Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

‘Crap,’ Bishop said. ‘Not a great sign. So are we going in or waiting for back-up? Dispatch said that this is a possible armed 10–62.’

Palmer’s eyebrows arched at his partner. ‘I’m not waiting.’

‘Going in it is, then,’ Bishop said, and quickly crossed herself.

They positioned themselves one on each side of the door. Palmer used his fingers to run down a silent count of three and slowly pushed the door until it was fully open.

With their weapons and flashlights drawn, they both took a deep breath and entered the house. Palmer swung right while Bishop went left.

The front door opened into a large anteroom with a teardrop crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a circular mirror on the wall to their right and two large vases flanking a double door a few paces in front of them. Not many places to hide.

‘Clear,’ Palmer announced.

‘Clear,’ Bishop replied.

The next room was an impressive entry foyer, with checkered black-and-white granite flooring and white wainscoting running along all the walls. Directly in front of them was a sumptuous turned staircase, leading up to the second floor. The opened double door to their right clearly led into a massive living-room area. To their left they saw another double door, this one shut. Just past the staircase, also on the left wall, there was a single wooden door that had been left a couple of inches ajar.

‘Shit,’ Bishop whispered. ‘What do we do now?’

Palmer allowed his stare to crawl around the foyer while he figured out their next move.

‘Maybe it would be best if we split up.’

‘What, really?’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Sticking together, that’s what. This is too much like one of those horror films.’

‘What? What horror film?’

‘Those where the girl cop dies first.’

‘Are you for real?’

Click. Click. A muffled noise echoed throughout the room.

‘Shhhh,’ Palmer said, his eyes like an owl’s. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Damn straight I did. Where did it come from?’

‘Not sure.’ He signaled for them to wait and listen.

Two seconds.

Four seconds.

Five seconds.

Click. Click. The sound came again and this time they both turned to face the single door along the left wall, just past the staircase.

‘I think it came from over there,’ Bishop said, nodding at the door.

‘Yeah, that was my impression as well.’

Being extra cautious, Officers Palmer and Bishop approached the door.

Click. Click. They heard it again, but it still sounded somewhat distant, which meant that it wasn’t coming from directly behind the door.

Palmer first brought a finger to his lips, then reached out and very slowly pushed the door open, hoping to God that the hinges wouldn’t creak.

They didn’t, but it didn’t matter. There was no one there. Instead the door got them to a concrete staircase that led down to the house’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs there was a second door, also a couple of inches ajar, but this time there was light coming from behind it.

Palmer signaled Bishop that they should go down together. He would go first.

Bishop agreed with a head nod.

They took the steps down one by one and very carefully. As they finally reached the second door, Bishop could swear her heart was about to explode out of her chest.

They heard a new noise come from behind the door. This time it sounded like movement.

Palmer signaled his partner one more time. The message was for Bishop to get ready. He would push the door open, but he wouldn’t do it slowly like before. The move would be fast and sudden with the intention to catch by surprise whoever was behind the door.

Once again, Bishop indicated her understanding with a head gesture.

Up came the three-finger silent countdown one more time.

Three...

Two...

One.

With a drag that seemed to last an eternity, Adrian Kennedy lit his second cigarette from the first.

Hunter waited.

‘I knew it would be hard to get it past you, old buddy,’ Kennedy said, as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. ‘But even I wasn’t expecting you to figure it out so quickly. So what gave it away?’

‘You, Adrian,’ Hunter replied. ‘You gave it away.’

‘Really? When?’

‘The first time,’ Hunter explained. ‘When I flipped through Kristine Rivers’ investigation file upstairs.’

Kennedy questioned with a stare.

‘It said that you attended the crime scene.’

The stare was still there.

‘C’mon, Adrian, I know you, and I know how the NCAVC works. You won’t travel anywhere unless it’s absolutely mandatory. Most of the NCAVC’s operations are coordinated either from your office in Quantico or the one in DC; there’s rarely a need for you to become field active.’

Kennedy watched the smoke curl up in the air as it left the tip of his cigarette. He looked like he was enjoying Hunter’s assessment.

‘Sure,’ Hunter continued, ‘this killer’s first murder was intriguing, but not enough to get the NCAVC’s director so worked up about it that he had to attend the scene himself. There was nothing there you hadn’t seen before, Adrian — a killer who takes body parts from his victims? A killer who carves messages into his victims’ flesh? A killer who likes to position his victims in a specific way? The Bureau’s archives back in Quantico are littered with similar cases.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘No, there had to have been some other reason why you went to Detroit and so fast. Don’t tell me Detroit PD requested the FBI’s help, because I know they didn’t. Not within just a few hours of the body being discovered.’

‘I see your logic, Robert,’ Kennedy said. ‘And it makes total sense, but the reason we turned up in Detroit doesn’t necessarily have to be linked to the victim. It could be linked to the killer.’

‘That was actually my first thought,’ Hunter admitted. ‘A dormant killer. Someone who the NCAVC were already looking for. A killer who perhaps had gone into a long cool-off period and had finally decided to resurface. But that still wouldn’t completely justify your presence at the crime scene. Then your body language gave it away again.’

Kennedy looked a little surprised. ‘Did it? When?’

‘When Kristine Rivers’ crime-scene photographs were displayed,’ Hunter explained. ‘Your composure wavered fractionally and your eyes averted from the images. The more we talked about her, the more fidgety you got.’

Kennedy looked like he was trying to recall the moment.

‘Then, just a while later,’ Hunter added, ‘I asked if she’d been sexually assaulted. Agent Fisher exchanged a flash look with you before responding, and immediately after that you reciprocated the question, this time concerning the LA victim. There was more than just apprehension in your voice, Adrian. There was pain. After I told you that the killer didn’t touch Linda Parker in that way either, the pain in your voice turned into relief.’ Hunter paused, studying the NCAVC director.

Kennedy held steady.

‘Pain for Miss Rivers’ death and relief for the fact that she hadn’t been sexually assaulted.’

Another pause.

Again Kennedy kept his poker face.

‘I know you well enough to know that you never allow yourself to get involved, Adrian. Add to that the fact that you referred to the victim by her first name at least a couple of times and something here isn’t quite right. Rule number one of the NCAVC when working brutal serial-murder cases: never let it get personal, never get emotionally attached to anything or anyone, especially the victims.’