Part 3 (2/2)

Commissioner Sheehan was sitting on a bench on the edge of the Corridor, a bench usually occupied by the smokers in the department. ”Trying to keep up with the bad guys,” Mooney said.

The commissioner pointed to the gun on his belt. ”This works pretty well for bad guys. And without all the sweating.”

”You taking up smoking?” Mooney asked. ”Or you just out here catching rays?”

”Have a seat, Wayne.”

”I'm okay.” Mooney stood where he was.

”I need a minute.”

”Clock's running.”

”I'm putting you back on Homicide.”

”This is what I remember. After I solved the Blood Bath case, it was you that s.h.i.+pped me out to Evidence Management, the Siberia of the Department.”

”Wayne, we've got eight dead college students. Two last night. Dolan might be p.i.s.sed with you, but he's not stupid.”

”What about Pratt?”

”He won't be heading up the investigation. Starting today. The Mayor's promoting him to Deputy.”

”A long time ago, when we both started on the job, you told me there are two kinds of people in this world, those that give a f.u.c.k and those that don't. We both know that Duncan Pratt doesn't give a f.u.c.k.” Mooney turned and started toward the building, the locker room and the peace of the shower. A place he could forget for just a few minutes how incompetence always got rewarded.

”Wayne?”

”Don't worry, Commissioner Sheehan. I'm on it. And I'll try not to embarra.s.s you or Mayor Dolan.”

CHAPTER 13.

Angel Alves sat alone in the anteroom at the medical examiner's office. He'd just finished up interviewing the Steadmans and the Kip-pings. In the two hours he'd spent with them, he'd had them ID photos of Courtney Steadman and Josh Kipping. He'd had to ask when they'd last talked with their kids and put together a list of their acquaintances. The victims appeared to be normal college kids with no known enemies, no bad habits. Before the interview, he'd had the parents sit with a victim witness advocate to talk about what would happen next, answer questions about the process, give them a Homicide Survivors pamphlet and welcome them to the club no parent wants to be a member of. office. He'd just finished up interviewing the Steadmans and the Kip-pings. In the two hours he'd spent with them, he'd had them ID photos of Courtney Steadman and Josh Kipping. He'd had to ask when they'd last talked with their kids and put together a list of their acquaintances. The victims appeared to be normal college kids with no known enemies, no bad habits. Before the interview, he'd had the parents sit with a victim witness advocate to talk about what would happen next, answer questions about the process, give them a Homicide Survivors pamphlet and welcome them to the club no parent wants to be a member of.

While he did that, he'd had to a.s.sign one of the district detectives to witness the autopsy of Josh Kipping.

Alves sank back in a corner chair, closing his eyes, the image of the two kids lying in the next room, their devastated parents, burned into his brain. He wasn't ready to head back into the autopsy room. He wasn't ready for any of this, especially the responsibility of catching another serial killer. He had never stopped thinking about the case three years ago that the press had dubbed the Blood Bath Killings. The surreal crime scenes, each of them the same, a bathtub filled with warm water and blood, like a suicide. The missing bodies, never recovered. The devastated families. There was no closure for any of them, especially with the killer, a man Alves had worked with, taking his own life before they could learn where he had dumped the bodies.

The BlackBerry on his hip vibrated, and he saw Wayne Mooney's number.

”What's up, Sarge?”

”What do you have? Did you get an ID from the parents?”

”I haven't even called Pratt yet.”

”No need to. I'm heading up the case again. Had a brief conversation with Commissioner Sheehan out in the parking lot at headquarters. We're all set.”

”You kidding me?”

”I'll update you later. Did you get a positive ID?”

”Steadman and Kipping. Parents just left. Parents spoke with their friends early this morning. I've got names. Say they were at the BC football game Sat.u.r.day night. Couple left the stadium after halftime. No one saw them after that.”

”What did Belsky say about cause of death?”

”Asphyxia. Steadman was strangled. No ligature marks, indicating manual strangulation. The marks from the wire were postmortem. They're trying to get fingerprints off her skin, a b.u.t.ton on the back of her dress, her shoes.”

”They won't have any luck,” Mooney said.

”Kipping was shot four times.” Alves stood up. He had to stay focused. ”Belsky found a bunch of internal perforations. They were small caliber bullets, but they had caused a lot of damage. Death was quick. Ma.s.sive internal hemorrhaging. They didn't have the clothes he was wearing when he was killed. No stippling. Belsky found tattooing on the skin. A bruise identical to a gun barrel. The killer put the gun up against Kipping and fired the shots into the same wound.”

”Anything on time of death?” Mooney asked.

”Belsky should be finished soon. He thinks they died within two hours of leaving the stadium. Stomach contents consistent with their halftime meal. Rigor just starting to dissipate at the scene. Belsky figured they'd been dead about twenty-four hours when I found them.”

”That's consistent with the victims in the old cases. He attacks quickly. It's not like he kills the guy and then has his way with the girl. That's not what he's about. It's all about the way he displays them after they're dead.”

”That's the other thing,” Alves said, pacing the small room. ”Belsky wasn't sure how long they'd been up there in the woods, but it had to have been more than a few hours. Their body temp had reached equilibrium with the outside temperature. But they hadn't been put in those poses until some time Sunday morning, at the earliest, probably after it was light out.”

”Why'd he think that?”

”They showed signs of lividity in the b.u.t.tocks, thighs and feet, as if they'd been sitting. We found the two of them standing.”

”So you think the guy had them sitting down after he killed them?”

”That's what Belsky thinks. He said that after the heart stops pumping, gravity causes the blood to pool up in different parts of the body, depending on the positioning of the corpse. Initially the discoloration caused by the pooling blood can be s.h.i.+fted, but after six to eight hours the discoloration is fixed.”

”I understand what lividity is, Angel,” Mooney grunted.

”I'm just telling you what the ME said. The bottom line is that they had been someplace else, sitting up, possibly dressed in their formal wear, before they were dumped in Franklin Park.”

”It's something to think about. He may have had them sitting upright in his car, strapped in with seatbelts, while he drove around trying to decide where to dump them.”

”I'm still not convinced as to how this all went down,” Alves said. ”Let's say he shoots Josh immediately. Why doesn't anyone see or hear it? And Courtney would have screamed. There were people everywhere. How could there be no witnesses?”

”They were drunk,” Mooney said. ”Maybe he tricked them into going someplace more secluded. He could have lured them into his vehicle. I could see them as good Samaritans,” Mooney said. ”If the guy pretends he's hurt, they walk right into his trap. Vintage Ted Bundy. He was a good looking guy, All American Boy. He'd wear a fake cast and pretend he needed help. Once the victim let her guard down, he'd attack.”

”What do you think he's driving to pull off a stunt like that?” Alves said. ”I'm picturing a van with tinted-out windows or a rusted-out old pickup with a cap. Every time I see something like that cruising around, I think 'serial killer.'”

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