Oliver Stark - 88 Killer

‘Not much for Ballistics to go on,’ said Eddie. ‘But I’ll give it a go.’

‘Did you find a cartridge?’ asked Dr Pense.

‘No,’ said Harper. ‘You find anything more?’

Laura shrugged. ‘We had samples taken; we did checks, but nothing to report, yet. I mean, we don’t know what we’re looking for, but his organs all look healthy. Apart from his septum.’

‘The coke?’

‘Yeah, signs of damage but it’s healed. I’d say he used to be a user, but not in the last year or so. I won’t know if there was any coke in his blood for another few hours. And another thing. We’ve got a lot of dirt under his nails.’

‘What kind?’

‘Petroleum-based with some black dye.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Boot polish.’

‘So he cleaned his shoes before he went out dancing,’ said Eddie.

‘He was wearing white sneakers,’ said Harper.

‘You got any theories?’ said Laura.

‘Maybe he cleaned the killer’s boots,’ said Denise from the far side of the room. ‘Punishment and containment. It wouldn’t surprise me if he humiliated and demeaned the victim first.’

Harper and Dr Pense turned. ‘Where did that come from, Denise?’

‘Deduction. If it’s not his boot polish, maybe this killer’s got some big-time subservience thing going on — a malignant narcissist, something like that.’

Harper and Levene caught each other’s eye. Harper sensed there was more that Denise could say, but he dropped it.

‘Could be a small-time dealer. Selling to his friends. Got mixed up with some bad boys,’ said Eddie.

‘Not the usual MO for a gangbanger, is it? They shoot and scatter like rats,’ said Harper.

‘We’ve also got slight abrasions to his knees, just surface scratches.’

‘Was he dragged across the floor?’

‘No. Not dragged. This was like he was kneeling. Fits with Denise’s idea that the killer made him polish his boots.’

‘Kneeling?’

‘At some point, before the torture and execution.’

The four of them stared down at the bloody carcass with the horrible possibilities reverberating in each of their thoughts. Harper gazed at Laura as the harshness of the word ‘execution’ hung in the air. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura, ‘but I don’t know what it is.’ She walked over to Capske’s body and swabbed the corpse’s chest until it was clear of blood. ‘There,’ she said.

‘What are they?’

‘Tiny needlemarks. Some have traces of ink, but the barbed wire has torn most of it to shreds.’

‘They look like they form a series of lines,’ said Harper.

‘Yeah, there’s a few more in the torn skin. Can’t reconstruct anything. What do you think?’

‘Tattoo,’ said Harper. ‘It looks like a home-made tattoo.’

‘There was also a card stuck to his chest.’

‘What?’

Laura Pense brought out a small rectangle of black card. ‘It’s got his name on it and the word Loyalty .’

‘Where was it?’

‘Inside his shirt.’

They looked at the card and then at Capske’s chest where a series of small pinpricks stretched across the skin — but the tears and puncture marks obscured them. The marks ran across his chest and each line was in a different direction. Some were straight, others curved slightly, some were horizontal, others vertical.

Harper took out his sketchpad and drew the marks. ‘It might be something important,’ he said. ‘Shame the barbed wire has ripped it all away.’

‘The marks were made with a fine-point needle,’ said Dr Pense. ‘The killer took his time doing that.’

Harper looked down at his sketchbook. The marks led left to right in a line and fell away to the right. All in all, there were about thirty-two tiny puncture marks. The others were lost in the torn skin. ‘Denise, you got any idea?’

‘Sociopathic not political. Maybe the killer thinks he’s fulfilling some political purpose, but this kind of behavior is compulsive. The need to mark the corpse, to torture, to execute.’

‘I agree,’ said Harper. ‘What about the word on the card?’

‘ Loyalty . It might give you a clue to the motive or it might be related to his conceptual framework, his ideology. He thinks this is purposeful, even necessary.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A typed card in black. Like an execution card, right? Like his target has been pre-ordained.’

‘Could it be from someone David betrayed?’

‘He might feel that David has betrayed him. I wouldn’t imagine that the betrayal is real. This is someone’s psychosis working things through on real people. It’s dangerous, Tom.’

‘These other marks, what do they mean? Just dots…’

Harper looked down at the pattern on the page in front of him.

‘What do you think it means?’ he asked, looking at Eddie and Denise. They stared hard and shrugged.

‘No idea,’ said Eddie. ‘If that helps.’

‘Thanks, Laura,’ said Harper. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

Dr Pense stood up and followed him out. ‘Can I take a look at your face?’

Harper stopped. ‘What for?’

‘How’s your sight?’

‘Right eye good. Left eye not so good.’

Laura pushed Harper through the double doors into her office. ‘Sit down. I want a closer look.’

‘What for?’

‘Because if I don’t, no one will, right?’

Harper sat down at her desk and waited. Laura scrubbed her hands in a sink by the side wall, brought a pen light and pulled his head back. She shone the light into his eye and held it there for a minute.

‘Feds are looking into it too,’ said Harper. ‘They want to know if it’s to do with Judge Capske’s ruling and the reaction from the Gun Lobby.’

‘Is it?’

‘I doubt it.’ He looked up. ‘What’s the damage?’

Laura clicked the pen light off and put it in her pocket. ‘I think you’re okay. Your eye’s responding well to the light. But you should get it looked at properly.’

‘I just did,’ said Harper, rising and offering his hand. She took it and they shook.

Hate Crime Task Force, Brooklyn

March 7, 7.03 p.m.

Denise stood outside the rundown precinct in Brooklyn that housed the Brooklyn Hate Crime Squad. Harper had squared things with the Lieutenant, a friendly cop called Phil Trigg. They’d talk to Dr Levene, give her some background and chase up the records of the four men accused of bias attack on the Goldenbergs. All she wanted was something to take back to Detectives Munroe and Gauge that indicated abduction or worse.

Harper went with Eddie to Ballistics. The mangled bullet was the only piece of physical evidence that came from the killer, so Harper wanted to know if there was anything in it. Time was ticking down fast.

Denise headed up to the fourth floor. She still had her Civilian NYPD ID card with her photograph against a blue background. She approached the tall gray-haired figure ahead of her. ‘Dr Levene,’ she said, and held out her hand.

Lieutenant Trigg shook it firmly. ‘Harper explained,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept one of the team back for you. Detective Carney’s the man you want to speak to. His knowledge of the area is second to none. He’s got every hate group mapped and tagged. It’s an impressive operation he runs.’

‘I appreciate this,’ said Denise.

‘We all got daughters, Doctor, so if this might help some poor guy, then we’re happy to assist.’ The Lieutenant pointed. Denise found herself looking at the back of Jack Carney. He was tall, athletic with broad shoulders.