Once Shadows Fall (17 page)

J
ack returned to his office and occupied himself by searching VICAP, the FBI’s computer database, for crimes with similar patterns while Beth was tied up with the lieutenant. He stayed at it for nearly an hour and came up with nothing.

The result didn’t surprise him. Getting a hit would have. Sometimes knowing which road not to take was as valuable as picking the right one. Certainly the killer had initially followed in Howard Pell’s footsteps. Pell unfortunately wasn’t unique. Even he had a model, which Jack had learned during the original Scarecrow investigation.

Jack was working through the bones of his theory when he saw Beth exit Lieutenant Fancher’s office. The tension in her face was apparent.

“Everything all right?” Jack asked.

Beth shrugged. “Fancher’s getting pressure from up on seven. She’s under the gun, which means I am, too. She asked if I felt up to the challenge.”

“She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words, but the message was clear enough.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” Jack said.

“I screwed up with Merkle,” Beth said. “That doesn’t sit well with the bosses. If the press finds out, it’ll only make matters worse.”

“Pulling him in for testing was the right call.”

“You didn’t think he did it.”

“Well, I’m skeptical by nature.”

“You think I jumped the gun?” Beth said.

Jack let several seconds pass before he responded. “You were in my class the day I said that you have very little chance of getting at the truth if you know in advance what the truth ought to be.”

“I remember,” Beth said. “You think that’s what I was doing?”

“Somewhat.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because Merkle’s right handed. When we interviewed Donna Camp, she told us the killer used his left hand to apply mortar to the wall he was building. He also hit her using his left.”

Beth’s jaw dropped slightly. “You knew and you let me proceed. That’s pretty low even for the FBI, Kale.”

“I’m APD now. How do you feel about Chinese?”

“The people or the food?”

Jack smiled. “The food.”

“Love it. Lemon chicken’s my favorite.”

“How about Albert Lemon?”

Beth blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Make yourself comfortable, Detective. I’ll order in and explain over a working dinner.”

When the food arrived, they went to the conference room and spread out the containers. Beth located some plates in the kitchen. She got her lemon chicken. Jack had ordered shrimp and lobster sauce, which Beth felt free to sample while they talked.

“When I saw the bodies being taken out of Underground Atlanta,” Jack said, “I began to realize something was going on as far as the killer is concerned. We’re not dealing with a pure copycat as I’ve said. It may have started that way, but the killer isn’t following Pell’s pattern any longer. Close, but definitely not the same.”

“No missing finger this time,” Beth pointed out.

“Exactly.”

“And wrapping Donna Camp up. That didn’t happen with any of Pell’s other victims. Maybe this one is trying to put his own stamp on things.”

“I think that’s precisely what he’s doing. He’s also taking pieces from another serial killer named Albert Lemon, who lived here during the early part of the last century. Lemon was an archaeologist who went haywire. From the articles I read about him years ago, his specialty was early Middle Eastern cultures like the Babylonians and Assyrians.”

Jack went on to give her the details he’d been able to pull out of the old newspaper stories regarding Lemon’s killing spree. By all accounts, it was even more prolific than Howard Pell’s reign of terror.

“So we’re looking for what? A museum director?” Beth asked.

“Not necessarily, but perhaps someone who may have an interest in Egyptology and mummies.”

Beth shook her head and took another shrimp off Jack’s plate. “It’s great you remember this stuff.”

“Some I remember, some I’m learning, just like you.”

“I’m not sure the next victim can afford to wait until I’m up to speed, Jack. I doubt the bosses will wait either. I was telling my dad that earlier.”

Jack nodded. “Dan Pappas mentioned he’s a cop in Charlotte.”

“Sure is.”

“Does he like the job?”

“I guess so,” Beth said. “He’s been at it long enough. He’s due to retire next year.”

“And how does he feel about you following in his footsteps?”

She was tempted to tell him that was only part of her reasons, but decided to keep the conversation uncomplicated. “He wasn’t crazy about the idea at first but didn’t discourage me either. We talk on the phone a lot about the job and he gives me advice. I think he thinks it might be a phase I’m going through.”

“After five years?”

“Six in August.”

“Is it a phase?”

“I don’t think so. I finally feel like I’m making a difference, particularly now that I’m in Homicide. After college, I traveled for a while and worked for a magazine in New York, but there’s never been anything like this.”

“Making a difference how?” Jack asked.

She paused to refill his glass and then topped off her own.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Taking evil out of the world. Does that sound stupid?”

“Not at all,” Jack said quietly.

Beth’s expression grew serious, and she was quiet for a long moment. He was tempted to make some offhand remark to lighten the mood but stopped, sensing she had more to say.

“Everyone assumes I became a cop because my dad is one. Maybe that’s part of it. The fact is, I had a sister who committed suicide when she was thirteen. We were really close. A bunch of kids started making fun of her at school and bullying her. None of us knew how bad it was until, well . . .”

Jack nodded slowly, encouraging her to continue.

“When I say evil, I don’t necessarily mean fighting dragons. Sometimes it comes on two legs. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a kind of viciousness you see in bullies and predators who focus on people who can’t defend themselves. It lurks in the shadows and runs away when the lights come on. That’s what I can’t stand.”

He wanted to tell her it was an impossible task. There were times when he was still with the Bureau it felt like he was using a glass to bail water out of a sinking ship.

Several seconds passed. Jack took a sip of the Blue Moon Ale he had ordered with dinner.

“My dad likes beer,” she said, changing the topic.

“Oh, good,” Jack said. “It usually comes with an orange slice.”

“Really? How did you feel about it when you were with the FBI?”

“I don’t think they had Blue Moon Ale back then.”

“I meant about taking evil out of the world.”

Jack nearly laughed at her change of direction. “It’s a laudable goal.”

“Can I ask why you left?”

“The decision wasn’t entirely mine,” Jack said.

He knew this was coming because he’d dealt with the question before, particularly after his marriage broke up. He and Morris Shottner had discussed the subject at length. The doctor’s ongoing advice was not to seal himself off from others because it resulted in stagnation. His previous efforts at dating had failed, mostly due to him. Better to get it out of the way now.

“I wasn’t trying to pry,” Beth said. “Just curious.”

“You’re a detective. You ask questions. That doesn’t offend me.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No,” Jack said. “I think you’re entitled to an explanation. How much do you know about what happened to Howard Pell?”

She shrugged, then said, “After I met you, I asked around some, but no one wanted to talk about it. The file gives a bare-bones account of his capture. There were articles, of course. But they were all different from what Pell told me.”

Jack’s eyes held hers for a moment, then he smiled. “What did Pell tell you?”

“That you framed him for the murder of your partner. And that you tried to disembowel him.”

Jack took a sip of his beer and said, “I didn’t just try, Beth. I did. I tracked him to Cloudland Canyon and made the arrest. Unfortunately, I let my guard down. There was a fight. We went over the edge together.

“The canyon isn’t a straight drop—a long way down, but fortunately not straight. I managed to lose my gun in the process. Pell still had his knife. He ran; I followed. There’s a stream at the bottom of the gorge. He came at me while I was trying to cross it. We fought again.”

Jack’s eyes grew distant; he stared at some point over her shoulder as the memories came flooding back. At times, they crept silently into his dreams at night, images he’d never been able to erase.

Seeing the expression that clouded his features, Beth wanted to reach out and take his hand but stopped herself.

“There haven’t been many times in my life where I can say I totally lost it. You’ve heard the expression about a person being so mad they saw red?”

Beth nodded.

“Well, it’s true. We were struggling over the knife there in the water. All the time he kept talking. I finally snapped when he got to what he’d done to Connie.”

“Your partner.”

Jack nodded.

“Right. A red haze started in my chest and rose to my face, filling my vision. I can’t remember every little detail, but I do remember thinking I was looking at something vile and base. Something that shouldn’t be allowed to live.”

“Jack—”

“I cut his stomach open and pulled his intestines out and dropped them on his chest.”

Several seconds passed in silence.

“Did you want to kill him?”

“At first, but then I came to my senses and called for help.”

“That’s what matters. Don’t you see?”

“Not really,” Jack said.

“Listen to me—”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Jack asked quietly.

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s an old expression that one should be careful when fighting monsters lest you become one yourself. I don’t know where it comes from. Nietzsche, maybe.”

“Oh, Jack, you can’t believe that.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re no monster.”

Jack smiled without humor.

“I know so,” Beth repeated.

“The Bureau was sued over what happened. The DPR, that’s our internal affairs, got involved. They met with the brass in some back room, and it was decided it would be best for everyone if I left, so I did.” He shrugged. “You wanted to know.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Beth said. “I know that was difficult.”

Jack looked down at his watch. “Gee, look how late it is. I’d better be getting home. Glad we had a chance to talk.”

With that he stood and began putting on his jacket. Beth came around the table to him.

“Stop.”

Jack looked at her.

“I’m not saying what happened was right. But you were in the most extraordinary circumstances imaginable. A fiend had just killed your partner and was trying to kill you. I can’t even get my head around what that must have been like. One act doesn’t define a person.”

Jack nodded and said nothing.

“Do you understand me?” Beth prompted.

“What do you remember about John Wilkes Booth?”

“That’s not a fair comparison.”

Jack smiled. “I enjoyed the dinner, Beth. Drive safe.”

Beth watched him walk out the door and down the hallway. He looked so sad. So hurt. She stood there for a moment, shook her head, and shut off the lights.

T
he next morning, Dan Pappas was at his desk making notes on a yellow legal pad. He informed Jack that the judge had signed a subpoena for Jerome Haffner’s client records.

“Great,” Jack said. “Maybe it’ll turn up a lead.”

“I hope so. We’ve got bubkes so far. Hey, we’re heading back to Mayfield later to interview Pell again. You interested in coming?”

“I’ll pass.”

“We wasting our time?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Maybe not. Beth thinks he has something to say. I don’t need to see him again.”

“Understood.”

“Any word from Furman on the Underground Atlanta victims?” Jack asked.

“Nope.”

Jack was silent for a moment, then said, “Something’s different about this killer. I told Beth he broke his pattern with Donna Camp. That’s not impossible, but it’s unusual. The first two victims were mutilated by having their fingers amputated. He didn’t do that with her. There was also a sexual component with Pell that’s missing from the other cases where the women are concerned.”

“Is that significant?” Pappas said.

“I think it may be,” Jack said.

“I don’t get why the guy’s leaving clues,” Pappas said.

“Possibly he wants to be caught,” Jack said. “Some part of the killer’s mind may realize there’s a demon lurking inside and that thought horrifies him.”

“Seriously? A demon?”

“It’s just an expression. I have a colleague at Columbia University who advanced that theory several years ago.”

“Could he have left clues and we missed ’em?” Pappas said.

“Unlikely. Beth and I went over the scene thoroughly. So did Furman and his tech.”

“Maybe the guy’s fucking with us,” Pappas said.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Jack said. “You ever work a crossword puzzle?”

“Sure.”

“Sooner or later, a picture starts to form. So you search around and find the piece you’re looking for, but when you try it, it doesn’t fit. I mean it looks perfect, but it won’t go. Ever since the beginning of this case, that’s the feeling I’ve been getting.”

“Which means what?”

“Everything’s too orchestrated,” Jack said. “We’re being played.”

They were still discussing the possibilities when Jack’s computer sounded. He bent to check his e-mail, and the sender’s address stopped him cold. It was Betsy Ann Tinsley. He turned the monitor around so Pappas could see it.

The detective frowned and sat back in his chair.

“Looks like someone’s trying to send you a video.”

Jack debated whether to open it for several seconds. If whatever was coming through contained a virus, it could damage his hard drive.

“Do we have a tech around?” Jack asked.

“Several,” Pappas said.

“I need to isolate this file before we look at it,” Jack said.

Pappas nodded, picked up his phone, and made a call.

*

The technician turned out to be a twenty-five-year-old young man named Nathan Cohen who was attempting to grow a goatee. He entered Jack’s office dressed in black jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt with a picture of two people fencing on it. His hair was sandy brown and in a state of disarray as though he’d just gotten out of bed.

“You were right not to open this,” he said. “If there’s a virus embedded, it could crash whatever network you open it on.”

“Recommendations?”

“Transfer the file to a stand-alone computer,” Cohen said.

Jack’s e-mail index was already open. The mysterious file had come in at 10:16 AM and was the most recent on his list. The one directly under it said, “Hugs and kisses from New York.”

Cohen looked up at Jack.

“From my daughter,” Jack said. “She’s there on a class trip.”

“Cool.”

Cohen removed a small flash drive from his pocket, plugged it into a USB port at the front of Jack’s computer, and then transferred the file to his own laptop.

The technician explained, “This isn’t connected to anything. I backed it up this morning, so if something nasty is hiding here and it trashes my drive, I’ll wipe it clean and reinstall the programs and data later on. First thing we do is run a virus and malware scan.”

While he was busy doing that, Jack became aware of a presence at his side. He turned to see Beth standing there. She had changed into a chocolate-brown pantsuit with a yellow blouse and looked wonderful. The barest hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” she said with mock gravity.

“Uh, good morning, Beth,” Jack said.

“Dan.”

“Morning, Beth,” Pappas answered. “Have you met Nate from IT?”

“I don’t believe so,” Beth said, shaking his hand. “What are we doing?”

Cohen told her, “The lieutenant just received a video file from one of the dead victims, which is totally creepy. We were just about to open it.”

“Go ahead. I’d like to see this.”

Jack nodded to the young technician, who double-clicked on the file. A moment later, the screen filled with the image of a woman who was definitely not Betsy Ann Tinsley. She was tied hand and foot and obviously terrified. One of her eyes was purple and swollen shut. Her mouth was taped.

The camera stayed on her for a time and then panned across her body to a small figure huddled in the corner.

Beth inhaled sharply.

“Shit,” Pappas said. “He’s got a kid.”

The camera continued moving until it came to rest on a toy sailboat lying on its side. Wherever they were, it was dark, which came as no
surprise to Jack. Off to one side was a faint light source. It looked artificial and was out of the camera’s field of view.

Eventually, the lens focused on a face in a ski mask. An unblinking pair of cold, gray eyes looked back at them.

“Here you are, Clever Jack,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “Let’s see what you can do with this.”

The video ended. No one spoke.

“Where the hell are they?” Pappas said eventually. “I couldn’t see anything in that room.”

“Someplace underground.” He turned to Cohen and asked, “Is there some way you can bring up more detail?”

“I can raise the monitor’s resolution, but if I do the picture will get smaller. Ben Furman has a program that fills in and sharpens the individual pixels. I’ve seen it work.”

Jack said, “Take this file over to him. There’s a yellow area above the killer’s shoulder I’d like to focus on. The sailboat, too. It had some kind of writing on the side that might tell us where it was sold.”

“We need to check missing persons. If that was a mother and child, someone must have noticed they’re gone.”

“I’ll jump on it,” Pappas said.

“No,” Beth said. “Let Stafford and Mundas do it. I want you with me at Mayfield when I meet Pell.”

“You sure?” Pappas asked.

“Positive,” Beth said. She then asked Jack, “Did you hear what he called you?”

“Clever Jack?”

“Those are the same words Pell used when we met.”

*

After they left, Jack spent some time thinking about what Beth had said. It was another indication they were being manipulated. Howard Pell was too smart to make a mistake like that. The killer might not possess Pell’s intellect, but he doubted the comment was accidental. Certainly there was a connection between the two, though what that was he had no idea at the moment. He turned his attention back to the computer and resumed reading the old newspaper accounts.

*

Beth was silent as she and Pappas drove up I-75. Despite the sobering video, her thoughts kept returning to her conversation with Jack the other night. She was certain he had shared with her something he rarely talked about. For all his quiet manner and brilliance, he was clearly capable of violence if provoked sufficiently. Maybe everyone was. That realization scared her a little.

After thinking about this for a while, she decided to send him a text message.

“Interested in another working dinner? Just arrived at Mayfield. We can compare notes.”

Thirty seconds later, Jack’s response arrived. “Sure. What should I bring?”

“Yourself. My place. I’ll cook. Six o’clock?”

“Deal. See you later.”

Dr. Charles Raymond was waiting for them in the lobby. He seemed disappointed that Beth had brought Dan Pappas along. After introducing them, Beth told him she wanted to review the institution’s security procedures.

“For heaven’s sake, why?” Raymond said. “No one’s escaped from here in forty years. It’s a complete waste of time.”

Pappas gave the doctor his best cop stare.

“Oh, very well,” Raymond said.

While he and Pappas were staring at each other, Beth decided Raymond looked more like Henry the Eighth than Sigmund Freud. He just needed a large turkey leg in one hand to complete the picture.

She said, “I understand how busy you are, Charles. Perhaps Dr. Cairo could take us around.”

“He won’t be in until tomorrow,” Raymond said. “It’s his day off.”

“Someone else then?”

Raymond let out a long breath. “There is no one else. We’re shorthanded at the moment.”

“What about that nurse?” Beth said. “Curry?”

“Unfortunately, Ron’s no longer with us.”

“Oh?”

“He’s part of a medical group the state has a contract with. They transferred him to Ellenwood Regional in Savannah. We’ll get a replacement, but it probably won’t be for a week or two. I suppose you’ll have to make do with me. Come along,” Raymond said and started down the hallway.

Pappas looked at Beth and shrugged. Before she could comment, Raymond turned and clapped his hands twice, “Chop-chop, people. Time is money.”

“How original,” Beth muttered and started after him.

They went through a pair of double doors at the far side of the lobby. Beyond it was a room enclosed by a barred door. Raymond spoke into the walkie-talkie he was carrying.

“Warren, this is Dr. Raymond at the east portal with two detectives. Would you be good enough to let us in?”

“Sure thing, Doc. I see you,” came the reply.

A moment later, the bars slid to one side. After stepping through, they found themselves in a large room occupied by twelve men. Some were reading, three were playing cards, others were writing, and some simply sat on plastic chairs staring off into space. A few looked up at their entrance. The rest went about their business.

Raymond informed them, “This is our day room. We have a track outside where the residents can walk. If they’re not inclined to do so, they spend time in here. None of these people are dangerous.”

“Good to know,” Pappas said, scanning the room. “Is Pell in here?”

“Hardly,” Raymond said. “This is a low-security area. The women have a similar arrangement on the opposite side of the building. Medium- and high-security patients are located on the upper floors.”

“How many people do you have?” Pappas asked.

“At the moment, fifty-six, but the figure varies. Some are here for evaluation. Some are awaiting trial. Others are permanent. Follow me, please.”

Raymond moved to a door near the corner of the room and used a key card to open it. He pointed out their medical clinic and pharmacy, where patients lined up each day to receive medications. Across from the pharmacy was an elevator with a security camera above it.

“Warren, would you send the elevator, please?”

“On the way.”

“This elevator,” Raymond explained, “is one of two methods used to gain access to the upper floors. The other is a staircase used only for emergencies, such as a fire. Access is controlled by key cards issued to each staff member. They’re never allowed out of their possession. In the four years I’ve been here, the staircase hasn’t been used.”

Pappas started to ask another question but Raymond anticipated it and continued.

“There are eight residents in the men’s wing and three on the women’s side.”

The inside of the elevator was entirely metal and smelled of antiseptic. They emerged into a dismal area of gray-painted cement walls and floors. Directly in front of them was a glass-enclosed control room with three guards and a bank of video monitors. One of the guards, presumably Warren, waved his acknowledgment. Dr. Raymond waved back. Every so often, the screens changed their view. One showed the elevator they’d just stepped out of.

Dr. Raymond said, “Patients on this floor stay in their rooms twenty-three hours a day. One hour is allotted for exercise. They have a special yard, completely enclosed and separate from the rest of the population. Cells are checked every four hours to ensure everyone is where they’re supposed to be and no one has harmed themselves.”

Beth said, “Howard Pell isn’t on this floor.”

“Absolutely not. He’s housed on three, which is for maximum-security patients. At the moment, there are only two in residence.”

“In residence? Sounds like what they say about the Queen of England,” Pappas said.

Raymond glanced at him and continued, “Third-floor prisoners are considered the most dangerous. They’re locked down twenty-four-seven, except for a one-hour exercise period three times a week. They don’t eat with the general population or interact with them in any way. In the past, we allowed the groups to mix, but that didn’t work out.”

“What happened?” Beth asked.

“A patient thought he would make a name for himself by killing Howard Pell. I assume being detectives, you know what a shiv is?”

Beth and Pappas both nodded.

“The whole thing happened so quickly,” Raymond said. “When the guard turned his back, the inmate came at Pell on the exercise yard. There was a fight.”

“And?” Pappas said.

“By the time the guards pulled him off, Pell had nearly bitten through the man’s throat.”

Beth clenched her teeth. “Is the third floor like this?” she asked.

“It consists of eight cells,” Raymond said. “Four on either side of the hall. We’ve never had more than three people up there as far back as I can remember. Access is also by elevator. Two guards are required to
verify the visitor’s identity and clearance level. Once that happens, they both simultaneously press a button to send it. There’s really not much to see.”

“Let’s take a look anyway,” Pappas said. “It was a long ride out here. We’ll tackle Pell afterward.”