maybe the seat was back. Otherwise I would think that would be more consistent with a wound to the back of the head.”

  He could see her point. “So maybe this one didn’t come as willingly as the others.”

  “Even so. A few of the girls had burn marks on their arms consistent with having a stun gun used on them. If that’s true, why would he need to resort to whacking one of his victims on the head?”

  That was another question for which he had no answer. “You don’t think the same guy who killed the other girls did this?”

  “Either that or something drastic has happened in this situation, something to push him further over the edge. Aside from being off his schedule, this scene is a mess. Sloppy. If nothing else, this killer has been meticulous so far. Your guys didn’t find so much as a fiber to link back to him. I’m sure crime scene will have a field day with this.”

  With any luck, Thorpe h
ad gotten sloppy and there would be some evidence here that would lead them to wherever he was hiding out. At worst, they had a copycat on their hands, one who might be as dangerous as Thorpe himself.

  “After you left, I did a little reading. I finished the printout on the Amazons.”

  That was the first mention she’d made of how they’d left things. “What did you find out?”

  “I was wondering what happened to them,” she continued. “Apparently their decline started when Heracles I killed Hippolyte, the queen of the Amazons. One of his labors was to retrieve her belt that had been a gift from Ares, the god of War. When she wouldn’t give it up, he ran her through with a sword and took it. Things went downhill for the Amazons from there.”

  Zach thought about it for a minute, wondering how that information might fit in with what they knew. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to have stabbed the women, then, if he imagines himself to be this Heracles?”

  “Maybe. What were they strangled with?”

  “Inconclusive, so far. Probably some sort of leather strap.”

  “Or a belt?”

  Zach shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “There’s something else. Heracles took the belt as one of the twelve labors that, if completed, would make him one of the gods, an immortal. How do humans become immortal these days?”

  “He wants his fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “More than that, I’m sure. How do you think he’ll feel if this isn’t his handiwork?”

  Zach didn’t want to contemplate that prospect too much. They already had a dangerous crazy on their hands. What that madman might do if shown up by someone of lesser talent he couldn’t begin to guess. With any luck, the girl, if she awoke, might be able to give some information that would help them one way or the other.

  “Where did they take the girl?” she asked.

  At least their thoughts on the case seemed to be flowing the same way. “Jacobi. I’m heading there in a few minutes.”

  “I’d like to go with you, if you don’t mind.”

  He didn’t. What he did mind was that she still hadn’t really looked at him. He didn’t really blame her for that, but it bothered him nonetheless. “Give me a minute, and then we’ll go.”

  He walked over to where McKay and the captain stood to relay what he and Alex had discussed. It didn’t surprise him to find that McKay was unconvinced that anyone besides Thorpe could have done this. The captain seemed a bit more open-minded.

  “You’ll be at the hospital when she wakes up?” the captain asked.

  He noticed the captain said “when,” not “if.” Zach wasn’t holding out that much hope, not after seeing the amount of blood in the car. If Alex was right about the head wound, that would be another thing to contend with. “I’m going there now.”

  “Is she going with you?” That came from McKay, who gestured toward Alex with his chin.

  Zach couldn’t tell if the captain had missed the venom in McKay’s voice, but Zach hadn’t. He plastered a fake smile to his face and said, “Yeah, I might need someone who knows what they’re doing once I get there.” Without another word he walked back to where Alex waited for him.

  The only indication that he noticed the two of them walking away was the slight smile he allowed to stretch across his face. Otherwise, he stood at the post he’d been assigned, his body rigid, simulating vigilance. Half the cops in the Bronx had turned up, some in uniform and some without, at the prospect of another hit by the Amazon Killer. Half the neighborhood had turned out, too. He’d been snagged for crowd control.

  He smiled remembering how he’d acquired the uniform. He hadn’t intended to kill its owner. That was The Mirror’s fault. He’d strangled him from behind, not wanting to soil the uniform, which he’d thought might come in handy one day. He’d been right again. No one had questioned the authenticity of the badge he had pinned to his chest or his right to be there.

  Even she’d walked right by him without noticing. Even now he imagined he still smelled her perfume—the delicate musk of arousal mixed with a good dose of fear. The arousal wasn’t his doing, not yet. That belonged to the other, but the fear was his. He inhaled, imagining her scent flowing into his nostrils, invading his lungs, circulating through his body until there wasn’t a pore, or vein or capillary, that wasn’t taken over by her. His body hardened as he thought about it.

  Maybe he should pay her a visit. He let the pleasure of that prospect wash through him for a moment before he tamped it down. There would be time for that, but later. She would come to him and then he’d know the time was right.

  The crowd shifted, reminded him of his supposed duty. A police tow truck had arrived to transport the vehicle to the police lab where it would be photographed again and every fiber, blood spatter, and hair would be analyzed. He wondered how long it would take them to figure it out or if she had already. He hadn’t seen it in her face or caught the whiff of it in whispered conversations, but soon he’d know. They’d lead him to the answer and then he’d strike.

  But for now it was over. He relaxed his rigid posture, then shook himself like a mongrel. He slipped through the shifting crowd until he emerged on the other side.

  A heavy voice called out from behind him. “Hey, kid, where do you think you’re going?”

  He glanced back over his shoulder to see the heavyset uniformed sergeant looking back at him. “Gotta water the plants,” he called back.

  The sergeant nodded and turned away, obviously disgusted with any officer who couldn’t hold his bladder better but unwilling to stop him.

  He turned away, heading left at the corner. All the noise, the flashing lights, the activity seemed to be swallowed up by the surrounding buildings so that none of it touched him here. He liked that. The car he’d boosted was less than a block away. He smiled to himself as he walked the rest of the way through the still, black night.

  Twelve

  “How are you doing over there?”

  At the sound of Zach’s voice, Alex turned her head in his direction. She’d spent the last five minutes of the ten-minute ride to Jacobi Hospital pretending to be fascinated by the view outside her window. In truth, she hadn’t known what to say to him, so she’d remained silent. While they were surrounded by others it had been easy, though she was sure he’d noticed she’d avoided eye contact with him. Now that they were alone, she needed to deal with how they’d left things. She’d been putting it off, part of the reason she’d declined a lift to the scene from him. That wasn’t like her. She’d learned the art of confrontation from a master.

  For a moment, she studied his profile. His posture and facial expression appeared relaxed, but she knew better. Underneath he was as driven and intense as he used to complain about his brother’s being; he was only able to camouflage it better. She knew he was worried about this case and that that girl neither of them knew would wake up to tell them something they could use.

  They were alike in that way. Devon had accused her of being able to hide behind a clinician’s detached pose, her own brand of mask. He hadn’t been wrong. That bit of emotional armor had served her well when everything fell apart. Yet, she’d lost it earlier that evening and shown him a vulnerability she hadn’t intended. Then she’d taken it out on him when he’d noticed. He deserved an explanation from her, even though she dreaded giving one.

  She exhaled slowly, turning her gaze to the road in front of her. “I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you before. I know why you did what you did. I’ve always known. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “You kept pushing. I pushed back. I know that for you, seeing each other is like some stroll down memory lane. I know how much you loved my father. But for me, it was one of the worst times of my life—a time I’d rather forget.”

  It was in her mind to add that his presence in her life had been the only thing that made it bearable, but that would defeat her purpose. She wanted distance from him. She wanted her safe
life back, the one she’d had before she walked into McKay’s conference room. She wanted the sleeping dog of the past to remain dormant, and it never would if she allowed him to keep poking at it.

  For good measure she added, “We knew each other once, briefly. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we are trying to do here or who we are today.”

  He said nothing for a long while, but she noticed his jaw tightened and his grip on the steering wheel clenched. Damn. She’d hurt him again, but hopefully it would be the last time. Maybe he’d back off for good.

  He turned onto Pelham Parkway. She could see the hospital from there. They’d need to head up to Williams-bridge Road to make a U-turn and double back on the other side of the road. The parking lot was tiny and under construction. They parked on the street at a broken meter.

  Once they were on the path leading to the emergency room, he said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  Alex swallowed. Was this what she’d reduced him to—feeling the need to check with her before speaking? “Go ahead.”

  “What were you looking for when I left you alone at the car?”

  She hadn’t expected that, but she’d take it. “I think I was getting paranoid for a moment there. I had the feeling someone was watching me. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone.”

  “You thought it might be Thorpe?”

  “I don’t know. As I said, I was just being paranoid. I’m sure your officers were briefed on Thorpe. His picture was all over the news. If he’d been there, I’m sure someone would have spotted him.”

  Zach shrugged, but she knew better than to interpret his nonchalance as not caring.

  Once inside, they were informed that the girl was still in surgery, that she had suffered a wound to the back of her head that had caused a blood clot and swelling. Being right about the girl’s condition didn’t offer Alex any solace. The doctor suggested they wait in the small doctors’ lounge across from the elevators on the surgical floor, though he left them little hope she’d be waking up any time soon.