by Gabriel Maff
Chapter 2
The investigation begins
S ubinspector Victoria Taylor was wondering what she could do more to divert the girls’ attention and not give them enough time to think about what they had just seen, when their mothers walked in.
After the initial worry, they calmed down instantly when they saw their little girls safe and sound, then carefully listened to Victoria’s advice.
“What’s important is that they don’t speak to anyone about what they had seen, at least not while the criminal is at loose.”
One of the mothers took one hand to her mouth and was unable to say anything, but the other processed the information a little faster:
“Do you think they are in danger?”
The subinspector shrugged:
“In principle, no. They simply found themselves at the wrong place, at the wrong time. It could have been anybody else in their place, but I wonder if the killer might imagine that the girls have seen him, and he might think of…”
The words remained unspoken, but everyone realized what that meant. Victoria was hoping that between the desire to speak and the desire to protect their children, the latter would prevail.
They said goodbye, and subinspector Victoria Taylor promised to keep them up to date with the investigation, at least with the parts of it she could divulge them.
After a while, commissioner Allen approached Baker and, while keeping a respectable distance, was watching his younger subordinate, who did not seem to be aware of his presence. Baker had divided the crime scene into a few quarter of a meter-wide squares and, and he was sometimes leaning over them to pick something up and put it in the evidence bags. Moving the victim a little, he pulled out her purse and handed it to the commissioner, along with a pair of latex gloves.
“It doesn’t seem she was robbed. Maybe we can learn her name and address.”
After putting on his gloves, the commissioner carefully opened the girl's purse and was amazed by how few things he found in it. There was her lipstick, a mirror, a comb on one side of the bag, and her wallet, in a pocket. He opened the wallet and stared at the picture of the pretty girl on the ID card. In the wallet he found an identity card and a few banknotes.
“The victim's name is Harper Wood, she is 22 years old and she is a second-year law student, living on Hancock St.,” said the commissioner and put her purse on the forensic kit, while he kept the identity card. “I'll send a cop to this address to see if he finds anyone at home,” he added, but then his phone rang.
It was subinspector Victoria Taylor, who reported that the girls had been found by their parents and that no, they didn’t need any psychological assistance just yet.
"You did very well to call me," said the commissioner. “I’ve just found out the name of the victim and where she lives. Write it down, please!” and the commissioner told her the address that was written on the girl’s identity card.
After he finished reading her the address, the commissioner withdrew a little to one side and said, on a low tone:
“Victoria, pay close attention, please, to what I'm going to tell you right now. Students who live on Hancock Street usually live two or three in the same apartment to cut back on expenses, so you have a good chance of finding a roommate at home. If no one is home, ask the administrator with whom she lives in the apartment and, if it’s a student, get her out of classes and ask her to let you in. It's easier and faster that way. If she lives alone, it is more complicated, because I didn’t find any keys in her bag and you will have to talk to the case prosecutor to obtain a search warrant.”
He paused and looked at the chief inspector, who, leaning over the grid made of orange plastic sticks, seemed too preoccupied with gathering evidence than to pay any attention to what they were saying.
“It is very important to find out as much as possible about the victim, so do everything you can, without breaking the law too much.”
Subinspector Victoria Taylor was the youngest member of the team and the commissioner was delighted and, at the same time, puzzled by some of her talents. First of all, the empathy with which she treated the children and parents of the victims. But that alone would certainly not have qualified her to be part of his team, because there were others, women or men, who, in a sense, could do the same. And then, it was not the main purpose of the police to comfort children and parents, but to discover those who made these people need consolation. The young woman's main talent was her almost supernatural ability to sense the hidden pattern of a place and to find what others strived to hide. Not once did he witness the moment when, in an apartment meticulously investigated by people who were specialized in such a thing, subinspector Taylor would roll her eyes and head to a hiding spot neglected by all, to the poorly disguised despair of others.
That's why he had now turned to her to check the victim's home: secretly, he was hoping that the young policewoman would come with the photo, the address and the name of the possible murderer, and all that being found in a secret drawer. He looked at his watch and turned to the corpse: he had no doubt that the information about the typical vampire bites would be spread in the press and he imagined that, soon, enormous pressure would be put on him to solve the case straightaway.
The chief inspector had just reached the last grid, and, grabbing with a pinch what appeared to be a hair, put it in the sample bag and stood up, straightening his bones.
“We can send the girl to the pathologist,” he said, and the commissioner was surprised that the two used the same word for the corpse in front of them.
About two feet from the victim, on W Cedar Street, on the North wall, a painting looked fresher than others and the inspector approached it carefully, studying it with an magnifying glass.
“I thought it was fresher, but they didn’t draw this graffiti last night. It is more than a few days old.”
He carefully touched the paint on the wall with the glove and then showed it to the commissioner: a faint trace of dark colour could be seen on the white surface of the glove.
He took a series of photos of the drawing from different angles, then said:
“I do not guarantee that this graffiti was made by the killer, but it is very likely that it is related to the murder. I'd rather take it from here. I just received some new, fast dry adhesive that would fit perfectly in this case.”
“For my part, you have free hand for this,” the chief commissioner approved.
As the paramedics put the body of the dead girl in a body bag, the commissioner watched the newest member of his team move casually around the graffiti on the wall, as if he had been doing that all his life. Firstly, he covered the entire surface with a varnish for fixing, which he spread with a fine brush. Then, with a small chisel, he made an about a centimetre deep furrow around the drawing. In the centre of the image, where nothing was drawn, he made a hole, to which he attached a small hose through which he then pumped the glue. He filled the surrounding ditch with glue too, then wiped his hands.
“Now we have to wait for a few minutes.”
Chief commissioner Allen looked around, as if to make sure no one heard them, and asked:
“I know it's early but, based on the evidence found, what preliminary conclusions could you draw?”
Chief inspector Henry Baker turned and looked straight into the chief commissioner's eyes.
“Commissioner, do you know why I was transferred to Boston?”
The Chief Commissioner shrugged, then replied:
“Too many crimes with unknown perpetrators lately here in Boston. At least, that's what I was told, ‘You need a fresh infusion of talent.’”
“And did you believe that?”
“Not really. But after the specialization you did at the FBI, I thought it might be true.”
The chief inspector shook his head and tried the glue on the drawing, but as it was still quite soft, he turned back to the commissioner:
“The main reason for my transfer was precisely the fact that I drew
a preliminary conclusion that blatantly contradicted that of a chief.”
“And?”
“And it didn't matter too much that in the end I was right. Chief Torres could no longer look me in the eyes, so the easiest way for him to handle the situation was to transfer me.”
The commissioner looked at him in astonishment:
“I had heard something completely different, but anything is possible. However, may I be acquainted with a preliminary conclusion only for personal use?”
The inspector wiped out the remaining glue on his hands for a long time, but it was clear that it was just a way to stall him. Finally he sighed and threw the used napkin into a bag in which he had collected the leftovers, then he added:
“In the past, I was seconded near to a special FBI unit in New York. They only dealt with special cases, and perhaps that was the reason for which my training was influenced by these cases. In other words, they were dealing with serial killers…”
He paused and tried the glue on the drawing again with his fingernail, while the commissioner waited to finish his idea.
“Just because you followed a specialization on serial killers, I hope you don’t mean that we are dealing with one here”.
The inspector drew out of the kit even a smaller chisel than the first one and with a rubber mallet, began to hammer lightly around the drawing.
“Please hold on to it, I think it will come off soon”.
After the piece of wall with the drawing was taken from the wall, wrapped in plastic and put in a bag, the inspector turned to the commissioner and answered to his question.
“Commissioner, if we consider the proof and think about what has happened to me lately, I am sure that this is a serial killer who will kill again soon. Plus, I don't think I was transferred here because I disagreed with Chief Torres, but to find the killer. I suspect someone knew that this was going to happen sooner or later”.
He took his forensic kit and the bags of evidence and strode towards the street`s exit, leaving behind a flummoxed commissioner.
Subinspector Victoria Taylor was lucky. At the address given to her by the commissioner lived two girls, and according to the words of the administrator, one of them was at home because, only a few minutes ago, she had seen her take out the garbage. The administrator of the block on Hancock Street was near seventy years old, but she had a lively look, and when she saw Victoria heading towards her, she tightened her dress, which looked more like a robe.
"My respects – dear madam," says Victoria in her sweetest voice, though she had no good opinion of women addressing this formulation to other women. Do you allow me to sit next to you?
As the administrator nodded vividly, Victoria sat down and said to the agent who accompanied her:
“You can wait in the car until I talk to the lady… you know, a chat between women”
The fact that such a pretty young woman, who was also dressed in uniform, sent away the policeman only to have a “women talk", won the old lady`s confidence completely, so that Victoria found out that in the three apartment lived, indeed, two girls, two students as far as she knew. They were nice girls, they didn't bring boys home and they didn't play loud music.
She didn't know anything special about Harper Wood, except that she was a polite girl who always greeted the elderly and had never really seen her do anything illegal.
"It wasn't one of those!" said the old woman in a confidential tone, and Victoria thought that the fact that "she wasn't one of those" didn't help Harper much. And one of them was definitely home because she saw her carrying the garbage, but she wasn't sure which one.
"It wasn't exactly Harper," Victoria thought, and after increasing her world’s knowledge with some unsolicited information about the debauchery of today's young people, she motioned the agent to accompany her to the apartment.
She didn't even have time to press the bell button as the door opened suddenly, as if someone was waiting behind it. The girl who had opened the door was about twenty years’ old, brown-haired, her eyes being highlighted by a bright green colour and, given the bag on her shoulder, one could see that she was about to leave. Victoria, who was endowed with a developed spirit of observation, was moved by the intense colour of her eyes and, for the first time in her life, she had to admit that it would have been extremely difficult for her to describe her face.
The girl was surprised too, but certainly not because of the Victoria and agent`s appearance, but because of their uniforms. She looked at them in astonishment, put a hand to her mouth, swallowed a few times to no purpose and asked in a low voice:
What happened? Is Harper fine?
Victoria looked around and, although the hall was dark, she had the impression that behind each peephole there was a curious eye.
“Can we come in? She asks politely. We have a few questions for you”.
“Yeah, sure! The girl answered and cleared the doorway quickly. I was just getting ready to go out, I have a class at twelve o'clock”.
"It will only take a few minutes," Victoria promised as she entered, accompanied by the agent.
The apartment had two rooms, a bedroom and a living room, and the girl had led them into the living room that was very poorly furnished. A table, four chairs, a single bed, a bedside table, a dresser, a table with a small TV and a bookcase where one could see several courses.
The girl came in and invited them to take a seat at the table, but only Victoria and the girl sat down, while the agent remained by the door.
“We want to ask you a few questions about your roommate, Harper Wood”.
“Did something happen to her? She didn't come home last night”.
Victoria looked into those incredibly green eyes for a few moments then, as she couldn`t hide the truth anymore, she said:
“She was found dead this morning on Acorn Street”.
“Oh God!” The girl exclaimed with a troubled look in her eyes. The girl's face suddenly turned white as her hands, which were on the table, clenched on a course sheet. I was expecting something like this to…
