Oliver Stark - 88 Killer

‘What did you find?’

‘A way in. I think there’s something here.’

‘Okay,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll help if I can, but I’ve got a big case just starting up.’

‘I know. I saw you on TV,’ she said. ‘What’s the deal?’

‘Put simply, David Capske got wrapped in barbed wire and shot. Everyone has it down as a political killing.’

‘But you don’t see it like that?’

‘No evidence. I know it’s nice and neat, and someone wants us to see it like that, but I see something that I’ve only ever seen with sadistic serial killers.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Someone who’s got no real ulterior motive. The kill is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing. Whoever killed Capske liked it. Liked it a lot and will do it again.’

‘Gratification killer?’

Harper raised his eyebrows.

‘You got a profiler working on this?’ said Denise.

‘Rookie that the Feds sent.’

‘Any good?’

‘Not good enough. We’ve only got twenty-four hours before Lafayette rolls over and the Feds come in and take over the investigation.’

‘I could take a look,’ she said. ‘Offer a comment.’

‘Tit for tat?’

‘One good deed deserves another…’

‘What do you want me to do on the missing girl?’ asked Harper.

‘I need some help getting access to the Hate Crime Unit.’

‘What do you need them for?’

‘A couple of months back, Abby was roughed up as she walked home. It’s all I’ve got. A group of four young men. Hate Crime found them and took them in for questioning but couldn’t make anything stick. A week later, there was a swastika painted on the Goldenbergs’ front door.’

‘You think it’s related?’

‘It’s the only evidence of anyone targeting the family and my profile suggests that if Abby was attacked, then it was someone who knew where she lived, knew her name and wanted to hurt her and her family.’

‘What are the guys called?’

‘Raymond Hicks, Patrick Ellery, Leo Lukanov, Thomas Ocksborough.’

Harper wrote down the names. ‘I know someone in Hate Crime. I can call him up, give you a good reference, get you some information.’

‘Thanks, Tom. It might help.’

‘And if you’re going to help me, you need to take a look at this victim.’

‘I suppose I’d have to.’

‘It’s not pretty. It’s a hell of a way back in to your day job.’

‘I’ll cope,’ said Denise. ‘Or at least I’ll give that impression.’

Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Manhattan

March 7, 6.36 p.m.

Harper waited for Eddie Kasper to find his way to the department parking lot. Eddie got in the front passenger seat and turned round: Denise Levene sat in the back of the sedan. Eddie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

‘Yeah, maybe, but I’m not one of your conquests.’

‘I wish,’ said Eddie, ‘but I don’t go for smart women, they see right through me.’

‘And see what? A good guy with a fine line in self-deprecation.’

‘Hey, Tom, she’s back, right? The mouth and everything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tom, ‘and everything.’

They drove by the city Medical Examiner’s office and caught up with Dr Laura Pense, the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner. Denise stood at the back of the small group as they entered. She wanted to be closest to the door if the panic attack started.

Harper turned to Levene. ‘This one is pretty bad, Denise. You sure you want to tag along?’ She nodded.

The two detectives and Denise Levene walked inside and trailed down familiar corridors. Dr Laura Pense was sitting in a small windowless office, writing up paperwork. Harper knocked and stood at the door.

‘Hey, Dr Pense, how are you?’

Laura Pense continued to hammer out something on her keyboard. ‘All good, here, Detective, how about you?’

‘He’s a fucking mess,’ said Eddie, ‘but you already know that, right?’

Laura turned and saw Harper’s face for the first time. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Were you assaulted or something?’

‘Or something,’ said Harper.

Laura Pense stood up, acknowledged Denise with a smile and then peered more closely at Harper’s face. ‘That’s pretty bad. Abrasions to the nose, lips, jaw, eyes. Deep tissue bruising. Potential fracture on the left cheek. Is that sore, there?’

‘I can’t feel it any more.’

‘He’s popping four painkillers every hour.’

Laura Pense raised her eyebrows in disapproval. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been boxing?’

‘You’re right, he wasn’t boxing,’ said Eddie. ‘No, you couldn’t call what he was doing anything more than giving someone target practice.’

‘You been checked out?’ said Laura.

‘This guy?’ said Eddie. ‘This is a Neanderthal, Doctor, a throw-back. You know, when men were men and pain was personal disgrace.’

‘Macho men!’ said Dr Pense. ‘God, the amount of big guys I’ve seen who have been brought down by a spot of blood. Intracranial hemorrhages, Harper — perhaps you can fix that yourself, too.’

‘Is that my report?’ said Harper, pointing at the computer screen.

‘Are you lead on the Capske case?’ asked Laura.

‘I’ve been given the honor. Blue Team are on the case.’

‘Well, I’m just signing off.’

‘Anything I should know?’

‘Sure, come through. You got to see this.’

Harper felt reluctance stir inside him. He didn’t feel too good already, but he followed Dr Pense through to the autopsy room. Eddie was even further behind with Denise.

Dr Pense put on a fresh pair of gloves and approached a gurney covered in a green sheet. She whipped it back like a magician.

The sight was not magical at all, but macabre and strange. The barbed-wire cage had been opened with wire cutters and each clawing strand of wire pulled back. It lay open like a metal ribcage or a huge barbed chrysalis. Beneath the barbed wire was a bloody carcass. The skin was punctured by hundreds of dark round holes and slits.

‘Some of the puncture wounds are straight, but many have torn and ripped the skin where the victim has struggled. They’re deep too, deep enough to get right through the skin. He lost a lot of blood. Practically bled to death.’

Harper and Kasper passed their eyes over the corpse.

‘It’s a vicious death,’ said Dr Pense. ‘I can’t be exact but he’s been left to bleed for an hour or more. Tortured, I should say. In incredible pain. He probably blacked out. Look at this.’ She tilted his head so that one eye could be seen. The eyeball was punctured in two places. ‘Every single inch is punctured. You can’t imagine. You really can’t imagine.’

‘So, we got anything to nail his killer?’

‘He was shot once in the forehead. Little black wound, right here. He must’ve been tight to the ground, the bullet went in through the skull, out, hit the ground, re-entered and mashed the brain like an electric whisk.’

They both looked at Laura. ‘Nice image.’

‘Sorry, I’ve been taking French cookery courses, you know, trying to keep alive.’

‘That’s nice. Did you find the bullet?’

‘Yeah, sleeping like a baby in the left frontal lobe.’ Laura picked up a little lump of metal with a pair of forceps and dropped it back into the tray with a jingle.

‘It’s not got much shape left,’ said Harper. ‘The wound is unusually small too. What’s the exit wound look like?’

‘Interesting that you should ask. Bullet left the skull here. Not a great piece of scalp knocked out. Looked like it zipped through.’

‘It’s unusual,’ said Harper. He lifted the bullet with the forceps and turned it under his eye. ‘There’s something about this that isn’t right. I want Ballistics to tell me what they can about this, Eddie. Can you get them to do it tonight?’