Part 14 (2/2)
”Aren't you in the middle of a trial?” Alves asked.
Alves was treating him like a punk DA, making him wait, greeting him with a sarcastic question first thing. ”Trial's over,” Connie said. ”A simple gun case, remember? Jury came back in ten minutes with a guilty. Angel, I'm out here because this case is important to me.”
Alves didn't say anything as he led Connie around a thicket of bushes, toward the glow of the klieg lights. The hill was lit up like a night game at Fenway. Connie stopped when he saw the girl. She was lovely, even in death. She reminded him of Andi, his ex-girlfriend, but without the long red hair. The victim was a brunette, like the others. ”Have they been moved?” Connie asked.
”Not yet. We've marked off everything that might have evidentiary value. Sarge had the ID unit take about a thousand pictures. Mooney wanted me to give you a walk-though before the ME takes the bodies. Eunice Curran and her crew are standing by to collect everything else.”
”Their poses are different from the last time,” Connie said. ”These two are having a picnic.”
”Yeah. A post-prom snack. He has them set up to make you think, next thing, the dress comes off.”
”You're wrong,” Connie said. ”Look at the scene. It's more like a romantic dinner. She's wearing a dress that will never come off. The killer doesn't want it to. He wants them in this position, at this moment in time, happy, before the relations.h.i.+p is consummated. Before everything goes to s.h.i.+t. He wants them to live happily ever after, like in fairy tales.”
Alves's face betrayed a range of emotions, pain among them. Connie had heard the rumors that Marcy Alves wasn't sleeping in the big bed anymore. ”You got all that from looking at this setup?” Alves seemed impressed, then doubtful. ”Creative, but it doesn't fit. Remember, he's re-creating prom night.”
”Who gave him the name Prom Night Killer? The media? The police? He's never called himself that.” Connie closed his eyes and imagined himself at the first crime scene. ”The first victims were coming from their prom, but our killer didn't know that. Male was in a tux. Female was in a fancy white dress. To him they could have looked like newlyweds going for a stroll in the park. Picture those miniature plastic figures, those wedding cake toppers. He's dressing the victims up as though they've just been married. That's why all the women are wearing white instead of the carnival of colors you'd normally see in prom dresses.”
Connie opened his eyes again to find that Alves was staring at him. He had to know that Connie could be right. Connie did not avoid his stare. ”What have you been holding back from me, Angel?”
”What are you talking about?” Alves asked.
”There's something else. Something related to Chinese culture. I saw the look you gave Mooney the other day at his place. You let him answer for you.”
”I can't tell you, Connie. Mooney will flip. He's kept this thing under wraps for ten years. Hardly anybody knows about it. It's one of the reasons we're convinced he's not a copycat.”
”I haven't held anything back from you, Angel. I can't help you if I don't know all the facts.”
Alves seemed to think over his options for a couple seconds. ”If I show you, it goes nowhere. You can't tell Mooney. If you come up with anything based on what I show you, you come to me. Then I'll relay it to Mooney as my idea. Got it?”
”I'm not looking for credit.”
Alves walked over to the girl and lifted the hair off the back of her neck.
Under the bright lights, stamped with black ink, Connie saw the familiar Yin-Yang symbol. The Tai-ji. It was upside down. The killer didn't know anything about Chinese culture. But he wanted the police to think think he did. he did.
Alves lowered her hair and stepped away from her. ”Mooney's coming.”
CHAPTER 54.
Money stood aside as the photographer took pictures of the tire tread in the mud on the corner of South and Bussey. tread in the mud on the corner of South and Bussey.
”I think we can get a decent mold,” Eunice Curran said.
”Good. I'll see you back on the hill.” He turned and followed the asphalt path, partly hidden in shadow, toward the opening ahead. The area looked so different at night. He remembered coming here on one of his first dates with Leslie. A warm spring day. It was Lilac Day, and Leslie thought it would be nice to go for a walk and have some bread and cheese outdoors near the little brook that ran through the woods.
Like his two unidentified victims on the hill.
That was a long time ago. Before he'd seen so much death. He and Leslie had stopped at the lilacs as they made their way through the maze of paths that wound through the trees. Peter's Hill and the rest of the Arboretum were maintained by Harvard University, she'd explained to him. The best kept park in the city, she'd said. The most beautiful jewel in the...
Mooney stopped. He was alone, not quite at the path at the base of the hill where most of the other units were gathering. One by one, and in order, he ticked off the murder sites. The Fens. The Riverway. Olmsted Park. Franklin Park. And now Peter's Hill, the Arnold Arboretum. It made perfect sense.
He picked up his pace. At the base of the hill, he stepped off the path and cut across the gra.s.s toward the scene the killer had left for them. He spotted Alves walking Connie through it.
When Mooney caught up with them, Alves said, ”Connie doesn't think the murders have anything to do with prom night. Thinks he dressed them up as newlyweds for their picnic in the park.”
”Interesting. 'Cause I don't think this has anything to do with a picnic in the park.” Mooney waved his hand at the victims. ”It's more like a picnic on the Emerald Necklace.”
”I don't get it,” Alves said.
”He's not familiar with Boston's history,” he said to Connie. ”This minute, we're standing on Peter's Hill, which is a part of the Arnold Arboretum. Which is-”
”One of the jewels in Olmsted's Emerald Necklace,” Connie interrupted.
Mooney nodded, then turned to Alves. ”You've never heard of Frederick Law Olmsted, have you?”
Connie began, ”Olmsted designed half of Central Park in New York City. Then he did the system of parks in Boston that runs from the Common to Franklin Park. Each one is a 'jewel' in what he called the Emerald Necklace. What kind of Bostonian are you?”
”I'm from Jamaica Plain,” Alves said.
”Most of the Necklace is in J.P.,” Mooney continued. ”The Arborway, the Arboretum, Jamaica Pond, Franklin Park-”
”Got it. I'll study up on my history of the Boston Parks tomorrow. How does this tie in?” Alves asked Mooney.
”The Boston Common and the Public Garden are the first two jewels in the necklace. Then you have the Commonwealth Mall, the gra.s.sy area that runs down the middle of Comm Ave. That leads right into the Back Bay Fens where Kelly Adams and Eric Flowers were found. Then you have the Riverway, which leads into Olmsted Park and the Jamaica Pond.”
”So the killer's taking us on a tour of the Emerald Necklace,” Connie said. ”But why?”
”Don't know yet. Maybe Adams's necklace gave him the idea to take us on a tour of his Emerald Necklace. Maybe he works for the Parks Department, a laborer, a supervisor.” Mooney paused. ”Or a park ranger. Someone with a badge who might be able to gain your trust.”
Mooney studied the two men in front of him on the dark hill. One of them was a student of Boston's history, the other was not. The killer was someone with knowledge beyond knowing that kids from Dorchester hated kids from Southie, and that kids from Southie hated kids from Charlestown. The killer was someone who understood Boston. Here, all along, they'd been thinking that the killer was giving them clues-the Tai-ji stamps and the fortunes. That was c.r.a.p. The real clues were much more subtle. The killer was challenging them on a level he didn't usually find in criminals.
CHAPTER 55.
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