Part 7 (1/2)
”There is always one to try our faith,” Randall said respectfully.
” 'But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ',” Mrs Genovese quoted. ”A snake in our garden, Mr Zerneck. A snake that was soon sent packing, I can a.s.sure you.”
”I don't doubt it,” Randall agreed, trying to hide his excitement. He knew that the police had nothing to go on as far as Lana Genovese was concerned. The PC outside had confirmed as much to Ramsey earlier in the week. ”Perhaps I should take this opportunity to expose the serpent before he tries to tempt another child?”
Mrs Genovese looked at him with a touch of hope in her eyes as her addled brain tried to find some slither of sense in her tragedy. ”Perhaps, if you think it would help save another lost soul?”
”Did you have a name for this boy?”
”It would help Lana's memory, wouldn't it?” Mrs Genovese asked with such sorrow that Randall felt his own conscience twitch, but he pushed on and ignored it.
”I think that she would like that,” he lied.
”Well I remember his name was Martin, I think...” She stopped to try and remember. ”They met at bible camp and he seemed like a pleasant boy at first, very respectful and spiritual, but soon Lana confided that he was starting to make her uncomfortable. My husband thought that he saw the boy hanging around on the street outside. The phone would ring sometimes and no one would be there. But it wasn't Lana's fault, you understand,” she insisted, worried for her daughter's reputation and Randall could see why she had left this part out to the police.
”How long ago was this?”
”Best part of a year at least, I'm sure,” she answered.
”What else can you tell me about him? Surname?”
”I'm sorry but he wasn't around long enough before my husband got rid of him.”
Randall's heart sank.
”Oh, wait a minute. There's a photo from the camp around here somewhere,” Mrs Genovese said, standing up too quickly and swaying. She walked quickly to a bureau and started to root amongst the framed images. ”Here it is,” she said and handed him the photograph.
Randall took the frame as she pointed the boy out. He was a skinny kid with a happy smiling face but no particularly distinguishable features, but it was a start and Randall believed that every great finished story had once started somewhere.
Danny pulled up at the picnic area crime scene to the surprise of Eileen Landing. The sergeant looked up, as he climbed out of his car, with concern on her face. He knew that her first fear would be that he was checking up on her or that she had done something wrong. He could see her expression ripple as her mind tried to piece together any mistakes. In reality Danny knew that despite her often shabby appearance her work was almost always impeccable.
”Something break, Boss?” she asked in a whisper as she sidled up to him.
”No, just wanted to check this out,” he said, looking over her shoulder.
”Just a run of the mill wrong place, wrong time,” she shrugged, clearly relieved. ”Guy pulls in either to use the public toilets for their intended purposes or something else,” she winked salaciously, ”and meets the wrong guy; maybe a mugger, maybe a gay basher - either way, he ends up dead.”
Danny wandered over to the toilet block that was now taped off with blue and white plastic. ”What do we know about Alan Holmes?” he asked, recalling the name from Landing's phone call last night.
”Not a whole lot, yet,” she answered, taking a shabby notepad from her pocket and flipping it open. ”42, divorced, and an IT Consultant.”
Danny thought about what Jane had told him, that this was the work of their killer, but also that no one else would see it.
He headed into the toilet block and his nose instantly wrinkled with displeasure at the aroma of stale urine and death. Dr Wendell Reese, the police surgeon, was finis.h.i.+ng up as he entered and the doctor bristled.
”Inspector,” Reese greeted him stiffly.
Since Danny had put the man in his place at Lana Genovese's crime scene, the surgeon had remained cold and aloof, or more aloof as the case may be. ”What have we got, Doc?”
”Just what it seems,” Reese said, removing his rubber gloves with a snap. ”Single stab wound to the neck enough blood here to prove that this was the kill site. I understand that his wallet is missing, so a mugging seems most likely and your forensic boys seem to think that this place is full of usable prints.”
”Thanks for your deductions, Doc, but just stick to the medical facts for now,” Danny said absently as he looked around at the body lying on the cracked tiled floor. He didn't hear Reese leave as his mind ticked over. The scene seemed perfect - cut and dried as far as its connection to the Crucifier case was concerned. The motive was the only variable factor; it was surely either a mugging gone too far or a hate crime made to look that way. It was only on TV that things were more complicated than they seemed. In his experience, if you found a body then you found enough evidence at the scene to round up the killer before lunch without breaking a sweat. But still he could hear Jane's words in the back of his mind. He could still picture the strange electricity in the air and the moment when her eyes had rolled back in her head.
He took in the scene and could feel no links to the new Crucifier killer. Nothing on the surface felt familiar and nothing about the murder was the same. There were no religious connotations, no posing or arranging of the body, no carved symbol and this was a male victim. Everything told him that it was either a hate crime or a mugging gone wrong. Everything, that was, except Jane's voice in the back of his head, a whisper that wouldn't hold its tongue.
He left the toilet block quickly, eager to taste the fresh summer air again. There was entirely too much death in his life right now and it was getting more and more difficult to keep a game face on. He had to lead his team and present a solid presence, but he was still just a man and not a machine.
”Whatdaya say, Boss?” Bryan Wilson said from behind.
Danny turned to the older man and for the umpteenth time shook an eternally wise head at the DC's career stall because of love. ”More importantly, what do you say, Bryan?”
”Looks like a neat little box with a bow on top, doesn't it?” Wilson replied thoughtfully.
”That give you pause?”
”Maybe, maybe not. I guess most times when you hear hooves it's because there really are horses.”
”But zebras really do exist, now don't they?” Danny said. ”However unlikely.”
”Oh s.h.i.+t,” Wilson suddenly said, as he turned towards an approaching car.
Danny followed the DC's eye line and saw the expensive luxury vehicle pull up. A police driver climbed out quickly and opened the rear door for Superintendant Chalmers to emerge. Danny let out a heavy sigh and motioned for Wilson to slip away - no reason for them both to suffer.
Chalmers never showed up at a crime scene, especially one that was supposed to be so open and shut. Danny waited for his boss to walk or, more accurately, strut like a peac.o.c.k - the short distance,.
”Inspector.” Chalmers nodded as he reached him.
”Sir.”
”I understand that we have got another death in our fair town, Danny. This is not good - not good at all. Eyes are on us, my boy, and they are watching.”
”Yes, Sir.”
”I understand that this particular case is unrelated?”
”I wouldn't know yet, Sir.”
”Oh, I think that we can safely make that a.s.sumption, Danny. The public need to be rea.s.sured that we are in control here and another headline grabber is not what we need, agreed?”
Danny only nodded. Chalmers was not looking for a conversation, and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't looking for anyone else's opinions. It made sense that there would be political pressure from up on high; he just hoped that it wouldn't get in the way.
”Well then. I shall leave you to your work, Inspector. Get this wrapped and written up today. And Danny? Just do what you do, only quicker.”
Danny waited until Chalmers was out of sight. If Wilson - an experienced detective - had his doubts, and the superintendant was convinced that there was no more here than met the eye, then Danny knew whose gut he trusted more.
He stood and tried to piece together the view around him. If he wanted to produce a textbook crime scene, how would he go about it? He used his knowledge of the law and forensic procedures to think like a killer, painting a canvas. Staging a mugging gone wrong was simple: take the wallet and kill, using only a single stab wound - one enough to cause death but without looking personal and frenzied. How to get the victim to stop here was another case entirely.