by Hugh Macnab
They each update the room about the particular Jon Smith they’ve met with. They haven’t found any obvious reasons they might be the targets, other than a feeling Dene got from the guy he talked with. He was left thinking that the guy had come in expecting a different conversation. He was twitchy and nervous throughout their conversation, and Dene didn’t think it was because of the Serial-killer’s list. We label him JS1.
We spend the next few hours wading through the homicide files, looking for reasons why these particular victims are being chosen, or any thing else that might tie all of the cases together.
It’s near five when we finish and start discussing what we’ve learned.
All cases are knife attacks, expertly and accurately executed. None targeted the femoral artery. All lethal at the scene. No witnesses. No DNA. No suspects. All single men. Only the two on the sexual offenses register. No criminal records for the rest. All died in their homes. All lived alone. All in their twenties. No pattern in their employment.
We’re clearly no closer to understanding anything, and frustrated. We decide to go back and review the goals we set.
1 Find and protect. This has translated into find and warn. We don’t have the budget to protect all of these individuals.
2 Establish contact with all other Counties involved. Done.
3 Discover how people are being targeted.
At this one, I suggest we need to be more specific. It looks like the killer already had all of the names on her list when she started up in Tallahassee, when she was twelve or thirteen. So we need to understand why these people were targeted - not through current eyes, but six years ago? Everyone agrees with that. After that we carry on with the priorities.
4 Look for patterns across the killings. All we can agree is that she’s an expert at killing with a knife. Kathy asks if that makes her the most likely suspect in the killing of Pamela Wilson, and in the nascence of anyone else as yet, it’s hard not to agree. Still, it’s another thing that doesn’t fit. The video was taken three years ago when she was only half way through killing the first six people. Why would she then suddenly come back and kill Pamela Wilson? Nobody has any suggestions for that.
5 Establish why these particular people?
6 A further review of evidence from Pamela Wilson’s home including the videos. I asked Dene to do this.
7 Find out if Pamela Wilson had an assistant. Jamie offers to take that one.
8 Need for a psych profile for the killer. Kathy said she will arrange for copies of all the homicide files to be sent up to Luisa del Roy. I offer to follow up afterwards.
After this we all agree that if we have any spare time between individual assignments, we’ll spend it trying to figure out why these people are being chosen. It feels like if we understand that, everything else will fall into place.
I explain to everyone that I’m going to be busy the following morning with Mark Jason’s gym-buddies, but will still be in the building if they need me. Then, I head out of there.
Rather than take a cab - it’s dark outside but an ideal temperature - I decide to walk home. I want to pick up a couple of my favorite kebabs on the way. The night air will clear my mind and give me a chance to think.
I try using the insights Luisa del Roy has given me to put myself into the shoes of a twelve-year old girl who has perhaps been repeatedly abused from God alone knows how young, by one or more people she should have been able to trust. That’s a tough ask. I have no idea how she might feel. She was just a kid. Maybe she was taken into care? Maybe she couldn’t trust anyone, and who would blame her? Did she run away? Live on the streets? How did she eat? Where did she sleep?
Somehow against all odds, she survived. Full marks to her. I don’t think I could have come through something like that. Of course, she didn’t exactly come through the experience undamaged. She came through seeking revenge.
That makes me wonder, who she would want to take revenge on? The obvious answer would be the people who were abusing her. So, was the first victim her abuser?
Excited with the thought, I try to go through the file for the Tallahassee vic in my mind. If he was abusing her, it was likely that he had been for some time, perhaps years. Then, suddenly, she snapped and stabbed him to death?
No way. It didn’t happen like that. All the victims were carefully targeted. My recollection of the Tallahassee case is the victim died from a severed carotid artery. Everything was planned with precision. If he had been a relative, she would have been found and forensically examined, which she wasn’t. He must have been a stranger. But not just any stranger. A particular stranger.
I arrive at the kebab shop, buy two, then remember Trace waiting at home and order two more. Ten minutes and six flights of stairs later, I arrive home. Trace is in my beanbag watching tv. We say hi, and I put the kebabs straight into the oven, before changing into sweats and the Blades shirt, feeling strangely uncomfortable that someone else is in the room with me as I’m doing this.
When I’m ready, I make a simple salad. Tossed greens with a little vinaigrette, and Trace and I sit side-by-side enjoying the meal. She tells me how she bought a sandwich from the back of a deli for a dollar-fifty for lunch, and still has eighteen dollars, fifty of my cash left. I tell her that is impressive, and actually mean it. She’s survived a day on a dollar-fifty.
Trace asks my how my day has gone. She already knows I’m a detective, but not that I’m with homicide. When she finds out, she’s impressed and full of questions. At first I’m reluctant to talk with her about work, but she has a sharp mind and while not giving too much of the case away, I do begin to use her to help think through some of the things still worrying me.
Her knowing how to buy food from the rear of a deli has already given me an idea for how the serial-killer I’m looking for might have found one of her victims. If she was living off the streets the same way as Trace, maybe that’s how she met him. Someone who worked in the kitchen of a small 24/7 dinette. Some kind of sous-chef. Maybe he gave her food? Felt sorry for her. Took her home?
No. That doesn’t make sense. She’s looking for revenge, not just to kill some poor guy who’s trying to help her. It has to be more personal. Maybe he takes her home and tries to assault her? Bringing back all kinds of bad memories. So she lashes out?
No to that one either. None of the killings are random. They’re carefully planned in advance, as is her escape.
Trace nudges me out of my musings by asking what I’m thinking of doing.
I assume she’s talking about my case, but she isn’t. She’s talking about what I’m intending to do about her. After I figure that out, I tell her I honestly haven’t had any time to think about it, but until I have she’s welcome to stay. She laughs and tells me I can take as long as I like. No problem.
As I laugh with her, I realize that this apartment has never heard the sound of laughter before other than during MASH. I suppose when people live on their own, they don’t go around laughing at their own humor. But this is a nice feeling. It makes the apartment somehow feel more like a home rather than just somewhere to be.
When we finish eating, I introduce Trace to MASH. She gets the program immediately, and we share more laughs as Hawkeye, Hunnicutt, Frank Burns and company work their magic while saving lives.
Later, with Trace back in her sleeping bag, I lay in bed wondering once again about my other young girl and just how she has become a serial killer? She’s meticulous in planning everything. Was she just born that way I wonder? Even if so, she wasn’t born with the knowledge of the most efficient ways to kill people. She had to find that out somewhere and it was hardly likely to have been at school.
There was another thought. Something that having talked with Trace about education helped me consider. Was this young fledging killer at school in Tallahassee? We could check the year books for the couple of years she would have been there around the age of twelve. I immediately text the thought to the team. Someone will pick it up in the morning.
For now, I need sleep. With Xavier Rivera and Tyrone Ross coming in, tomorrow’s going to be a good day.
I don’t need the bones to tell me that.
31
The six am choice for the day is Elvis singing ‘Jailhouse rock’. It’s a song I’ve always liked, from a period of his music I like the best. I’ve deliberately preset the volume to the minimum so as not to disturb Trace, and that works. She’s still sleeping like a lamb.
Today, the music just suits what I think is going to happen to Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, Mark Jason’s gym-buddies. They’re going away, and I’m going to make sure of it.
The action is due to start at ten, so I’ve time for a run and breakfast at EJ’s. I know Trace still has cash left from the previous day, but I leave a five on the breakfast bar, anyway.
When I arrive at EJ’s, I’m feeling so guilty about the size of my tab; I pay it off using some of the cash papa has given me for the Honda. The Honda I don’t have. It’s pay-day in two days’ time, so I can top-up the car fund again then.
An hour later, after a shower in the locker room, I’m heading upstairs when my cell rings and I answer it to find it’s Arnie Collins, the Medical Examiner. He wants to catch me before the day starts. Clever guy. He knows life usually goes to hell when we reach our desks. Until then, we’re available.
I turn, and go down to his office. I find him waiting and take a seat he indicates, facing him. The last time I was here, he explained the experimentation that had been taking place at the Project - and with my cousin. Hopefully, today’s conversation won’t be like that.
‘Good morning, detective.’
I nod. I don’t communicate too well first thing. I have to wind up gradually. I’ve no idea why he wants to see me.
‘Pamela Wilson. One of your cases, I believe?’
‘Sure, you know that Arnie.’
‘Well, do you remember when we discussed whether she had ever had a child?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘I explained that normally it is easy to tell because of stretch marks, or scarring from vaginal tears, or from an enlarged cervix.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘Patience, detective. An exception would be if the birth occurred when the mother was very young. Much of the evidence would not be visible all these years later.’
‘Are you going somewhere with this, Arnie?’
‘I wasn’t sure with your Pamela Wilson, and I don’t like being unsure about details as you know, so I ran an extra test.’
‘Which test it that?’
‘I checked for micro-chimerisms in her blood.’
‘Micro what?’
‘A micro-chimerism is the occurrence of small populations of cells with a different genetic background.’
‘Okay, Arnie. Now you’ve got me interested. But you need to explain what you’re talking about. Pretend I know nothing about micro-chimerisms.’
Arnie smiles. I don’t think he believes I’m pretending.
‘During pregnancy, fetal cells enter the maternal circulation and maternal cells enter the fetal circulation. This happens as early as seven weeks of gestation and remains detectable in maternal blood for decades afterwards.’
‘So, if someone has been pregnant, they’ll have some of these alien DNA cells in their blood?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, had Pamela Wilson been pregnant?’
‘Yes, detective. In fact, it’s all been very interesting, really. I believe your victim had twins. Most likely as a naïve teenager.’
‘Twins? Not two children?’
‘No. These alien cells, as you call them, deteriorate with time. So, by studying the micro-chimerism density of each, I can say with ninety percent probability that they were both born at the same time.’
‘Can you tell the sexes?’
‘Yes, by studying the makeup of X and Y chromosomes, I would say she had a child of each sex.’
‘Boy and a girl. Thanks, Arnie. Nice work.’
‘But there’s something else I need to remind you, detective. This woman was a long-term heavy user of cocaine. If she was already a steady user in her early teens, I think it’s more than likely that this would have affected her children and that when they were born, they may have been seriously physically or mentally impaired.’
‘Shit.’
‘Quite, detective. One aspect drug-abuse youngsters don’t think about. Too busy getting high and having fun.’
On the way upstairs, I’m trying to get my head around this additional information, but I’m not thinking about Pamela Wilson. I’m thinking about myself and Bossy-boots.
Does this mean that her micro-chimerisms are still in my blood? I was past seven weeks when I had the termination. It doesn’t seem now like I can ever get away from what I’ve done. Maybe not for decades, according to Arnie.
I need a strong coffee to deal with this recent information, so go straight to the rec area. I stand there and drink a whole cup. I think I’m in shock, vaguely aware of people coming and going, mumbling to me.
Armed with a second cup, I make it to my cubicle without running into anyone and sit, still struggling to get my head into this morning’s game. I have two bad guys to nail. I need to focus.
I check the overnight reports, then pull the file I’ve prepared for the morning’s interview with Rivera and Ross, and head to the small interview rooms at reception where I will meet the ADA.
I’m still thinking about tiny bits of my unborn child swimming around in my bloodstream when I enter the room and stop dead in my tracks. Sitting at the small table sipping a coffee is the District Attorney himself, Cliff Bodie. Bossy-boot’s father.
I’m speechless. He gives one of those quirky smiles. My insides flip. Fuck, he’s still got it, whatever it is.
‘The lengths I go to to see you, Sammy Greyfox,’ he smiles.
I sit, still not trusting myself to say anything.
‘You know I called dozens of times over the past nine months? And came round to your apartment at least twice?’
I nod. Still no idea what to say.
‘I’m guessing I’m not a father?’
Now that could have sounded like an accusation, but it didn’t. He said it in fun.
‘Guess not,’ I manage. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Thought I’d get my hands dirty. Deal with a proper case rather than the politics that seem to take up most of my time these days.’
‘But why this case?’
‘Don’t you remember how we first met, Sammy?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You landed that cop-killer case eighteen months ago and solved it. Now, here we are again, another cop-killer case, so it seemed appropriate, that’s all.’
‘But this isn’t about the killing of Mark Jason. It’s about bringing two guys to justice for assaulting a woman who is now dead and unable to defend herself.’
‘I’ve read the file. Like your proposed approach. Would love to help.’
Flustered, my mind trying to figure out the chances of finding that Bossy-boots was still circulating inside me, with meeting her father on the same day. I feel like I’m receiving a cosmic message.
I fumble with my carefully prepared details, completely thrown off track. The duty sergeant knocks on the door and tells me he has provided drinks to both guys, and shown them into separate meeting rooms.
It’s time to go. I’ve no choice.
32
I reckon I’ll go a first round with the accountant rather than the boxer. So Cliff and I enter one of the small interview rooms and sit opposite Xavier Rivera and his attorney. It’s the attorney who speaks first.
‘I want to point out detective, that my client is here purely voluntarily to help you with your enquiries, and as you have not charged him, we are free to end this meeting at any point.’
‘Good morning to you to,’ I reply. ‘I’m Detective Greyfox and this is the District Attorney, Cliff Brodie. And you ar
e?’
‘James Delaney, attorney for Mister Rivera.’
I turn to Xavier and thank him for his co-operation, telling him we have a few questions he can probably clear up quickly for us. He nods his agreement.
I remove a photo of Pamela Wilson from my folder and place it on the table in front of him.
‘Can I ask if you know this woman?’
‘I know a lot of women. Not sure about this one though. Maybe?’
I take the picture and lay it to one side.
‘Fair enough. Let me see if I can improve your memory. I would like you to go back to two nights before someone stabbed Detective Mark Jason to death.’ I formalize Mark’s role, rather than ID him as a friend. I also want to mention the stabbing. Keep up the tension I can detect on Xavier’s face.
‘At around eight-thirty, you were drinking in the All American Sports Bar with your friend Tyrone Ross and Detective Jason. Is that true?’
‘I’m not sure. We go there regularly. I don’t remember if I was there that particular night.’