Killing Ways Page 18

  ‘He was a photographer,’ said Everett. ‘Took arty photos of abandoned buildings … including one where a series of rapes happened …’

  ‘If I wanted an accomplice in my dastardly acts, I think trolling for one in a fucked-up underground gaming site might be a plan,’ said Ren. ‘Or targeting the creator of a website about abandonment and places where women were raped.’

  ‘Was he being paid up front for services to be delivered at a later date?’ said Gary.

  ‘My gut is telling me there’s more to this guy,’ said Ren. ‘He was chosen very specifically by the killer to either facilitate or enhance the rape/killing experience. Everett, did Kurt Vine look like a rapist to you?’

  Everett opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t get a chance.

  ‘Until we know more, we don’t know what Vine’s involvement was,’ said Gary.

  ‘Unknown unknowns?’ said Ren.

  Gary did not crack a smile.

  ‘The key is,’ said Ren, ‘what did Kurt Vine have that his accomplice slash overlord does not?’ She paused. ‘I think it’s more than just a remote property.’ She paused. ‘Oh my God. What if it’s Colin Grabien? He never had any respect for women. He always treated them like shit. And he would happily kill me if he got a chance. Like, I firmly believe that deep down, he hates women. And right up at the surface, he hates me.’

  Everett glanced at Gary, his face registering a flicker of a frown at the same time.

  What the hell is that look about?

  ‘It’s not Colin Grabien, Ren,’ said Gary. His voice was flat.

  How can you be so sure?

  Gary left, and as he was walking out the door, turned back to Ren.

  ‘Can you please meet me in my office when you’re done?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ren. ‘No problem.’

  Everett looked at her and made a face.

  Ren rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a thing we do …’

  ‘Robbie doesn’t seem very happy with you,’ said Everett.

  ‘About the shooting?’ said Ren.

  ‘I presume so.’

  ‘Did he say something?’

  ‘No, but he wouldn’t. You know that.’

  ‘Do you think he said something to Gary?’

  ‘No, no. Not his style either.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to freak him out,’ said Ren. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  Ren knocked on Gary’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Take a seat, Ren.’

  Ominous.

  ‘Are you taking your meds?’ he said. His eyes were cold, straight, narrow.

  ‘What?’ Do not drop eye contact with this man. ‘Are you serious? Yes, I am taking my meds. Of course I am …’

  ‘And just so we’re real clear here,’ said Gary. ‘I will never ask you that question again.’

  Ren nodded. ‘Thank you.’ And thank God.

  ‘And you’re happy with your answer,’ said Gary. ‘That’s your answer.’

  ‘Yes! Of course.’ Her heart was beginning to thump. ‘Is this because of my Colin Grabien theory? I was kidding!’ To a degree.

  Gary stared at her. ‘You’ve a great imagination, Ren, right?’

  Shit. Where’s this going …

  ‘So,’ said Gary, ‘we’re in this beautiful building, it’s historic, it’s Olde Denver, so it will make this task a little easier. There’s no sign over the door, no sign sign. But I need you to picture one—’

  What the …

  ‘Every time you walk up the steps of this building,’ said Gary, ‘where you work, where you uphold the law, where you uphold my laws, where you honor victims, where you honor your colleagues, where you are responsible for their safety and the safety of others, where you work hard to get justice for victims of violent crimes, I don’t want you to picture Federal Bureau of Investigation spoiling our original late-1800s timber doors. I need you to picture this sign: Last Chance Saloon.’

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  ‘The Last Chance Saloon,’ said Gary, ‘is a dry bar.’ He paused. ‘And it’s an honesty bar.’

  Oh, God.

  ‘And,’ said Gary. ‘I’m done serving mavericks.’

  He slid a piece of paper across the desk. Dr Lone, today, 1 p.m.

  Ren left the office without saying a word. She walked down the hallway, upright and composed.

  How he had the balls to talk to me about honesty bars.

  Seriously.

  If I was a different person, with the information I have, I could hang him.

  In the town square.

  Right outside his fucking saloon.

  35

  Ren sat in the office of Dr Leonard Lone.

  ‘Can I just say, not to be flippant about it,’ said Ren, ‘but this was no big drama. Everyone is over-reacting.’

  ‘You and your partner were fired at,’ said Lone. ‘A man died. That’s a serious matter.’

  ‘But it’s what we’re trained for,’ said Ren. ‘It’s something we have to expect. I believe a killer was twenty feet from me, and I couldn’t pursue him? That, to me, is dangerous. He’s still out there.’

  ‘But surely protocol says that you wouldn’t pursue a suspect alone in the woods, in unfamiliar territory. Or run into a burning building.’

  ‘How did you know that’s what happened?’ said Ren.

  ‘I spoke with Gary.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! He’s like a fucking … I don’t know. It’s like he always has to get to you first. It wasn’t … dangerous. I wasn’t in danger. I’m not traumatized in any way. My most extreme emotion is fury at Robbie. Not active fury – just internal fury.’

  Dr Lone studied her. ‘Ren, could you talk me through a typical day for you at the moment …’

  What? Um … well. Hmm. Wake. Work. Work out. Home. Drink. Work. Work out. Drink. Work. Sleep. Work out. Repeat.

  ‘There is no typical day, I guess,’ said Ren.

  ‘Are you taking your medication at night or in the morning?’ said Lone.

  You asked me this already. ‘Oh, at night.’ Nod.

  ‘Are you feeling anxious?’ said Lone.

  By questions re untaken meds, yes.

  ‘No,’ said Ren.

  ‘This is a high-profile case that seems to have cast a real shadow over the city,’ said Lone.

  ‘Your female patients are probably all having meltdowns …’

  Lone didn’t reply.

  ‘Sorry – you asked me about anxiety,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not anxious, no.’

  ‘Are you fearful for your own safety?’ said Lone.

  ‘No way,’ said Ren. ‘No. I’d like to see him try.’ I really would.

  Dr Lone was watching her.

  What are you thinking?

  ‘It’s important that this case doesn’t take you away from your appointments here,’ said Lone. ‘Gary, as you know, is adamant about that.’

  ‘Gary …’ should be concentrating on himself, not on me, and not on banging his side piece.

  Back at Safe Streets, Ren went into the conference room with a large artists’ pad, opened it on the first page and wrote in a pink Sharpie:

  KURT VINE WAS AN ACCOMPLICE FROM ALL THE WAY BACK TO GIA LAROSA?

  REGRETTED LETTING AMANDA PETRIE GO FIRST TIME, CAME BACK TO HER?

  HAD BEEN WATCHING HER BEFORE SHE EVER MET JANE DOE?

  K.V. HAD BEEN TOLD TO WATCH AMANDA PETRIE?

  K.V. BETRAYED OTHER KILLER BY LETTING AMANDA PETRIE GO?

  BURNING LADY IN SEDALIA – VINE’S CAPTIVE / OR OTHER KILLER’S?

  AMANDA PETRIE SPECIFICALLY CHOSEN AS A VICTIM TO MAKE FRAMING K.V. EASIER BECAUSE OF HIS EARLIER CONNECTION TO HER?

  OR K.V. CHOSEN AS A COVER AFTER THE FACT?

  K.V. AND ACCOMPLICE – MEET ONLINE? GAMING WORLD?

  WHO IS ACCOMPLICE?

  She turned to her computer, and opened up the file on the victims’ wounds. She added Amanda Petrie’s as described in the autopsy.

  She rubbed her jaw,
got a waft of perfume.

  It is nice. Everett was right.

  Something is gnawing at me. Like a rat at something random on a landfill site. Too tired to come up with something. Dead body?

  Oh. That’s it. Perfume.

  It’s not about the perfume. It’s what the perfume is covering up.

  Oh. Fuck.

  ‘We’ve been focusing on the wrong injuries!’ said Ren.

  Everyone looked up.

  ‘It’s not about the burning, or the mutilation, or the chopping away of body parts – it’s what doing that is covering up,’ said Ren. ‘Amanda Petrie didn’t burn! It’s all here, laid out, every step of the killer’s M.O. Too much evidence was left behind: she was raped with a foreign object, had two stab wounds to the lower back, three slash marks on each side of her ribs, injuries to the soles of her feet.’

  Shit! That’s it.

  Ren stood up. ‘The UNSUB did what he wanted with Amanda Petrie, because he didn’t fear revealing his entire M.O. He thought she would be incinerated in the barn. But, more importantly, he believed he had successfully framed Kurt Vine. He killed the way he truly wanted to kill, because he knew that we would no longer be inputting his data into ViCAP. We would believe that Kurt Vine was our UNSUB. And if our killer stopped killing, or moved state, then he was free. He just didn’t bank on us visiting Vine so soon – he probably didn’t think of the Hufuki link. Which also means that he did not meet Vine playing that game – otherwise he would have been aware of that possibility.’

  Ren opened up ViCAP again, input the exact details of Amanda Petrie’s injuries. She read through what came back.

  Oh. My. God. This is not good. This is not good.

  Ren picked up her phone and called Gary. ‘I’m sending you an article you need to read: a horrific serial murder case that kicked off all the way back in 1987. It has disturbing echoes of this. The killer hunted his naked victims first, then he brutally raped them, then he murdered them. He started out with prostitutes, and moved on to other women. They were mainly skinny blondes. There was less sexual mutilation of the bodies, but I think that, over the years, he has escalated. It’s beyond fucked-up, Gary. I hope I’m wrong. See what you think. There’s an old photo – he has the deadest look in his eyes: you can see that he could be capable of this kind of depravity.’

  Ren stared at the photo. There’s something familiar about him. I’m wondering did I read about this case at the time? And block it out …

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ren, ‘there’s one former detective who was heavily involved in it – personally involved in it. I think we need to talk to him.’

  Within ten minutes, Gary walked into the bullpen. ‘Your ex-detective is flying in tonight, eleven thirty p.m. You can pick him up at the airport.’

  ‘Jesus – speedy response,’ said Ren. ‘I didn’t want to be right. Does he think I’m right?’

  ‘We both do,’ said Gary. ‘This is bad news. If we’ve got the right guy …’ His face was ashen. ‘He’s a monster.’

  Ren nodded. ‘And he’s mutating.’

  It was midnight in Denver International Airport. Ren stood at Arrivals, running through theories, sifting, discarding, re-evaluating. The killer had a face now. She thought of being alone with him in a tiny, claustrophobic room, punching him in that face. She thought of splitting open the skin under his eye, watching it bleed. She thought of burying her Glock into his jaw. Boom! She thought of forcing him to stare at what she had stared at for months, the Wall of Horrors, the fallout from his fucked-up fantasies. She thought of the frustration of him feeling absolutely nothing at the end … so she would have to beat him all over again.

  Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

  She focused on the people ahead, and guessed from the landing time, the accents, and the clothes, when the New York flight was filtering through. There were very few passengers left. Ren checked her phone for a message that he had missed his flight. Nothing. She checked her email. Nothing new. She glanced up at the last stragglers.

  A slender man in an immaculate blue tailored suit walked through arrivals, pulling a vintage peacock blue suitcase with leather trim.

  Not him. And why can’t I look that good coming off a flight? I always look like I’ve been in a sauna drinking liquor and having relations.

  Another man walked through with a sleeping little girl in his muscular arm, her head tucked against his neck. Too adorable.

  He looked like he was in his late forties, tan, dark hair, flecked with gray.

  Have you been working out?

  Stop staring.

  But is there such a thing as a FILF?

  She turned her attention to the rest of the passengers coming through.

  The FILF was coming her way.

  Ooh – what’s going on here?

  He kept coming her way.

  Shit. It’s him. He looks different from his photo. More ex-Marine than ex-NYPD. He has been working out.

  He stopped in front of her. ‘Agent Bryce?’

  ‘Yes. But, please – call me Ren.’

  He shook her hand. ‘Good to meet you. I’m Joe Lucchesi.’

  A shiver ran up Ren’s spine: Joe Lucchesi’s expression was preternaturally calm, eerily intense.

  Your name is Joe Lucchesi. You’re here to kill a man. That man is Duke Rawlins.

  36

  Ren smiled. Lucchesi? For Duke Rawlins, you can stand in line.

  The little girl stirred in her father’s arms.

  ‘This is my daughter, Grace,’ said Joe.

  Grace Lucchesi had beautiful long hair, that, unlike her dad’s, was light brown with strands of blonde running through it. She had long, fair eyelashes, a pretty pouting mouth. She was a skinny thing, dressed in a cute pink sundress with a white cardigan over it.

  You will break hearts, little lady.

  Grace opened one eye, looked at Ren, then closed it.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ whispered Ren. But why the heck did you bring her here?

  A flushed young woman, petite, with shiny black hair to her shoulders, jogged up behind the Lucchesis. She had a booster seat under her arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Joe.’

  French. ‘But I found it!’ She was holding up a tiny gray bear. She unzipped the backpack Joe was wearing and put it in.

  Joe smiled. ‘Agent Bryce, this is Camille, Grace’s nanny.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Ren. ‘And please call me Ren. Nice to meet you, Camille.’

  I wonder, are you and Joe a thing?

  ‘You must be wondering why we’re all here,’ said Joe

  Not exactly what I was wondering.

  ‘My son, Shaun, is graduating. He did a Masters in Forensic Psychology here – in Denver University. We were coming to visit him anyway. Once I spoke with your boss, I brought my flight forward. I was tempted to leave Grace behind, but I couldn’t. She was too excited to see her big brother graduate.’

  Bomb in auditorium.

  Why do I think this shit?

  They began to walk toward the exit. Camille was walking a respectful distance behind.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind we’re a whole posse,’ said Joe.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Ren. But I think you’re insane.

  They settled into the Jeep. Grace was still asleep. Camille put on Bose noise cancellation headphones.

  ‘I spent the last few hours reading everything I could online about Duke Rawlins,’ said Ren. And about you: forty-nine years old, ex-Manhattan North Homicide detective, current holder of P.I. license, born in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, was married to Anna Lucchesi, one son – Shaun, twenty-six, no mention anywhere of Grace.

  ‘Tell me what you’ve got,’ said Joe. He seemed tense, ruffled.

  Ren glanced in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Grace won’t wake up,’ said Joe. ‘And Camille knows the drill.’

  ‘You’re a scary boss,’ said Ren.

  His face was set.

  Alrighty, then.

  Ren began with the crimes, the
M.O. and the victims.

  ‘That’s his M.O.,’ said Joe, nodding. ‘It came from Rawlins’ obsession with Harris hawks: one of the only birds of prey to hunt collaboratively. That never made it into the media. The obvious wounds you’ve described on the most recent victim mimic those made by the hawk and its talons. Rawlins and his accomplice – Donald Riggs – killed as a team. They started out in Stinger’s Creek, Texas when they were teens. Donald Riggs would ‘flush out’ the victim, he and Rawlins would strip her naked, then hunt her through the woods. Most of the time Rawlins used an arrow shot from a bow to bring the victim to the ground, but when he was forced to improvise, he did – using a knife. When the victim was down, either or both men raped her before killing her, then left the bodies out or made some kind of bullshit attempt to cover them. Obviously, Rawlins is no longer using a bow and arrow, which could simply be a convenience thing or that he’s come to prefer the closer contact of using only the knife.

  As you know – Rawlins is a mixed offender. From what you told me about the woman who was killed in her back garden, I think he stumbled upon that – I don’t think she was someone he planned to kill. It was risky. Especially with children there. Something must have made him snap. He killed a woman in similar circumstances in his original spree. Maybe anything that seems like a happy home to him is something he wants to destroy. Son of a junkie prostitute doesn’t make for a happy home.’

  ‘When you put it like that …’

  ‘Tell me about this guy, Vine, that Gary mentioned.’

  Ren talked him through it.

  ‘And has Rawlins approached you?’ said Joe. She could see his jaw twitch.

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, he has a major problem with law enforcement.’

  Did you ever think maybe Rawlins just has a major problem with you?

  ‘You killed his partner in crime,’ said Ren. ‘Is that not reason enough for him to have targeted you?’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ said Joe. ‘Haven’t you spoken to your boss?’

  Wow – loving the disdain.

  ‘Gary?’ said Ren. ‘About Duke Rawlins’ problem with law enforcement?’ What the hell? Does he know something? Why hasn’t he told me whatever it is already?

  ‘I’ll let him tell you,’ said Joe.