Nine Lives

by Kevin McManus

  Mayfield Street Precinct

  8:00 AM

  Callaghan and Logue were sitting in the conference room when Harper came barging in the door and threw a copy of the Boston Herald on the table.

  Alarmed, Callaghan looked up at Harper and sarcastically said, “And good morning to you too, Sam.”

  Harper glared at Callaghan with hard eyes and said, “Read the damn headline.”

  Callaghan looked down at the newspaper. There it was, written in big bold letters:

  “The Paean Killer” – Boston Serial Killer will strike again in 9 days.

  “What the fuck?” Logue roared, looking over Callaghan’s shoulder. “How the hell did the papers get a hold of the information?”

  “Are you asking me?” Harper said, pointing at himself.

  “This is a nightmare… this really screws our chances of nailing Keane now,” Callaghan said, covering her face with her hands.

  “Tell me something, I don’t know…” Harper didn’t get a chance to continue his response as the captain came barging in and looked at all of them. He pointed at Harper and said, “You. My office. Now!”

  “Yes, Captain.” Harper nodded.

  “Oh shit, the captain is pissed,” Callaghan said. “Somebody is going to get fried for this.”

  “That’s a pretty vibrant shade of red in his face all right,” Logue replied.

  “No, you don’t get it. When the captain stops using full sentences, it means someone’s ass in on the line and they’d better be prepared,” Callaghan responded.

  “That’s comforting to hear!”

  Suddenly, Woods came running towards the door. He paused at the threshold and then looked around the room. He breathed a sigh of relief and then said, “Thank God, Sam is not here.”

  He suddenly realized that he said the words out loud and looked guiltily at Callaghan and Logue. Having heard Woods’ prayer, Logue raised his eyebrows at him.

  Woods’ eyes darted around the room, afraid of making eye contact. He shuffled his feet as sweat ran down his face.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, would you just tell us now what you did!” Callaghan blared.

  Woods shuffled his feet again and said, “Well, you know the news that was printed in the Herald about our case, I might have accidentally leaked it.”

  There was dead silence in the room and then both Callaghan and Logue said in unison, “What?”

  “When you guys left me at the bar on Wednesday night, I might have left the case files behind when I was leaving an hour or so later.”

  “You what?” Callaghan asked.

  “I know, I know, I made a mistake, but it must have been Dale who leaked it to the Herald and they must have held it over until today. It was nice of them not to scare the crap out of their readers on Thanksgiving.”

  “Dale, the bar owner?” Logue asked.

  “Yeah, that son of a bitch. I’m gonna go over there now and whip his ass,” Woods said and punched the door.

  Callaghan stood up and said, “Woah, woah… easy there, Batman. What did you expect after leaving confidential documents at the bar? Leave him be, you have no proof it was him. If you left them on the counter anybody in the place could have grabbed them.”

  Wood’s shoulders slumped, and he slid into the chair at the end of the table. He hung his head in his hands and said, “What am I going to do? When Sam finds out about it, he’s going to kill me.”

  “What am I going to kill you for?” Harper said, entering the room.

  Woods looked up and said, “Nothing.”

  Callaghan stood up and walked towards Harper. The time called for a soothing voice and hand to restrain Harper, because his anger outbursts always ended in someone getting punched in the face. No one in the precinct argued with Harper because they were too afraid of being on his receiving end.

  “Why don’t you sit down and I will explain it to you. Seriously, it was an honest mistake, and anyone could have made it,” Callaghan said.

  Harper refused to budge. “I am perfectly okay where I am. Can someone please tell me, what is going on?”

  “All right. It was Woods’ fault that the news about the case got leaked,” Callaghan replied.

  Woods widened his eyes at Callaghan. “Really? You just blurted it out. What about preparing him for the news?”

  “Dude, ripping the Band-Aid off is way better than stretching it further. The fact will remain the same,” Callaghan explained.

  “Stop it,” Harper shouted and looked down at Woods, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “I had a hunch it was you. You get a couple of drinks in you and you even forget your mother’s name. You are one asshole, Woods,” Harper roared.

  “Let’s just leave it at that and figure out what kind of damage control we are looking at,” Callaghan said, as usual acting the peacemaker.

  Logue spoke up from his chair, “Let’s assume that Keane is the killer. Seeing this news, he will go into hiding.”

  Harper shook his head at that and said, “No, he won’t. He has been following the same pattern for thirty years and he’s not going to break his habits. It simply means that we need to double our efforts and put more surveillance on him.”

  “I’m on it,” Callaghan said as she took out her phone from her suit pocket and started dialing.

  “You.” Harper pointed at Woods. “You are lucky I am not pulling you off this case. Go and bring back that file from that prick Dale, if he still has it.”

  Woods jumped up out of his chair. “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, let’s see what the article says, I was that furious I couldn’t even read it when I first saw the headline,” Harper said, putting on a pair of glasses and reading aloud.

  “Believing that we are safe in our city is no longer true. A serial killer has been living amongst us for the past twenty years and we have been oblivious to the danger. Named as ‘The Paean Killer’, a middle-aged man has been killing people for a reason that has yet to be discovered. The killer has a special calling card which he delivers to the homes of his potential victim that contains the words from the poem called A Paean written by Edgar Allan Poe. A killer operating on such a level where the police have no clues about his whereabouts or identity is alarming news. The fact is that we need to be vigilant. The killer will strike again in nine days on December sixth. The question stands, what have the police discovered so far about the identity of The Paean Killer and what steps are they taking to protect us?”

  “That’s all we need, there will be panic on the streets now,” Callaghan interrupted.

  “Is there more?” Logue asked.

  “Yeah. I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” Harper said sarcastically.

  “The Herald was able to get their hands on major details regarding the case that will help Boston’s citizens to prepare themselves. The killer strikes twice a year on the third of June and the sixth of December. The last victim was Carissa Meyers, and her mutilated body was discovered in Franklin Park. The killer has already murdered five people in Boston from 1989 up until the third of June this year. Following the pattern, we have discovered that his next murder will take place on December sixth and that is just nine days away.”

  Callaghan interrupted Harper. “Please tell me that’s it.”

  “No. The article goes further into detail about how they are urging people to check their homes carefully for the killer’s calling card in the days leading up to December sixth. The good news is that the article does not mention Donal Keane’s name.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Callaghan sighed.

  Harper sat down in his chair and gave the two detectives his full attention.

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “The newspaper doesn’t mention Keane’s name. We can assume that he will go with his original plan and on the same timeline. He’s a perfectionist and he has to follow the pattern of the previous murders. We just keep him under tight surveillance,” Logue explained.
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  “What happens if we find out that Keane is not our serial killer and we are watching the wrong guy, what happens then?” Harper asked.

  Logue shrugged, unable to come up with a reply.

  “The good news is that we know the killer sends the letter a day before murdering his victim. If any person receives a letter they will call a police station immediately,” Callaghan said.

  “Right. We need to monitor all incoming calls carefully,” Harper said.

  “But what happens if a hundred cranks ring in saying that they discovered the killer’s calling card in their home. That will happen,” Logue interrupted.

  “Of course it will, that’s why we have to monitor all calls carefully,” Harper answered as he got up from his seat and walked around the room trying to formulate a plan.

  “Olivia, I want you to get in touch with local police stations and feed them anything you can to get their full cooperation for this case. I want you to get a team on this ASAP.”

  “Sure, Sam,” Olivia replied.

  Harper leaned over the conference table and stared at Logue as he drummed his fingers on the table top. After a few moments he said, “I think we should head on over to Keane’s house with a search warrant.”

  “A good plan, but will you be able to get a warrant from a judge at such short notice?” Logue asked.

  “Don’t worry. The captain is tight with Judge Swanson. They are old buddies and I am sure that Swanson would do anything for him. Let me go and ask Mike. Why don’t you get ready and we will head out in half an hour?”

  Logue observed Harper walking into the captain's office. The blinds hadn’t been closed, so Logue could clearly see the captain and Harper arguing. After fifteen minutes of heated conversation, Harper came out and gave a nod to Logue from across the hall. He came into the room two minutes later and handed the warrant to Logue.

  Surprised, Logue looked at Harper. “That was fast.”

  “Yeah, Judge Swanson just faxed over the documents, no questions asked. Right, lets head out,” Harper said and headed towards the door.

  ***

  By the time Harper, Logue and two uniformed officers reached Keane’s house in the affluent Bellevue Hill district in West Roxbury it was 8:55 am. They hoped to catch the professor before he left his residence.

  Harper knocked at the front door and an elderly woman opened it.

  “May I help you?”

  Harper flashed her his badge and said, “We are from the Mayfield Street Precinct and we have a search warrant for Professor Keane’s residence.”

  “If you would please wait, I will fetch Mr. Keane right away.”

  The woman closed the door in their faces and they all stood waiting. After a few minutes, the door opened again and Keane appeared, dressed casually in a navy polo shirt and cream slacks.

  “Hello, Detectives. My maid informs me that you have a search warrant. May I please see it?”

  Harper took out the envelope containing the warrant from his inside coat pocket and handed it over. The professor took his time opening the envelope and reading the document. When he looked up at Harper, he gave nothing away. He simply moved aside and gestured with his hand that they could proceed with their search.

  Logue hadn’t expected Keane to be this calm. He had hoped for a little drama and denial at the entrance, but this demeanor could mean only one thing. He had either wiped out all the evidence from the house or this was not the place from which he operated. He was sure at that point they wouldn’t find anything of use. Nevertheless, he followed Harper through the doorway and stood in the middle of the large hallway. The house was impressive, tastefully furnished and decorated. A flight of stairs spiraled up on to a balcony, which led to the second story of the house. Lecturing in Madison college must pay well, Logue thought.

  Harper gave instructions to the two uniformed officers to take the upstairs, while he gestured towards Logue to follow him to search the ground floor. As Harper quickly turned the handles to open the doors leading off the hallway he noticed that one was locked. He looked back at Keane, who was standing watching them from the centre of the hallway. “Please open this door, Professor.”

  Keane slowly walked towards Harper and took out a key from his trouser pocket. He unlocked the door and stood back. As the detective opened the door, he found himself in an office.

  “I keep this door locked because it is off limits to the staff. All my important documents are placed in here, and I don’t like when they get out of order.” Keane spoke from behind Harper’s back.

  “Thank you, now would you mind giving us a bit of time to have a look around? You can go ahead and do whatever you need to do. If we need you, I’ll let you know,” Harper said.

  “Certainly, Detective Harper, I will be in my library,” Keane said and crossed the hallway.

  ***

  By midday, Harper and Logue had realized that the search was futile. Every inch of the residence had been examined, every photo, every letter, every document, and nothing had turned up that could link Keane to the murders. Harper, Logue and the two officers stood in the centre of the hallway considering what to do next.

  “Upstairs is clean, Detective Harper,” Officer Morrison said.

  “I think we might as well go, we have done as much as we can and I’m starving… any good spot for lunch around here, Morrison?” Logue asked.

  After a few minutes, Keane came out of the library and stood in front of the team.

  “Are you satisfied now? This is the last time, Detectives, you will hassle me and walk unannounced inside my house.” He handed over a card to Harper and said, “This is my lawyer’s number. Next time, if you want to speak to me, you will have to go through him first.”

  The professor walked the group to the front door and opened it for them. As Keane was about to close the door, Harper turned and said, “Oh, as I said to you before, until this investigation is over…”

  “Yes, don’t leave this jurisdiction, you are so predictable… Good day, Detective,” Keane said and closed the door with an audible thud.

  Harper turned to Logue and said, “That didn’t get us anywhere. There wasn’t a single document that would have helped us connect him to any one of the victims. If he is hiding something he is hiding it extremely well. Maybe we are chasing the wrong man.”

  “Maybe.”

  Chapter 16: The Body of an American

  Sunday 6th December 2009

  Saint Anne’s Hospital, Boston

  5:30 AM

  Outside St Anne’s Hospital snow was following heavily when Frank Anderson finished his twelve hour night shift. He’d had a tough grind, as one of the deliveries for Roxanol hadn’t come through and his superiors had been gnawing at him all night about it. Frank called the company about the late delivery but all they had been able to tell him was that the packages were on their way. He was exhausted and now he was ready to just drop dead in his bed. He was forty-five years old now and the pressure was starting to kick in, but he couldn’t retire so early, not without a decent pension.

  He consoled himself with the thought that at least it was Sunday and he was off for the next two days. His twins were coming over later. He had missed too many weekends with his kids and now he felt like he hadn’t seen them in ages. His wife, Rose Ellen, had always nagged him that he worked too hard and that he never had any time for his family. He was always working or too exhausted to spend quality time with them. In the end, that was what drove them apart. It wasn’t a happy separation, but after a few months he realised that Rose Ellen was happier without him.

  The hospital was three miles away from Frank’s home and he usually preferred walking. However, this morning it was freezing, the drifting snow biting hard against his face and he wished he had brought his car. He stood and waited ten minutes for a cab but not one passed in his direction. Finally, he decided that he had no option but to walk on.

  The streets were empty. There wasn’t a single person on them. Everybody else was
tucked up in a warm and cosy bed, enjoying a snooze on a Sunday morning, Frank thought, Nobody in their right mind would be out in this weather.

  Up ahead, a shop sign lit with bright neon grabbed his attention with the promise of a hot coffee. He knew he would have to stock up with snacks for the afternoon when the two boys arrived. The twins liked to stuff their faces with junk food when they watched a movie, and this was DVD weather most definitely.

  Frank walked into the shop. The warm blast of heat was welcoming. He gave a nod to the kid standing behind the register, went to the back and pulled out two large bottles of soda from the fridge and found his way to the chips aisle where he grabbed three party packs of Cape Cod chips. At the register as the kid was taking out his change, he picked up a newspaper from the stand and started reading it.

  “Terrifying, isn’t it,” the kid said.

  “What?” Frank said, staring at the front page and sipping a warming coffee from a plastic cup.

  “The serial killer is meant to strike today.”

  “Sure, it’s scary, you can never be sure what creeps are living beside you.”

  “My uncle is a police officer and he heard that they are close to catching the killer.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They didn’t put in the paper because they were afraid people would start demanding answers.”

  Frank looked out the window of the shop and realised that it was in a deserted area. He looked at the kid and said, “You got protection?”

  “Yes, sir. Since the news broke out about the serial killer, my uncle demanded that Raul, the owner, keep a gun under the counter. My uncle even taught me how to shoot one.”

  “You any good at it?”

  “I am not allowed to use it until it is absolutely necessary, but yes, I have practiced a lot in the backyard with my uncle.”

  “Good kid,” Frank said, and swallowed the last of his coffee, throwing the container into a bin next to the counter.

  The kid handed over the change and Frank walked out of the shop. After walking for a few minutes, he came to the bus stop and sat on the bench. A bus was due in five minutes and he was about done walking. Right on time, the bus arrived, and he hopped on. As Frank paid his fare he looked around him. All the front seats were empty except for one person sitting at the back. His face was covered by a hoodie, his head pressed against the window as if he was sleeping.