The Enemy Inside (19 page)

Jay had smuggled the box of panties down to the ME the previous week, with strict instructions to let only him or Berg know the outcome of DNA analysis, expected any time.

As if on cue, the ME called through to Jay. “Let’s go,” he said after hanging up. “Dr. Dwight has DNA for us.”

“Great,” Berg replied, and they both headed downstairs.

“Good to see you back,” Dwight said briskly to Berg as they walked into the autopsy suite.
 

Considering its origin, Berg knew the simple statement was practically a love letter, and she appreciated the effort.
 

“Sorry about the hair, but I had to report what I found. Consiglio was literally standing over me.”
 

Dwight sat down at his neat desk. Berg and Jay remained standing as he picked up a green folder and reviewed its contents for a moment. As he read, Berg stared for what felt like the thousandth time at the brass placard screwed to the wall behind him. It was engraved with Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere VITAE, which Dwight once told her meant “this is the place where death rejoices to teach those who live”, or something similar. She could appreciate the sentiment.
 

Berg smiled. “You can make it up to me by telling me how it got there.”
 

“As you’ve been cleared, a fact I never doubted, by the way, I can only assume it’s evidence transfer,” he replied. “I rechecked the DNA—definitely yours.”

Berg nodded. “Could it have been planted?”

Dwight shook his head. “When? As I said before, the person in question was nowhere near the body at that time. I have to believe, despite his . . . ambitions . . . of late, a fellow officer would never stoop as low as to—”

“But you said it couldn’t have gotten on the inside of his clothes from evidence transfer,” Jay said.

Dwight’s scowl deepened. “I know what I said. But given the alternative, it’s the only explanation at this point. It does happen. Halwood will not be pleased. Anyway, let’s get to why you are really here, this
unofficial
box of panties.” Dwight tapped the shoebox and raised an eyebrow.
 

“Good,” Jay said.

“It yielded plenty of
unofficial
results when I cross-checked them with recent victims of crime. Of the thirteen pairs, Melissa Shipper’s DNA is on one pair, the dead hooker’s on another. Of course, our deceased’s DNA is all over the lot of them.”
 

Jay and Berg were not surprised.
 

“We got a match from two other pairs, both missing hitchhikers, Anita Fuller and Rosario Gonzalez, plus a few matches from the unsolved rape file I gave you when he first came in. We’re still checking through old cases for any more matches.”

The pair nodded.
 

“We think they’re rape trophies,” Berg said.

“Oh yes, I think that’s a pretty good theory, given he definitely raped a number of the women whose DNA are on these panties. And I’d say he raped a good deal more women we don’t know about. There were quite a few extra deposits from the trucker on the fabric, some newer than others. I’d guess he used the panties to pleasure himself following the attacks. Of course, this is unofficial, so I can’t give you a report. When you want to make the results public knowledge, then you will have to
officially
give it to me and
officially
tell me where you got it,” he said, indicating upstairs with his head.

“Did the post mortem show any sign Melissa was raped recently?” Berg asked.

“No. Her post mortem showed no sign of any sexual activity at all. If she was raped, it wasn’t recent.”

“Did Jay fill you in on my theory about her facial fractures?”

“Yes. Another good theory, detective. I guess we’ll never know for sure with both the raped and the rapist now dead, but it seems probable.”

But Berg and Jay were already halfway out of the room.
 

“Thanks,” Jay said over his shoulder.

Chapter Nineteen

Consiglio strode into the detectives’ level later that Monday, as Jay and Berg were discussing the cases. “What the hell are you two doing here?” he all but shouted.
 

Jay looked at him like the idiot he was. “Um, working?”

“On what?”

“The hitchhiker and trucker cases.” Berg resisted the urge to get up off her chair and break his nose with a single side-kick to his smug face. She imagined how satisfying the crack of his bone would sound as his flesh collapsed onto itself and blood poured down his face. She smiled contentedly at the image.

“I believe the hitchhiker case has been closed,” Consiglio replied. “And as for the truckers’ case, I’m not comfortable with a former suspect working on it.”

“The key word in that sentence being
former.
” Jay raised his voice and the other detectives in the station popped their heads up over their desks like meerkats to see what the commotion was about.
 

The chief folded his arms slowly over his chest. “What can I say? Sometimes the board just gets it wrong.”

Before Berg could even react to the barb, Jay shot out of his chair, face beet red with anger. Clenching his fists, he stalked up to Consiglio, overwhelming the shorter man in both anger and malice.
 

“Say that again. I dare you,” Jay said through clenched teeth.
 

The look on Jay’s face chilled Berg to the core, but despite the waves of malevolence emanating from her partner, Consiglio didn’t flinch.
 

“Go on, Detective O’Loughlin. Hit me,” he said in a low voice. “You know you want to. Hit me in front of everyone.”

Jay took another step forward so the men were separated by a few inches. Berg quickly jumped up and squeezed herself between them. Neither man blinked as Berg forced them apart, each daring the other to look away first.
 

Berg noticed the entire station was now utterly silent.
 

Berg heard Arena whisper over his desk to Hamilton at the back of the room.

“Twenty on Jay,” Arena said.
 

“No bet,” Hamilton replied, also whispering.

“Okay, double or nothing. Consiglio goes down in one punch.”

“You’re on.”
 

Berg tried to catch Jay’s eye and stop him from ending his career in one blow. From the clenched fists, clamped jaw and red face, she could tell he was barely controlling himself. She had no doubt that he wanted to pound Consiglio through the floor.
 

Just as she was trying to figure out a way to defuse the situation, Berg’s jacket pocket buzzed. She dove for her cell. “Yes?” she said, still standing between the two men. “Okay, got it.” She hung up and grabbed Jay’s arm firmly, using all of her strength to pull him away. “Sorry, Chief, that was dispatch. We’ll have to continue this stimulating conversation another time.”

The two men still stared each other down as Berg dragged Jay out of the room.

Five minutes later, Jay was slightly calmer, sitting beside Berg in the passenger seat of the whining police sedan. “So what’s going on?” he asked through still-clenched teeth.

“Some unfortunate dog walker found another body in Busse Woods. We think it might be that New York motorist who was reported missing ten days ago. Forensics is on the way,” Berg explained.
 

Jay nodded, still seething.
 

“The tollway is becoming a regular body farm, isn’t it?” She made a joke, trying to lift Jay’s mood.
 

Jay didn’t respond.
 

“Well done for not giving him a reason to fire you. Or arrest you.”
 

He nodded.
 

“Even though I know you wanted to rip his head off.”
 

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life.” Jay managed a wry smile. “Getting fired would’ve been worth it.”

Berg laughed. “Hell yes! I imagined removing his nose from his face. It was awesome.”

“Get in line, sister. If anyone gets to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face, it’s me. I hate patrol. I practically had to wear a girdle to get into my blues.” It was an exaggeration on Jay’s part, Berg was sure, but at least he had calmed down enough to make a joke.

She smiled. “I thought you looked pretty cute, actually.”

Jay winked at her. “Oh yeah?”

They pulled up at the sight of the flashing police cordon on the side of the road, grabbed their jackets from the back seat, and their evidence collection kits out of the trunk. Taking advantage of a break in the traffic, they crossed the tollway quickly, walking toward the large patrol officer who was first on the scene.

“Hey, James,” Jay said as he hit record on his cell. “What’ve we got?”

“Partially buried remains about a twenty-minute walk southeast, in a shallow grave. Never would have been found if it wasn’t for a pet dog deciding to make a morning snack of the guy’s digits. Poor owner’s still puking.” Jim pointed to the young woman in workout gear sitting in the back of an ambulance and breathing deeply in and out of a paper bag. A fluffy, white poodle with a stained muzzle sat innocently beside her.

“Thanks, Jim.” Berg started the long trek into the woods, carrying their crime scene kits. She set a cracking pace along the trail, but Jay kept up easily.
 

The burial site was easy to find thanks in part to the procession of police on the track, but also due to the sickly sweet stench of decay that became cloying and almost unbearable as they neared the scene.

The forensic technicians, who had been hovering while taking photos, stood as they approached, allowing Jay and Berg to examine the body.
 

Jay took his cell from his belt clip and turned on his recording app. “Looks like he’s been dead for at least a week,” Jay said placing his phone back on his belt.
 

The body appeared to have originally been covered in about a foot of loose dirt and leaves but was now mostly exposed. Fully clothed, decay had set in, bloating the body, splitting and loosening the visible skin, and giving the face a greenish tinge.
 

Small predators, the dog included, had been nibbling at the exposed soft tissue, and gloving—the shedding of the skin on the hands—was pronounced.
 

“Because of the lack of discernible facial features, we will have to use DNA or dental records for final identification, but let’s see if he has any ID . . .” Jay checked the man’s various pockets with his latexed hands, extracting a wallet from the back pocket. “Yep. This is New York resident Alan Winchester, the same man who has been missing for nearly two weeks now,” he said.

The pair leaned over the makeshift grave and looked at the remains of the man’s face. The eyes had been plucked out, and a good proportion of the nose and lips torn away from the bone, making him unrecognizable. Maggots had infested the facial orifices.
 

“Looks like this is how he died.” Berg moved aside the man’s shirt to reveal a maggot-infested, circular wound. “A single shot to the chest. Decent caliber rifle, possibly long range as I can’t see any residue on his shirt, or any contact burns on what’s left of his skin.”
 

She and Jay rolled the body so they could check its back. “Huge, ragged exit wound. Looks like it took half his spine with it. Might be a bronze-point round that could make this an illegal hunting accident; there are elk in these woods.”

“Possibly, but the man isn’t dressed like a hunter. How many hunters do you know who wear loafers?” He paused. “Taylor was found in another preserve about eight miles west of here, Rogers was on the road and not actually in the woods, and Melissa was half a mile northwest of this location. What do you think?”

“Different weapon to Melissa, different MO to the truckers. The truckers’ bodies were displayed. And none of the others have been buried. Even if Consiglio gets his way and kicks us off the truckers, we should be safe to work up this one. Provided, of course, you resist the urge to punch him.”

“I don’t know, Berg, that’s a pretty big urge,” he replied.

Nick Halwood walked off the track and joined the party.